DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga)

by R. A. Salvatore

  Andacanavar had come back to the south, as well, though he had taken a roundabout route and they hadn’t seen him in a couple of days. With Midalis’ blessing, the ranger had decided to haunt the region of Vanguard for the rest of the summer, to learn what he could about his southern neighbors in the hopes that he could further bridge the chasm between the two peoples. The ranger had also elicited from Midalis the Prince’s promise that, when he returned home in the autumn, Midalis would accompany him.

  There remained the not so little matter of the blood-brothering.

  “Pireth Vanguard!” the point scout called back.

  “Well, she is still standing, then,” Midalis remarked. A few moments later, rounding a bend and cresting a rise in the trail, Liam and Midalis came in sight of the fortress, its towers stark against the heavy gray sky hanging over the Gulf of Corona behind it.

  Before they entered the fortress, the pair noted that a trader was in port, but it wasn’t until Midalis saw Warder Presso running toward him that he realized something unusual was going on. The battle-weary Prince was relieved indeed to learn the Warder’s news, to learn that nothing sinister had happened in the days since their departure.

  Still, a monk visiting from Palmaris, come to take Abbot Agronguerre back to St.-Mere-Abelle, was no small matter; and though he was tired and hot and dirty, Prince Midalis decided that he should go straight to St. Belfour to meet the man. Liam, of course, willingly followed; and the two were joined by Captain Al’u’met, who was riding Warder Presso’s own fine horse. On the trails to the abbey, Al’u’met told of the happenings in Palmaris yet again; and as they nodded, hanging on every word, both the Prince and his adviser came to understand why Midalis’ brother, the King, had not responded to their request for soldiers.

  “I had heard rumors that the Father Abbot had died,” Midalis said when Al’u’met finished. “But never would I have believed that such turmoil and treacherous circumstance surrounded that tragic event.”

  “The kingdom will be long in recovering from the scars of the demon dactyl,” Al’u’met said grimly. “Perhaps the Church will choose its next leader wisely, to the benefit of us all.”

  “Ye’re seein’ benefit in anythin’ the Abellican Church’s doin’?” Liam O’Blythe asked the dark-skinned southerner bluntly.

  “I am Abellican,” Al’u’met explained, “and have followed that path to God for many decades.”

  “I only meant—”

  Al’u’met stopped him with a smile and an upraised hand.

  “When will they convene the College of Abbots?” Midalis asked.

  “I am bid to transport Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and any entourage the abbot chooses to bring, to St.-Mere-Abelle in the autumn,” Al’u’met explained. “They will convene in Calember, as they did last time.”

  Midalis started to answer, but then paused and considered the words carefully. “This Brother Dellman,” he asked, “who sent him?”

  “Abbot Braumin of St. Precious.”

  “I do not know the man,” Midalis replied, “nor have I ever heard Abbot Agronguerre mention him. He is young?”

  “For an abbot, very much so,” Al’u’met explained. “Abbot Braumin has earned his rank by deed, and not by mere age. He stood with Nightbird and Jilseponie, even under promise of torture by the Father Abbot. He would not renounce his beliefs, though his refusal seemed as if it would surely cost him his life. Brother Dellman, too. A fine young man, by my estimation.”

  Al’u’met started to take the conversation that way, but Midalis would not let him, more concerned with the one thing that nagged at him, just below his consciousness, about this visit.

  “Why have you come so early?” he asked plainly.

  “It is a long voyage, and one unpredictable,” Al’u’met explained. “The weather was not so foul, and yet we had to put in at Dancard for repair.”

  “You could still be in Palmaris dock,” Midalis countered, and he noticed the concerned expression come over Liam’s face, and realized then that he might be giving away his suspicions. “You could have waited out the rest of the month in the south and still have had more than enough time to come up here, fetch Agronguerre, and return to St.-Mere-Abelle.”

  “I could not chance the weather,” Al’u’met answered, but Midalis saw right through that excuse. Every sailor along the gulf knew well that the late-spring weather was much more treacherous than that of late summer and early autumn. Not only had Al’u’met come up prematurely, but he had done so against the conventional wisdom of the gulf sailors.

  What was it, then? Prince Midalis wondered. Why had this protégé of the new abbot come running all the way to Vanguard with an invitation that could have been delivered by any one of the many traders that would venture here over the next month and a half? And certainly a man as prominent as Abbot Agronguerre would have had little trouble in finding his own passage south. Following that same line of thought, it struck Midalis that it made more sense for the abbot to use one of Midalis’ ships, and not go south with Al’u’met, that he might return before the winter season set in deep.

  Unless Abbot Braumin and his cohorts weren’t expecting Agronguerre to return to Vanguard anytime soon, Midalis reasoned; and it occurred to him then that this was much more than an invitation. He had a difficult time holding his smile in check all the rest of the way to St. Belfour.

  They arrived late in the afternoon, and met immediately with Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and the ever-present Brother Haney. Dellman told his tale yet again, more quickly this time, since the Prince had already heard all of Al’u’met’s contributions. What most interested the Prince, and what he made Dellman repeat several times and elaborate on, were the parts concerning his brother’s actions in the city.

  Brother Dellman took care to paint King Danube in a positive light, and it was not a hard task for the young monk. He explained that Danube had wisely held back to allow Elbryan and Jilseponie to settle their war with Markwart. “He understood that this fight was about the soul of the Church more than any threat to his secular kingdom,” Dellman explained. “It was the proper course for him to take.”

  Midalis nodded, not surprised, for ever had his older brother been wise in the ways of diplomacy; and one of the primary lessons they both had learned at a young age was never to engage the kingdom in a fight that did not directly involve them.

  “His wisdom after the battle was no less,” Brother Dellman went on, resisting the temptation to offer the glaring exception of Danube’s choice for the new baron, installing the hostile Duke Kalas instead of a more diplomatic soul. “He begged Jilseponie to take the barony.”

  That raised Prince Midalis’ dark eyebrows and those of Liam O’Blythe, as well.

  “If you knew the woman, you would better appreciate the correctness of that choice,” Captain Al’u’met put in.

  “Then I will have to make it a point to meet this most remarkable woman,” Prince Midalis sincerely replied.

  “You will not be disappointed,” said Warder Presso, which caught all of the Vanguardsmen by surprise. “If she is the same woman, Jill, who served with me at Pireth Tulme many years ago, then you will be duly impressed.”

  “A pity that she’ll not be at the College of Abbots,” Agronguerre remarked.

  “An invitation will surely be extended,” said Dellman. “And just as certainly, Jilseponie will refuse. She has gone north, back into the Timberlands, to heal her heart. Better will all the world be if that process is successful and Jilseponie returns to us soon!”

  His obvious enthusiasm and sincerity had all the heads bobbing in agreement, and had all of those who had not met the woman—including Warder Presso, who had not seen her in years—anxious indeed to gaze upon this growing legend.

  They talked long into the night, informally, mostly trading anecdotes of their experiences during the war. Abbot Agronguerre excused himself from vespers, and allowed Brothers Haney and Dellman to do likewise, so that they could
continue this most productive and enjoyable meeting. When finally they ended, past midnight, there had been forged an honest friendship between them all, and all the secular guests were invited to remain at the abbey for as long as they desired.

  Still, Brother Dellman was surprised indeed when Prince Midalis bade him to hold back a moment while all the others filed out of the abbot’s audience chamber.

  “I find it curious that you have come up here so early,” the Prince explained.

  “We simply wanted to make sure that the message of the College of Abbots was properly delivered and in a timely enough manner for Abbot Agronguerre to make his preparations,” Brother Dellman replied.

  “That could have been done in an easier and more convenient manner,” the Prince observed.

  Brother Dellman shrugged, having no practical answer and not wanting to get into the discussion at that time.

  “You are a good and trusted friend of the new abbot of St. Precious,” Midalis observed.

  “Abbot Braumin Herde,” Dellman replied. “I traveled with him across the land, running from Markwart and running toward Avelyn. I was beside him at the miracle of Aida, and again beside him when he was taken captive by Markwart, and by the King’s soldiers.”

  “And now, with Markwart dead and discredited, the new abbot of St. Precious, your friend Braumin Herde, will have a strong voice at the College, yes?”

  Brother Dellman considered the strange question for a moment, then just shrugged.

  “The tide flows in his favor,” the Prince observed. “He who was instrumental in the fall of Father Abbot Markwart, he who leads those of the other philosophy, Avelyn’s philosophy, will certainly be heard clearly at the College of Abbots.”

  “If the other abbots and masters are wise, they will listen to Abbot Braumin’s every word with great care,” Brother Dellman remarked.

  “And does Abbot Braumin intend to try for the highest position in the Church?”

  That set Dellman back on his heels. “Forgive me, my Prince, but it is not within my province to discuss such matters.”

  “Of course,” said Midalis. “Yet you said that he was a young man—too young to be so nominated and elected, I would guess, given my understanding of your Church.”

  “You know much of us,” replied Dellman, who was growing increasingly uneasy with this whole train of conversation.

  “But perhaps Abbot Braumin has set his sights toward nominating another for the position of father abbot,” Prince Midalis said. “Perhaps he, like many others, no doubt, is seeking a person who will lead the Church in a better direction.”

  “That would be his charge, my Prince,” Brother Dellman said, “as it is now the charge of every abbot and every master.”

  A wry smile came over the handsome young Prince’s face. “And so, given that, would not this young abbot send out his most trusted friends to study those likely candidates?” he asked.

  “Again you ask of me that which I cannot answer,” Dellman replied, which, of course, was an answer in itself, and one that pleased Prince Midalis greatly.

  “I will say this to you without any personal motives,” Midalis offered. “If you and your friend the abbot are indeed thinking that Abbot Agronguerre might be a proper selection for that most important position within your Church, then know that I second that nomination with all of my heart. He is a wonderful man, a man of diplomacy—his work in quelling the trepidations of the Alpinadoran leaders in our recent truce was marvelous and generous—and, foremost, a man of God. I have never truly considered myself overreligious, good Brother Dellman, but when I hear Abbot Agronguerre speaking—and always his words come from the truth that is in his heart—I know that I am hearing the will of God.”

  “Strong words,” Brother Dellman gasped, for they were indeed, words that would border on heresy if Midalis were speaking them with any intent of personal gain! And yet, in looking at the man, in considering the situation faced by both Church and State, Dellman understood that the Prince was speaking from his heart.

  “If you are considering Abbot Agronguerre for nomination, then look as deeply as you may,” Prince Midalis went on. “For surely, the more familiar you become with Abbot Agronguerre, the more firmly you will desire him as your new father abbot. This I know, Brother Dellman, for I have served beside the man for many years and have not once found error in his ways. Oh, I have not always agreed with his choices; but even for those over which we were at odds, I knew that his choice had come from a logical and consistent philosophy, one based on the highest and most noble traditions of your Church.”

  “I will consider your words carefully, Prince Midalis,” Brother Dellman answered.

  “Then you admit that you are here for more reasons than to deliver an invitation?” Midalis asked with that wry grin again.

  Brother Dellman, too, couldn’t help but smile. “Forgive me, my Prince,” he answered yet again, “but it is not within my province to discuss such matters.”

  Midalis laughed aloud and clapped Dellman on the shoulder as he walked past, collecting the man in his wake.

  Dellman retired to his room soon after, but was far too excited to even think about sleep. He paced his small room, digesting all that he had learned, thinking that Abbot Braumin had been wise indeed to send him to this place, and that the Abellican Church might soon elect the leader it needed to get through this dark time.

  Abbot Agronguerre hustled down to the front courtyard of St. Belfour a couple of days later, when he learned that a most unexpected visitor had arrived, seeking audience with him and with Prince Midalis, who was still within the abbey. Along the way, the abbot managed to find Haney and Dellman, and bade them accompany him, though he didn’t pause long enough to fill them in on the details.

  As soon as they came in sight of the courtyard, the source of the abbot’s nervous excitement became clear—in the nearly seven-foot frame of mighty Andacanavar.

  “Greetings, friend Andacanavar,” Agronguerre said, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. “Good tidings, I pray, bring you to us at this time. You remember Brother Haney, I am sure, and let me introduce to you a visitor from the south, Brother—”

  “Holan Dellman,” Andacanavar interrupted, and both Haney and Agronguerre looked curiously from the ranger to their southern brother.

  “Greetings again, Andacanavar of Alpinador,” Brother Dellman remarked, and Agronguerre detected a bit of nervousness along with the obvious familiarity.

  “We have both walked a long road, it would seem, to come to the same place,” the ranger said with a grin. But it seemed to Agronguerre as if Andacanavar, too, was straining to be polite. These two had a history, he realized, and one that had not been without conflict.

  Indeed, Dellman and the ranger had met first spiritually, and not physically. Dellman had gone along with Master Jojonah, then Brother Francis and other brothers from St.-Mere-Abelle on their caravan journey to the Barbacan to investigate the demise of the demon dactyl. Their road had taken them through Alpinador, and after a fight with monsters outside of one Alpinadoran village, Brother Dellman, scouting out of body, had found that they were being shadowed by Andacanavar. Master Jojonah had then sent Brother Braumin out to the man spiritually with soul stone magic, to quietly suggest that he should turn around and go home. Failing that, Braumin had been instructed to possess the man and walk his body back to the southland.

  But Andacanavar, stronger of will than the monks could ever have expected, had turned the tables, had walked through the spiritual connection to possess Braumin, and then had used the monk’s physical body to go into the encampment and learn more about the brothers.

  The two had come to terms over their misunderstanding, but still there remained some tension between them—and between the ranger and Braumin’s supporters, who had seen their leader magically and spiritually overwhelmed by the man. The act of possession was among the most distasteful products of gemstone magic, a rape of the spirit; and two who had known such intimat
e battle as that would never, ever forget it.

  “I had thought you to be back in Alpinador, with Bruinhelde,” Abbot Agronguerre remarked.

  “Bruinhelde is not back in Alpinador, either,” the ranger explained, slowly turning his gaze away from Brother Dellman. “We found the road clear.”

  “We heard as much,” replied Agronguerre. “My brethren returned to us several days ago, and glad we were to learn that Alpinador was spared the trials of the demon dactyl.”

  “We fought our share,” Andacanavar informed him. “But good tidings indeed that the threat to our homeland had ended. And yet it was tidings of further war that brought us back to the south, soon after Prince Midalis and the others left us.”

  A shadow crossed over Abbot Agronguerre’s chubby face.

  “Prince Midalis is here, by the reports,” the ranger remarked. “Take me to him that I have to tell my tale but once.”

  They found Midalis eating his breakfast on the flat top of the abbey’s northwestern tower. Predictably, Liam O’Blythe was there as well; and it occurred to everyone there, Liam included, how similar the man and his relationship to Prince Midalis was to that of Brother Haney and his relationship to Abbot Agronguerre. Both had been born peasants, and through deed alone had risen to important, if little recognized, positions, for both were sounding boards for their respective leaders, confidants who first heard the policies the men would institute. Both were younger than the men they followed, protégés of sorts: one the likely successor as abbot of St. Belfour, the other already appointed an earl, and likely in line for the duchy of Vanguard.