Kalas, well aware of Prince Midalis' relationship with the Abellican Church in Vanguard, didn't blink. "How steady is your Church, Abbot Braumin," he remarked. "First you claim Avelyn a heretic, now a saint. Do you so sway between good and evil? Do you worship God today and a demon tomorrow, or in your eyes are they, perhaps, one and the same? "
"Your blasphemy does not shock me, Duke Kalas," Braumin replied, "nor does it impress me."
"If you believe that I have any desire to impress you, or any of your clergy leadership, then you do not understand me at all," came the confident and firm answer.
Abbot Braumin gave a slight bow, conceding the point, not wanting to go down this tangent path.
"I have no jurisdiction over Caer Tinella," the Duke of Wester-Honce went on. "You should be throwing your writ upon the desk of Duke Tetrafel of the Wilderlands."
"I need not the permission of the Crown or any of its representatives to begin construction of the chapel of Avelyn in Caer Tinella," Abbot Braumin returned.
"Then why come here?" asked Kalas. "Do you mean to taunt me by flaunting the expansion of your Church? Or to convince me, perhaps, that your way-the Light of Avelyn, I am hearing it called-is the one true way, and that Markwart and all the evil he wrought was but an aberration, a corrected mistake? " "I inform you of the construction of the new chapel in Caer Tinella merely as a courtesy," Abbot Braumin answered. "I intend to use masons from Palmaris for that work, and for the expansion of St. Precious."
Kalas was nodding, obviously bored, and it took a long moment for that last part to even register. He snapped his glare up at Abbot Braumin, his eyes again going narrow and threatening. "We have already settled this matter," he said.
"What is settled in one moment might be altered in another," Braumin replied.
Kalas just stared at him.
"There is new information," the abbot said.
"You have found a way around the law? " Duke Kalas asked skeptically.
"You decide," Abbot Braumin replied, with equal confidence. "Brother Dellman told me of a most unusual encounter up in Vanguard, Duke Kalas: a battle fought with powries."
"Not so unusual in these troubled times," Kalas replied, glancing at the lone sentry in the room, an AUheart knight, standing at attention to the side of the great desk.
Abbot Braumin studied the Duke carefully, looking for any signs of unintentional personal betrayal, as he continued. "Apparently, these powries had some trouble with their ship."
"Abarrelboat?"
Now it was Abbot Braumin's turn to glance at the AUheart knight, then questioningly back to Kalas.
The Duke caught the cue. "Leave us," he instructed the knight. The man looked at him curiously, but then snapped a chest-thumping salute and strode from the room.
"Palmaris ship," Braumin said bluntly as soon as the door had closed, and he paused and let the notes of that devastating information hang in the air. Kalas did shift in his seat then, and Braumin imagined the man fighting an inner struggle at that moment. Should he feign ignorance? Or should he concoct some wild tale of escape?
The Duke folded his hands but did not sit back comfortably in his chair, a clear sign to Braumin that his words had intrigued the man and, perhaps, had scared him.
"A curious thing," Braumin went on, his tone now casual. "Brother Dellman insists that he recognized one or two of the powries."
"They all look alike, so I have observed," Duke Kalas said dryly.
"Though some might carry remarkable scars or wear distinctive clothing," Abbot Braumin remarked.
Duke Kalas sat very still, staring, probing; and Braumin knew that he had hit the man squarely, that Brother Dellman's beliefs about the origins of the powrie band in Vanguard had been right on the mark. And now, given Kalas' reactions, Abbot Braumin knew that the powrie band had not escaped from Palmaris. Duke Kalas had a secret, a very dark one.
"And where does your Brother Dellman believe he once saw these same powries? " Kalas asked, again in dry and seemingly unconcerned tones. But again, a subtle shift in his seat betrayed his true anxieties.
"He cannot yet be certain," Abbot Braumin replied, emphasizing the word "yet." "He envisions a misty and drizzly morning…" He let his voice trail off, the threat to Kalas hanging obvious and ominous.
The Duke stood up suddenly. "What games do you play?" he asked, walking to the side of his desk to a brandy locker with, Braumin noted, a rather large sword hanging over it. The Duke poured himself a drink and motioned an offer to Braumin, who shook his head.
Kalas swirled the liquid in his glass a couple of times, then slowly turned, half sitting on the edge of the locker, his expression calm once more.
"If you have more to say, then speak it clearly," he bade the abbot.
"I doubt there will ever be more to say," Braumin replied. "I will be too busy with the construction of the chapel of Avelyn in Caer Tinella and with the expansion of St. Precious."
There it was, laid out clearly and simply.
Duke Kalas sat very still for a long while, digesting all of the information, sipping his drink, then swallowing it suddenly in one great gulp. He threw the glass against the wall, shattering it, and rose up so forcefully that the heavy locker skidded back a few inches.
"You have heard of the word 'extortion'? " he asked.
"You have heard of the word 'polities'? " Braumin came right back.
Kalas reached back and above him and tore the sword from the wall, bringing it out before him. "Perhaps a personal meeting with your God will teach you the difference between the two," he started to say, but he stopped, staring curiously, as Abbot Braumin presented his hand forward, palm up, revealing a small dark stone, a graphite, humming with power.
"Shall we see which of us God chooses to take and instruct this day? " he asked, a wry, confident smile on his face; though in truth, his guts were chuming. Braumin Herde had never been a warrior, nor was he overproficient with the gemstones. With his graphite, he could bring forth a small bolt of lightning, but he doubted it would do more than slow fierce Kalas for a few moments, and perhaps straighten a bit of the curly black hair on the man's head.
But still, Braumin was not surprised by this sudden turn, not at all. His quiet accusation against Kalas was no minor thing, after all!
And so he was ready for this moment, had prepared himself extensively, and he stood perfectly still, hand up firm.
"You play dangerous games, Abbot Braumin."
"Not so, Duke Kalas," Braumin replied. "We each use whatever means we must to further that cause in which we believe. The revelation of a supposed dark secret, perhaps, or a battle on a foggy morning."
"And what cause will you further? " Kalas spat.
"St. Precious will be expanded," the monk replied. He lowered his hand as Kalas lowered his sword.
"That is all?"
"That is all." Braumin Herde didn't add "for now," but he saw from Kalas' sour expression that the Duke understood the implication well enough. Abbot Braumin had a heavy sword now, hanging in the air above the head of Duke Targon Bree Kalas, and Kalas' own inability to dismiss the hints as preposterous were all the proof that Braumin needed to know that what Dellman suspected was true: Duke Kalas of Wester-Honce, perhaps the closest adviser in all the world to King Danube Brock Ursal himself, had utilized powries, wretched bloody caps, in his quest to strengthen the power of the Throne in Palmaris.
Abbot Braumin's step as he exited Chasewind Manor soon after wassurprisingly to him-not as boisterous as the ones that had brought him to the place, though he had the signed approval for St. Precious' expansion tucked safely under one arm. No, Braumin found the whole business of coercing Duke Kalas a most distasteful affair, and he prayed that he would never, ever have to repeat it.