The Demon Apostle

Chapter 32 The Blessed Upper Hand

As he approached the northern gate of Palmaris only his anger prevented Marcalo De'Unnero from fearing Father Abbot Markwart's reaction when he learned of the Bishop's failure to capture Nightbird. Stopped at the gate by questioning guardsmen who did not recognize him, the monk glared at them and they faltered. Finally a soldier who knew the Bishop came upon them and, terrified, led the ruffled and angry De'Unnero away. During that fast walk to Chasewind Manor, De'Unnero heard all the news: the attempted assassination of Father Abbot Markwart, the rumors of continuing struggle between King Danube - who was staying at the manor house of Aloysius Crump - and the Father Abbot, who had taken the more luxurious Chasewind Manor as his own, and, not to De'Unnero's liking, of the outpouring of support from the common folk for the new Bishop, Francis Dellacourt.
De'Unnero swept into Chasewind Manor and didn't even wait for a proper announcement to storm into the glass-enclosed garden where Father Abbot Markwart was partaking of his morning meal, Brother - or was it Master, Abbot, or Bishop? - Francis at his side.
"Your expression alone tells me that the one named Nightbird remains ever elusive," the Father Abbot remarked, more than a bit of sarcasm in his tone. The Father Abbot had settled in quite comfortably. He had come to Chasewind Manor the day after his unexpected meeting with King Danube at St. Precious, the morning after he battered Jill on the field outside of Pal-maris, realizing that if he did not take the house as his residence, the King surely would.
"I had him," De'Unnero returned angrily, "up in the Wilderlands, far north of the Timberlands and approaching the Barbacan."
"The Barbacan?" Francis echoed incredulously, reflecting Markwart's feelings exactly, though the old Father Abbot kept a calm and impassive expression.
"But for his friends, Nightbird was mine," De'Unnero went on. "I have met him in open combat and am the stronger."
"And yet he remains at large," Markwart said dryly.
De'Unnero calmed a bit and nodded, having no practical reply.
"And what of the woman Jill?" the Father Abbot asked a moment later.
"She may have been among those who drove me away before I could secure my victory," De'Unnero lied.
"Indeed, then she has long arms, my friend, to reach all the way from Palmaris to the Wilderlands," Markwart said.
De'Unnero spent a long moment digesting that statement, then widened his eyes as he figured out the implications. "You have found her?"
The Father Abbot smiled and nodded.
"Where is she?" a frantic De'Unnero went on. "I will extract whatever information you desire, Father Abbot. I promise - "
"We do not have her," Markwart admitted, "but she has been neutral-ized. Though she holds the gemstones, I do not believe she will be a danger to us anymore. More likely, her attention will be toward self-preservation. Our attention now must be to the city, placating the King, of course, who is at this very moment eating his morning meal in the house of the merchant you executed. But while placating Danube, we must work quickly to strengthen our grip over Palmaris." He motioned for De'Unnero to sit, then waved a hand at the monk waiting on them, that the newcomer might get a morning meal.
"The situation in Palmaris has changed," Markwart went on.
"A guard at the city gate told me that you had been grievously injured," De'Unnero remarked, trying hard to avoid staring at the garish scar that ran along the side of Markwart's withered face. "A magical attack, so said the guard, and thus, I am led to believe that the woman was involved."
"She has been repaid for her deed," Markwart replied. "I found her and left her broken, and as with your enemy in the northland, only her friends managed to keep us from the complete capture. But that situation will soon be remedied, do not doubt. The soldiers and monks are out and about the city. She'll not escape us this time."
"And then we shall have the stones," Francis put in, somewhat sheep-ishly. He was obviously uncomfortable with De'Unnero, the Bishop he had replaced, sitting right beside him.
"It is good that you have returned to me," the Father Abbot stated, as if the thought had just come to him. "Though I wish that you had the traitor in tow - how powerful a symbol the one called Nightbird might now be."
"That symbol might be interpreted in two different ways," Francis dared to remark.
"Ah, yes, perception is all the truth," Markwart agreed. "But if we had the man, or the man's head, we would control the images for the peasants, and they would come to understand the true threat to their lives, the true evil of Avelyn and his followers. But no matter. King Danube will not oppose us now, not after the manner in which the woman attacked me, and not after your work, Bishop Francis, in placating the masses. I tested him when he came to visit me, declaring that all the gemstones in the kingdom are to be confiscated by the Church, and he did not deny my claim. Pal-maris is ours to rule, wisely and with generosity."
De'Unnero's dark eyes widened. Bishop Francis? Placating the masses? De'Unnero's last official act before running out of the city had been the execution of Aloysius Crump!
"The situation has changed," Markwart said again. "The Church has become the generous benefactor under the guidance of Bishop Fran-cis." He held his hand up to silence De'Unnero before the stream of ex-pected complaints could even begin. "The title I bestowed upon our young brother here was intended to be temporary, though now I have come to the conclusion that I will make it permanent. I have already spoken with Abbot Je'howith, who is also in Palmaris, on this matter and he will not oppose me."
The dangerous De'Unnero glared at Francis.
"You believe yourself deserving of the title?" Markwart asked bluntly.
"I performed as I was instructed," De'Unnero replied. Only then did he begin to understand that Markwart's explicit instructions, including the public execution of Crump, had assured that his tenure as bishop would be temporary. Markwart had set him up, had used him in such a dark way that Francis would shine favorably against that shadow.
"Admirably," Markwart agreed with a broad smile. "I do not, in any way, criticize the reign of Bishop De'Unnero. You were exactly what Palmaris needed in that dark and uncertain time, but the situation has changed. It is time for a gentler hand, one that the King cannot slap aside."
"As it was planned all along?" De'Unnero asked.
Francis shifted uncomfortably, sliding back his chair a bit, expecting an explosion.
But Markwart only nodded. "As it had to be."
"And now I am to be punished?" De'Unnero asked, a growl accompany-ing each word.
"How so?"
The former bishop held up his hands incredulously and looked all around, as if to exclaim that he had lost all of this - this place, this title, this city.
But Markwart remained unshakably calm. "Do you believe that I would not reward your loyalty and diligence?" he asked with a laugh. "My friend, there are many roles left to fill, and I have plans for you, do not doubt, plans that will bring you all that you desire. As the Church makes its way into the world of secular politics, I expect to make many enemies. Powerful men like Targon Bree Kalas, Duke of Wester-Honce, who is not pleased that the largest city of his duchy has fallen under Church rule. I am old and tired; it may well be that I will need a champion. Who better than Marcalo De'Unnero?"
"Master De'Unnero?" the man asked, still on the edge of anger. "Or merely Brother De'Unnero?"
Markwart laughed loudly. "Abbot of St. Precious," he decided then and there. "Bishop Francis has too many issues to be concerned with already. He will be the hand of state, and you the hand of Church in Palmaris, though I shan't limit your influence and duties to this one city, I promise."
"And who answers to whom?" De'Unnero asked, his glare focused on Francis as he spat out every word.
"Hand of state, hand of Church," Markwart reiterated, "both answer to me. Now, enough of this divisive talk. We have a common opponent here: King Danube Brock Ursal. Our attention must remain with him and his secular advisers, particularly Kalas, who, according to Abbot Je'howith, will prove no easy foe. Kalas once led the Allheart Brigade, and earned two great plumes in his helmet. Indeed, a large contingent of that elite fighting unit accompanied the King to Palmaris. So while our hold appears strong at the moment, one mistake could give the upstart Duke all the room he needs to sweep into power."
Markwart looked at each of the men in turn, his cold stare sending shivers through Francis and igniting eager fires in De'Unnero. "We must plan for every possibility," the Father Abbot said grimly.
"He plays you as he would a lute!" Duke Targon Bree Kalas roared, the loudest and angriest tone he had ever used in speaking to his King.
Danube's glare set the excitable man back on his heels, reminded him of his place. "And which string doyou intend to pluck?" he replied sarcastically.
"Your pardon, my King," Constance Pemblebury interrupted, moving between the men. "I believe Duke Kalas is concerned about the potential troubles for the Crown." She glared at Kalas as she finished. "Surely he means no insult to the Crown."
Danube chuckled then, alleviating the tension. All of them understood the mood of the city. Father Abbot Markwart had become a sort of hero to the common folk. That, combined with the work of Bishop Francis, who was proving a generous and worthy leader, had weakened the King's posi-tion should Danube decide to revoke the title of bishop.
"You allowed him to proclaim his intension to take back every magical stone," Duke Kalas dared to press. "How powerful will the Church then be, and how crippled the Crown?"
"I let the Father Abbot have his way in the meeting out of deference to his delicate condition," the King replied, and he didn't seem the least bit angry, to Constance Pemblebury's relief. "His words at that unofficial meeting carry no legal weight. And even should he openly and publicly pro-claim that all gemstones are to be returned to the Church, how will he ever enforce such a position in Ursal? Or in Entel, or in any of the other cities of the south, where the Church is not nearly as influential as up in these for-bidding places."
"But here, in Palmaris, in the place where he was attacked and miracu-lously survived, he is a formidable foe," Constance remarked.
Even Duke Kalas, so obviously frustrated, understood that.
"True enough," King Danube replied, and more true than Constance or Kalas understood, he realized, for he alone knew of the terrifying visit Markwart's spirit had made to his private rooms in Ursal.
"Your carriage, my King," came the announcement of Danube's favored bodyguard.
"He should come to us," Kalas growled, "and we should be at Chasewind Manor, not here." Danube and Constance ignored him, gathering up their traveling cloaks and heading for the door.
They were met at the door of Chasewind Manor by Abbot Je'howith, the old man seeming at ease and welcoming the King with a wide smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Bishop De'Unnero returned to Palmaris this day," he informed the King. "He is at the table with Father Abbot Mark-wart and Brother - Master Francis Dellacourt, whom the Father Abbot has decided will play a large role in the continuing work to better formulate Palmaris."
"De'Unnero," Duke Kalas spat. "I should cut off his head."
Abbot Je'howith only smiled and nodded, not wishing to start that argu-ment, and also confident that if Duke Kalas, no meager fighter to be sure, ever tried to do so, the dangerous monk would break him into pieces. The warriors of the King's army couldn't understand the truth of the matter, the old abbot mused as he led the King and his entourage to the meeting room. A man might rise to the highest level within the army, might become a leader of the Allheart Brigade, but that man would be far from attaining the skill of a brother justice and certainly could not hope to match one such as De'Unnero, who trained the brothers justice!
Markwart, De'Unnero, and Francis were seated at one end of a long oaken table when Abbot Je'howith led the procession in. The Father Abbot had organized this seating cunningly, Je'howith immediately noted. He had left one end seat vacant, of course, for King Danube, but it faced the eastern window - the King would have the misfortune of looking into the morning sun. Six empty chairs, three on either side of the King's, ran along the table, and Constance Pemblebury and Duke Kalas were quick to take those immediately to the King's right and left.
Abbot Je'howith stared at the four empty chairs, surprised that Mark-wart had ordered so many put about the table, since he knew that King Danube would come in with only the two advisers. But then Je'howith figured it out, and he looked at the Father Abbot with even more respect. This was a test: which seat would Je'howith choose, one next to a King's adviser or one beside Markwart's advisers?
With a nervous glance at King Danube, the old abbot took a seat - right beside Abbot De'Unnero.
Kalas gave a snort; the battle lines had been drawn.
"I will not shuffle about the issue," King Danube began, interrupting the Father Abbot as the older man started formal greetings. "I have come here to see that the citizens of Palmaris - my citizens - are being treated accord-ingly, and that the city is under proper control and proper care."
Markwart glared at the man, presenting an even more imposing image with the sun back-lighting him so. "You know Bishop De'Unnero?" he asked, moving his right hand to indicate the powerful monk.
Kalas and De'Unnero immediately locked stares, the two sensing that they shared similar position and purpose for their respective leaders, that fact making them immediate rivals.
"And this is Francis Dellacourt," Markwart went on, extending his left hand. "Until this morning, Brother Francis served as headmaster of St. Pre-cious, but now I intend to promote him to bishop of Palmaris."
That brought curious stares from everyone at Danube's end of the table, even from Je'howith, who had not been informed of just how high Mark-wart meant to promote young Brother Francis.
"The Bishop sits on your right, by your own introduction," King Danube asserted.
"Former Bishop," Father Abbot Markwart explained. "Master De'Unnero served Palmaris well in his tenure - "
Another loud snort from Duke Kalas.
"For the city was in complete disarray," Markwart finished, ignoring the impertinent Duke. "Now that time has passed, and so has his reign. He will become abbot of St. Precious."
Constance Pemblebury got the King's attention, and Danube gave a slight nod, allowing her to speak for him. "Is not the Bishop of Palmaris also the abbot of St. Precious?" she asked, the question that was on the minds of all of the four from Ursal. There was more than a little concern in the woman's voice, an indication that she, and likely the others, as well, would worry about that proclamation. Did Markwart mean to keep two powerful Church leaders in Palmaris?
"I have plans for St. Precious at this time," Markwart explained. "The reopening of the northern villages and the Timberlands will require much attention from the Church. Bishop Francis will not have the time to turn his eyes to the north, with so many issues yet to be settled in Palmaris."
King Danube sat back to digest the surprising, and somewhat disturbing, information. "Perhaps, then, the time has come again for an abbot and a baron," he said, and Kalas grinned widely at the words he had so desper-ately wanted to hear.
"Perhaps not," Father Abbot Markwart replied immediately, not even blinking.
That brought a few uneasy shuffles from the King's end of the table. The Father Abbot had openly opposed King Danube!
"Father Abbot," the King began firmly but calmly, "I agreed to a bishop on a trial basis, one that, from the reports I have seen, has failed miserably."
"You have not witnessed enough, then," Markwart replied. "Are you to judge the arrangement based on the first few weeks, when the city was in turmoil and in dire peril?"
"You exaggerate," the King remarked.
Markwart came out of his seat, leaning forward over the table and turning his face so that his garish scar was visible. "Do I?" he yelled.
Kalas, too, jumped to his feet, looking at De'Unnero, but the former Bishop remained calmly seated.
"This alone is proof enough that the sacred gemstones do not belong in the possession of secular fools," the Father Abbot intoned.
The King sat back, holding fast to his calm demeanor. "And has not Father Abbot Markwart himself sold such stones to 'secular fools'?" he asked. "Your words match not your actions, Father Abbot, and so we are left with a difficult situation here. I cannot have the entire merchant class angry with me."
Markwart glared at him, the same imposing look the spirit of the Father Abbot had bestowed on the King when he had visited him in Ursal. And the King internally withered under that gaze. But he was the King, after all, and so he pressed on. "My good Father Abbot," he stated, working hard to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I cannot conduct proper relations with Behren, nor can I satisfy the needs of those important merchant families -  the ones who supply Honce-the-Bear with so many vital goods - while you are persecuting such men in this city. I will not tolerate it, Father Abbot. I cannot tolerate it!"
"The greatest threat to the Crown comes now from some who have gemstones in their possession," De'Unnero put in, "secular men, who do not deserve such sacred gifts of God and who do not understand the power and responsibility of such stones."
Father Abbot Markwart, who was about to respond to the King, bit back his words and turned an angry glare on De'Unnero, for it was not De'Unnero's place to speak. Not at all. But not wanting to show any dis-cord within his own ranks, he let him continue.
"They are the disciples of Avelyn Desbris the heretic, and do not doubt their power or their intent to destroy both Church and state," De'Unnero went on. "It was one of them who attacked Father Abbot Markwart -  anddesires to make a similar attempt upon the life of King Danube, do not doubt."
"The King is well protected," Duke Kalas put in as he resumed his seat. This time, it was King Danube's turn to glare angrily at one of his subordi-nates. But then the King put his chin in his hands, and Markwart settled back into his chair, both of them seeming more amused than distressed.
"Pray continue, Duke Kalas," Danube said.
"And you, Abbot De'Unnero," Markwart added.
"You do not appreciate the power of these disciples of the heretic, and that may well bring about your downfall," De'Unnero stated before Kalas could cut him off.
Duke Kalas came out of his chair again, leaning threateningly across the table toward the former Bishop, but Constance grabbed his arm and held him back.
"Do tell," the King prompted.
Markwart caught De'Unnero's gaze, reminding the man to tread lightly here. He was speaking, after all, of the death of the King and the monarchy, no light subject!
"The leader of the band, a very dangerous warrior named Nightbird, is operating in the northland, and is even now in the region of the Barbacan, I believe, no doubt rousing monsters to his call this time," the new abbot of St. Precious explained. "And yet, it all could have been averted, for I had him in my grasp - him and all his fellow conspirators. They were mine to take, to kill then and there or to bring back to Palmaris for public trial, one over which both King Danube and Father Abbot Markwart might have presided, that their alliance, the glory of that joining, be revealed to the beleaguered populace of Palmaris."
"Beleaguered," Duke Kalas echoed, snorting to show how ironic he thought it that the former tyrannical Bishop should speak of the folk of Pal-maris that way. "There is a fine word."
But King Danube was in no mood for Kalas' antics, for he sensed that De'Unnero would be a formidable foe. "You say that you had them within your grasp," he said to De'Unnero, "and yet you could not take them?"
"No," De'Unnero admitted. "The one called Nightbird and his fellow conspirators run free in the northland - and all because of the actions of soldiers of the Crown."
"If one of my soldiers erred - " the King began.
"Erred?" De'Unnero echoed incredulously, drawing a narrow-eyed gaze from the King, who was not accustomed to being interrupted, and another glare from Markwart, warning him once again to tread lightly. "The leader and his soldiers did noterr, my King," De'Unnero explained. "At that most critical moment, when the rebellion might have been put down, they turned against the Crown."
That proclamation brought the King's head up, and calmed Duke Kalas considerably, for what had seemed to be the rambling boast of an unimpor-tant man suddenly carried the potential of great weight.
"It is true," De'Unnero went on, glowering at Duke Kalas as he spoke. "In the northland, far north of the Timberlands, I had Nightbird trapped, but an officer of the Kingsmen and his foolish soldiers would not support me. Aye, they turned against me, supporting the rebel Nightbird over their rightful leader, the Bishop of Palmaris, appointed by King and Father Abbot."
"A title you no longer hold," Kalas pointedly reminded him.
"At that time, to Captain Kilronney and his soldiers, I was the Bishop," De'Unnero retorted, not backing down an inch. He knew the King was vul-nerable on this point. "And yet, this captain of the Kingsmen, officer of the Crown, went against me, and thus left the most dangerous criminal in the world at large in the wild northland."
"A man whose co-conspirators thrive in Palmaris," Markwart cut in. He nodded at the former Bishop, relaying to De'Unnero his approval of his performance. De'Unnero had played his part perfectly and had turned this meeting greatly in the favor of Father Abbot Markwart.
And so it went for the rest of the morning. Father Abbot Markwart detailed the dangers within Palmaris: the real danger of the Behrenese underground; and the would-be assassin Jill, companion of Nightbird, the other disciple of Avelyn Desbris, who remained at large.
The King sat and listened, impatiently waving for Kalas to sit down and shut his mouth whenever the Duke tried to interrupt.
Afterward, during the carriage ride back to the house of Crump, the King, Kalas, and Constance were quiet. They all knew Markwart had car-ried the day. De'Unnero's claim that an officer of the Crown had helped an associate of the one who had tried to assassinate the Father Abbot had given the advantage to Markwart, one he had not relinquished for the remainder of the discussion.
In Chasewind Manor, Abbot Je'howith listened carefully as Markwart congratulated De'Unnero.
"You have shown your value in a manner I would not have expected," the Father Abbot remarked, nodding at the man, even patting him on the shoulder.
"Enough so that you would restore me as bishop of Palmaris?" De'Unnero asked, turning his always-dangerous gaze on Francis as he spoke.
"No," Markwart said immediately. "The importance of that position is greatly diminished now. The duty of the Bishop will be no more than to placate the masses and the impertinent merchants. A most distasteful job -  and one in which the talents of Marcalo De'Unnero would be wasted."
That brought a smile to De'Unnero and made Francis wince.
"No, my friend, my champion," Markwart purred, "we have other plans to formulate and other regions to conquer."
The confidence was not without merit, Abbot Je'howith believed - and feared, since he was being surprisingly ignored in this conversation, an onlooker to the victory celebration and nothing more.
But the wise old man swallowed his anger and reminded himself that he was better off here than with the pouting Kalas and the nervous King. Je'howith understood that Markwart had won the day, that Church had prevailed over state today and the position of bishop as leader of Palmaris seemed quite secure.
They parted soon after, Je'howith going to the private room Francis had provided for him in St. Precious to reconsider his position. He wanted to be on the winning side, whichever side that might be. He had planned to sit on the fence and anger neither Father Abbot nor King. Now he leaned Markwart's way, for it seemed painfully clear to him that the Father Abbot was the more formidable.