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

by R. A. Salvatore

  Here then was Duke Kalas, speaking words to elevate the bitterness to explosive levels. And here then was Jilseponie, was Pony, embracing those words.

  “Constance will return to Ursal,” Kalas said flatly. “I will see to it.”

  Jilseponie paused and thought on that long and hard. “I care little,” she replied, though she knew it was not the truth. “But warn her, as her friend, to beware her actions, and pray, Duke Kalas, beware your own. My tolerance has expired, I fear, and my sword is not as rusty as you hope it to be.”

  “Threats, my Queen?”

  “Promises, my Duke.”

  Kalas gave another chuckle, but it was obvious to Jilseponie that she had rattled the man. “And all for speaking a truth that Queen Jilseponie cannot bear to hear,” he did say, and he bowed and turned to leave.

  This time, Jilseponie was more than ready to let him go.

  She turned back to look at the city, to the sparkling river and the white sails of many ships. She was glad that Roger and Dainsey had come to spend the summer with her, was glad to have two friends, at least, in this prison of stone walls and pretty gardens.

  “Two friends,” she said quietly, and her gaze inadvertently and inevitably turned to the doorway that led to the corridor and stairwell that would take her to the private quarters of the King and Queen, a bedroom and a sitting room that had been especially cold of late.

  From the look on Dainsey’s face, Roger understood that they had company at their private apartment as soon as he entered. And from the defensive manner in which Dainsey stood, her arms tight at her sides, Roger could guess easily enough who had come calling, even before he followed her gaze to the diminutive figure standing in the shadows at the side of the room.

  “Greetings, Kelerin’tul,” he said to the elf. The small creature stepped out to the center of the room, and Dainsey predictably shrank back from him.

  “You have taken the next step?” the elf asked, not bothering with any niceties.

  “Spoken with Jilseponie?” Roger replied. “Bluntly? Yes. As you instructed.”

  The elf nodded, motioning for him to continue.

  Although all his information was in Jilseponie’s favor, Roger hated this. He wasn’t pleased with the Touel’alfar’s attitude, their insistence that he travel to Ursal and lay to rest once and for all their fears concerning the new queen of Honce-the-Bear.

  “It is as I told you it would be,” Roger assured Kelerin’tul, his tone edged with anger. “Jilseponie has understood her responsibility since the day Elbryan taught her bi’nelle dasada. Your lady knows as much, and yet you insist on this?”

  “Insist upon watching over her?” Kelerin’tul replied. “Indeed, and ever shall we.”

  Roger nearly spat with disgust.

  “You believe that a friend should be more trusted,” Kelerin’tul reasoned.

  “You have been spying upon her for years,” Roger replied. “Watching her every move as if you expect her to launch an army to attack your homeland at any second—an army trained in your ways of battle!”

  “Expect?” Kelerin’tul echoed. “No, that is too strong a word.”

  “But you fear it,” said Roger.

  “We are a cautious people,” the elf admitted.

  “Yet Jilseponie was long ago named elf-friend,” said Roger. “Does that mean nothing?”

  Kelerin’tul laughed at him, a sweet and melodic, yet mocking, sound. “If it did not, she would have long ago been killed,” the elf assured him. And Roger had no doubt that Kelerin’tul was speaking the truth. “And surely she would never have been allowed to travel to Ursal to sit by the side of the human king.”

  “Because Lady Dasslerond so decrees it,” Roger said sarcastically.

  “You cannot appreciate our position, Roger Lockless,” said the elf. “Jilseponie is elf-friend, yes, and so are you, but you misunderstand the meaning of that title. Paramount are the needs of Touel’alfar, and nothing about Jilseponie, nothing about you—not your desires nor your needs nor your very life—rises above that. We ask little of you, and of Jilseponie, in these days, but we will have our assurances, do not doubt.

  “Many years have passed since our last involvement with humans,” Kelerin’tul went on. “In the short memories of humans, we are already being relegated to legend or myth. That is how we prefer it—that is what we demand from those whom we name as elf-friend.”

  Roger stared hard at the elf, and believed every word. The Touel’alfar were not a sympathetic bunch, especially concerning the pains of humankind. And they were not a tolerant people concerning the foibles of humankind. Not at all.

  “I must report to Lady Dasslerond,” said Kelerin’tul. “What am I to tell her?”

  “Queen Jilseponie mentions the Touel’alfar not at all,” Roger answered. “When I asked her directly, I believe it was the first time she had given your people thought in years. She will not allow any discussion of any kind concerning the Touel’alfar to enter the court in any way. Lady Dasslerond need not fear her, or her secret of bi’nelle dasada, in any way.”

  If Kelerin’tul was convinced and reassured, he did not show it.

  Roger gave a helpless laugh. “Do you not even understand the relationship that Jilseponie holds with these … these fools?” he asked. “She would not teach them anything of any value, let alone break her word for them. The head of King Danube’s army is her avowed enemy. The only way that he, or any of the others, would ever see Jilseponie perform bi’nelle dasada would be at the wrong end of her sword!”

  Kelerin’tul stared at him long and hard, then nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Of the other issue, you have asked her?” the elf asked.

  “I insisted,” Roger replied. “I will tell you the result as soon as Jilseponie gives me an answer.”

  “We will know before you do,” Kelerin’tul said with typical arrogance. Then he gave a slight bow, melted back into the shadows, and silently slid out the window in the adjoining room.

  Dainsey moved to Roger and took his arm, recognizing that he needed the support.

  “Will she come with us?” the woman asked.

  Roger stood there with his eyes closed in sympathetic pain. For his friend was surely hurting, and he didn’t know how to help her.

  “Every day must be a battle,” King Danube said disconcertingly, following Jilseponie back to their private quarters after a rather heated debate with Duke Kalas and a couple of others concerning the present situation in the city of Palmaris—a quiet and peaceful situation, by all accounts. Thus, Kalas’ insistence that Danube revisit the matter of Palmaris’ governing structure, specifically, that he reconsider the agreement allowing Braumin Herde to serve as bishop—a title combining the duties of abbot and baron—echoed in Jilseponie’s ears as a diversion to keep her occupied and on the defensive, a distraction from the other matter: the return of Constance Pemblebury.

  And so she had embraced Kalas’ bait and engaged him in a heated argument. Only after the initial barrage did she understand that she had played right into Kalas’ hands, that his constant whispering into Danube’s ear had reached a level where all Jilseponie’s arguments had begun to blur into one aggravating noise.

  “Braumin Herde serves you well,” Jilseponie replied.

  “And you seem to believe that I could not discern that on my own,” said Danube. “At least, not without your engaging Duke Kalas in open warfare in my court!”

  “He is intractable!” said Jilseponie.

  “And stubborn,” Danube agreed. “As are you, my lady.”

  His words, and his apparent detachment, took her response right from her lips. She sat back on her couch and sighed, too tired to muster up the argument again.

  “Roger and Dainsey have invited me to winter in Palmaris,” she said after a while, and she noted, and not to her surprise, that Danube didn’t bat an eyelash at her surprising news.

  “I am considering their offer,” Jilseponie pressed.

  Still Danube didn’t
blink. “Perhaps that would be for the best,” he said calmly.

  Too calmly. Jilseponie studied him carefully, and she knew. It had all bubbled up around Danube too deeply; he was immersed in the lies and the sneers.

  “Constance Pemblebury is on her way back to Ursal,” Danube remarked, “with Merwick and Torrence. It is a move, not a visit. This is her home, and so she returns.”

  “That has always been her choice to make,” Jilseponie replied, and Danube merely nodded.

  She stood up, then, walked over to him, took his hands, and looked into his eyes.

  He looked away.

  The next day, without fanfare, without an announcement, without an entourage other than Roger and Dainsey, Jilseponie rode north out of Ursal, a long and winding road back to Palmaris.

  Chapter 28

  Stirring in the South

  “THE BEHRENESE FLEET IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE,” MAISHA DAROU, THE NOTORIOUS pirate, told his guests. Standing well over six feet, with a shock of unkempt black curly hair, a full, thick beard, and blue eyes that crossed well over the line of intense and into the realm of wild, Maisha cut a figure that Aydrian and the others would not soon forget. His imposing appearance only enhanced his reputation for ruthlessness, and those eyes … those eyes spoke of torture and malice, of uncontrollable and ultimately deadly fury.

  “They are busy,” Maisha Darou went on with a wicked grin. “The defense of Jacintha will prove no easy feat.”

  The other pirates in the crowded hold of Oway Waru, “white shark,” Darou’s flagship, all murmured and grinned, obviously pleased that the yatol warlords, even the Chezru chieftain of Behren, now found themselves under trying circumstances. A revolt had begun in the west, the visitors from Honce-the-Bear had learned: an uprising among the To-gai-ru tribesmen of the steppes that had swept across the desert like a sandstorm.

  For the pirates, such a great distraction of the lords and their soldiers meant more opportunities for profitable mischief.

  “We never counted on the Behrenese fleet to be of any importance,” replied Marcalo De’Unnero, sitting between Aydrian and Sadye. “Why would they come to the aid of Honce-the-Bear? And if they seized the opportunity presented by any chaos in the northern kingdom to cause even further havoc, then so be it.”

  “They are of no consequence to us,” Maisha Darou clarified. “With the warships of the Chezru otherwise engaged, the pickings are ripe for me!”

  Again came the murmurs and chuckles, the eager pirates thinking that times would be good for them indeed.

  “Why would we sail north for you, then, De’Unnero?” Maisha Darou asked skeptically.

  Marcalo De’Unnero grinned and didn’t blink, even nodded his head in agreement. That recognition that the pirate’s reasoning was perfectly logical made Maisha Darou’s blue eyes only twinkle even more intensely, as if he understood that De’Unnero was prepared to make it worth his while.

  Without a word, De’Unnero hoisted a small bag onto the table, its lumpy contents bulging. Staring hard at the pirate, the former monk slid the bag across the table.

  Maisha Darou opened the drawstring, upended the sack, and poured a pile of gemstones, glittering red and green and amber, onto the wooden table.

  Some of the pirates gasped, some even lunged forward at the tempting sight, but Maisha Darou held them back, his expression calm and steady. “Payment for our services?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Payment to you for allowing us to come here and speak with you,” said De’Unnero. “My gratitude that you and your fellows took the time to grant us an audience.”

  Aydrian’s face crinkled and he turned at his mentor, thinking that handing over such a treasure was absurd for the few hours of Darou’s time that they were taking. He saw that De’Unnero seemed perfectly content, though, and so did Sadye, sitting on the other side of the former monk.

  And when Aydrian turned back to take note of Maisha Darou, he understood it all so much more clearly. The pirate was trying to retain a calm façade, but there was an unmistakable erosion there, a bubbling of anticipation.

  And why shouldn’t there be? Aydrian realized. If De’Unnero could so casually toss out a treasure of gemstones for a mere meeting, then what might he provide in exchange for Maisha Darou and the Behrenese pirates’ securing the southern coast of the Mantis Arm in the event of civil war in Honce-the-Bear?

  “By the time you are needed, the Chezru will likely no longer be at war,” De’Unnero explained. “Will they then turn their formidable fleet back upon Maisha and the pirates in vicious retribution?”

  “Aye, we may well be in need of better hunting grounds,” Maisha Darou conceded. He was hardly aware of his movements, Aydrian noted, as his fingers played with the small pile of gemstones.

  “Even if you are not in need, even if the Behrenese fleet is scuttled in Jacintha harbor, giving you free rein to raid the coast, you may find the waters north of Entel far more profitable,” De’Unnero remarked, a clearly teasing note in his voice.

  “Might be, indeed,” said Maisha Darou. He gathered all the gemstones back into the small bag and pulled it off the table, taking it from the view of his cutthroat crew.

  “We will speak more of this tomorrow?” De’Unnero asked.

  “If you are paying as well …” Maisha Darou began, but a great frown came over De’Unnero’s hard features, stopping the words and the thought cold.

  “I expect this payment to cover all meetings,” De’Unnero said rather harshly. Again, as when he had presented the bag of gems in the first place, his abrupt change of tone surprised Aydrian, and he turned to look hard at his mentor.

  De’Unnero wasn’t backing down an inch from his stern stance. “Tomorrow,” he said again, this time stating and not asking.

  Maisha Darou sat back in his chair, very straight, very tall, and very imposing—though if he was getting to De’Unnero at all, Aydrian’s mentor hid it well.

  Aydrian’s hand instinctively went to his pocket, where he had stashed the few gems he had taken with him from Olin’s ship, including a serpentine and a ruby. The plan had already been set: in the event of trouble, Aydrian, De’Unnero, and Sadye would quickly join hands, with Aydrian bringing up a serpentine protective shield over all three, then following quickly with a devastating fireball.

  “Tomorrow,” the pirate chief replied, breaking the tension, then bellowing with laughter, which was taken up by all of his fellows immediately.

  “What do you know of it?” Sadye asked Aydrian a short while later, when the three had returned to their private cabin on Olin’s ship. “Are you going to enlighten us or keep it to yourself?”

  Aydrian looked at her curiously, then turned to De’Unnero—and found the man sitting in a chair, arms crossed over his strong chest, as if waiting for Aydrian to answer.

  “It?” Aydrian asked Sadye. “What are you talking about?”

  Sadye and De’Unnero exchanged knowing glances and smiles. “The war in Behren,” the bard explained. “When Darou spoke of the fighting, your expression revealed that you knew something about it.”

  Aydrian looked at her incredulously. How could she know?

  “Or at least that you had some interest in it,” De’Unnero added, “which surprises me, since, as far as I know, you have never been south of the Belt-and-Buckle before this occasion. How could you have, after all, living in Wester-Honce, where there are no known passes through the mountains?”

  “I have never been to Behren,” Aydrian answered, “have never before stepped on Behrenese sand, at least, if you consider these waters part of Behren.”

  “Then why did you so care about Darou’s tales of the war?” Sadye asked.

  “Simple curiosity,” Aydrian lied. “I know little about war, though I expect that will change in the coming years.”

  “More than that,” De’Unnero remarked. “Will you tell us? Or do you think it wise for you to keep such potentially important secrets?”

  Aydrian moved to the side of the small r
oom and sat on a three-legged stool. He took a deep breath, trying to think things through. Though he would have liked more time to consider his words, he said, “I may know the one who leads the To-gai-ru.”

  That widened the eyes of both his companions!

  “If my guess is right, it is a woman—Brynn Dharielle,” Aydrian explained.

  The other two looked at each other.

  “She was trained ahead of me in the arts of the ranger,” Aydrian admitted. “The Touel’alfar sent her south for just this purpose.”

  “Since when do the affairs of humans concern the elves?” asked De’Unnero.

  “This is an interesting turn,” said Sadye. “If you are correct, I mean.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” said Aydrian. “Though if it is Brynn, and if she is even still alive, I doubt that we’ll find her much able to help our cause for some time to come.”

  “Nor would we want the help,” De’Unnero surprised him by saying. “Olin’s downfall has ever been his tie to Behren.”

  “You just spoke to Behrenese pirates,” Aydrian protested.

  “Any help that we receive from Maisha Darou and his thugs will take place on the high seas, away from the eyes of easily swayed common folk. Any help that your friend in the southland could provide would be more direct, and would thus be far more politically damaging.”