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

by R. A. Salvatore

  But then came that explosive thrust of bi’nelle dasada, so suddenly that Yatol Daek never registered the movement. His expression was of genuine astonishment when he looked down to see Brynn’s magnificent sword buried deep in his belly.

  “Damn you, and damn your new ways,” Brynn said, and her thoughts went into the sword, then, calling forth the fire!

  Yatol Daek screamed in agony, and Brynn jerked the blade once and then again, the fine metal slicing him open, the flames consuming him.

  She tore it free then, and turned to see the many Behrenese and the many To-gai-ru, staring at her with disbelief.

  It didn’t hold, and the Behrenese soldiers howled and started to charge.

  Brynn went up to Runtly’s back, guiding him with her strong legs. She clenched her left fist, bringing forth the pulsing white shield of her enchanted powrie bracer.

  She didn’t run off, though, but turned and galloped into the heart of the charging Behrenese line. Behrenese soldiers scattered before her; she ran one down, finishing him with a devastating chop, and let Runtly trample another to the dirt.

  Brynn charged back the other way, toward the home of Barachuk and Tsolona. To her relief, the couple was waiting for her, throwing her the bow and quiver.

  The pursuit was halfhearted at that point, and Brynn could have taken Runtly out of the village easily enough. But the young ranger was far from satisfied. She slid her sword under one leg and took up her bow, charging back toward the Behrenese pursuit.

  A couple of enemy soldiers were up on horseback by then.

  Brynn smiled wickedly as she thought of the first major challenge Lady Dasslerond had thrown at her. She saw her enemies as she had seen the targets that dark night in Andur’Blough Inninness on the torchlit field, and her aim was no less true.

  By the time Brynn Dharielle and Runtly charged out of the small village, her quiver was emptied of its twelve arrows and ten Behrenese, including Yatol Daek and Chezhou-Lei Dee’dahk, lay mortally wounded.

  A few arrows arched out of the town in her general direction, none coming close to striking the mark.

  Brynn pulled up a short distance away, turning to measure the danger.

  But no pursuit was forthcoming.

  Chapter 14

  As Graciously as Possible

  THE TRIBESMEN OF THE SOUTHERN STEPPES OF TO-GAI, NEAR TO THE MOUNTAINS of Fire, had never been true nomads, and so the intrusion of Behrenese conquerors had not changed the ways of these To-gai-ru as profoundly as it had their brethren farther to the north. The northern slopes of the volcanic mountain range were so very fertile year-round that there was no need to wander or follow any herd. And there, far removed from Jacintha and the edicts of the Chezru Chieftain, and where the borderland between the two kingdoms was not so clearly defined as the barren sand to plateau steppe change farther to the north, many Behrenese and To-gai-ru had lived and worked in relative proximity for centuries. There were even children of mixed heritage, though they were not common, and the practice had never been openly accepted.

  The only real difference since the conquest of To-gai was the presence of Behrenese soldiers, a single eight-square, traveling from settlement to settlement to tribe encampment, fostering many ill feelings among the To-gai-ru, and trying, obviously, to rouse the sentiments of the Behrenese in the region against their Ru neighbors. Typically, though, as soon as the eight-square moved on, those Behrenese and To-gai-ru commoners who were left behind resumed their typical daily routines.

  Another thing that the Behrenese and To-gai-ru of the southern stretches had in common was a mistrust, even fear, of the mysterious order of mystics rumored to be wandering the Mountains of Fire, the Jhesta Tu. These reservations were amplified among the Behrenese, for the Yatol religion had long ago condemned the Jhesta Tu as heretics. Even among the To-gai-ru, though, traditionally more tolerant of other beliefs—since their own tribes often varied in their respective deities—the Jhesta Tu had never been looked upon fondly.

  Into this environment, following the vision that had been shown to him in the days before he had earned the Sash of All Colors, walked Pagonel, carrying a backpack of various colored threads and sewing supplies so that he could continue work on producing the Sash of All Colors for the next master to walk the path. Pagonel knew that he would be in somewhat hostile territory no matter what direction he took out of the Mountains of Fire, but he had seen the truth, had experienced his Chi life force in a conscious and intimate way, and so he feared nothing.

  In the common room of the first village he entered, he felt the many stares focused his way, and since he spoke both Behrenese and To-gai-ru fluently, he understood the many whispered insults surrounding him. But he let them slide right past him. They didn’t understand. How could they understand?

  The To-gai-ru proprietor of the common room served him as requested—certainly not promptly!—though he charged more pieces of silver than normal, Pagonel knew.

  “You offer rooms for the night?” Pagonel asked him.

  The proprietor, a To-gai-ru, glanced around at the many patrons whose eyes were upon him.

  “Fear not, friend, for I’ll not even ask about acquiring shelter,” the mystic said, letting the obviously nervous man off the hook. “The night will not be cold, and the stars are the finest roof a man might know.” Pagonel drained his glass of water, smiled and bowed at the flustered proprietor, then turned and similarly saluted the rest of the gathering.

  He heard many whispered conversations, almost all derogatory, aimed at his back as he exited the building.

  At least they had not been openly hostile, and none, not even the few Behrenese in the room, had made any movements to challenge him. Still, Pagonel thought it unwise to remain in the settlement that night, so he went out to the surrounding forest and found a comfortable niche in a tree, settled back, and watched the lazy glide of the moon across the starry sky.

  He was gone long before the next dawn, walking north at a leisurely pace. He still was not quite sure why his vision had beckoned him out into the wide world, but he was curious about the continuing assimilation of To-gai-ru into the conquerors’ culture. Perhaps that was the experience to which he had been called, to learn more of this clash of cultures that was reshaping the civilizations south of the larger mountain range. Perhaps there, where old traditions were being challenged daily, Pagonel might learn more about the truth of the world and about this life.

  That was what the mystic told himself as he wandered north. He never imagined that other, deeper emotions would soon be stirring within him.

  The mystic wandered for many days, enjoying the sights about him as the season changed to winter. He wasn’t overly concerned for his safety; he was Jhesta Tu and had learned well how to survive in the harshest of climates.

  He recognized the signs of an approaching storm—one that would likely be snow and not rain—one afternoon, at about the same time he saw the wispy gray lines of smoke rising from a nearby village.

  He crested a ridge, looking down upon the collections of mud and wood houses, the sun setting behind them. He noted a line of tethered horses—not the pinto ponies of the To-gai-ru, but taller mounts, chestnut and roan. Noting movement about the mounts, Pagonel recognized the white robes of a Behrenese man, then looked closer to see the crossed black straps over the man’s chest, showing him to be a Behrenese soldier.

  “This could be of interest,” Pagonel remarked, and he strode down to the village. The stares that greeted the mystic, with his identifying Jhesta Tu tan tunic and sash, were identical to the ones he had felt upon him in the previous village. Except for the Behrenese soldier; when that man took note of Pagonel, his dark eyes widened in obvious horror, and he ran headlong, even tripping to his knees once as he tried to scramble inside the town’s common room.

  Pagonel went in soon after, to find a dozen soldiers, all adorned in the white robes with the black leather chest straps, staring at him hard. The mystic nodded to them, then moved to the long
table that served as a bar.

  The scuffling of feet behind him told him that one of the soldiers had scrambled out of the room, no doubt to warn his superiors.

  “Long way from your home,” said the innkeeper, a broad-shouldered Ru with black stubble on his face that seemed to reach all the way up to his dark eyes.

  “Not so long,” Pagonel replied. “A week’s march and no more, if my pace is brisk.”

  “Them Behrenese dog-soldiers are going to think that you’re far from home,” said the innkeeper.

  As he finished, Pagonel heard another scuffling, and he turned to see the soldier returning, glancing at him from over the shoulder of an older, stern-faced man who was dressed in Behrenese soldier robes, but with golden straps and not black, crossing his broad, muscled chest.

  He stared hard at Pagonel, who took care not to match that look, but rather nodded deferentially and tipped his glass of water. Then the mystic turned back around, facing the bar, and placed his cup down on the table.

  “What is your name?” came the question behind him, spoken in To-gai-ru, if a bit strained in dialect.

  Pagonel sipped his water, making no move to answer.

  “You, Jhesta Tu!” came a snarl. “What is your name?”

  Pagonel slowly turned to face the man, and the line of a dozen warriors standing behind him, most of them glancing about nervously. The reputation of the Jhesta Tu preceded him, apparently.

  “What is your name?” the leader asked yet again.

  “I am called Pagonel. And what is yours?”

  “I will ask, you will answer.”

  “I already have.”

  “Silence!” The man narrowed his eyes, his stare boring into the mystic. “You mock me?”

  “Hardly.”

  “I am Commander of the Square,” the soldier said in haughty tones.

  “And that is a source of pride?”

  “Should it not be?”

  “Should it be?” Pagonel understood that he might be pushing a bit too hard, though all of his remarks had been offered in neutral, matter-of-fact tones, and all had been merely observations and not judgments. Or had they been? the mystic had to honestly ask himself. He reviewed his last few comments—while pointedly not locking stares with the infuriated Commander of the Square—and he had to admit that, while everything he said had been simple truth, it was also bait.

  “I am Pagonel, Commander of the Square,” he said calmly. “I have journeyed from my home in search of wisdom and enlightenment, and with no desire for any trouble, I assure you.” He lowered his eyes as he finished, which he believed that the prideful commander would surely view as a sign of peace and submission.

  Like a shark smelling blood, the man moved to grab Pagonel’s chin, to lift his head up that he could stare the sheepish mystic down. The commander’s hand never got close to connecting, though. Reacting purely on instinct, Pagonel’s own hand snapped across, slapping the commander’s hand back to back, and with a lightning fast twist and pull, Pagonel rolled his hand back, caught the commander’s thumb, and bent it back hard, throwing the commander off-balance, locking him low in pain.

  Now the mystic did look up, into a face twisted with pain and outrage.

  “I could have you killed for this!” the commander growled through teeth tightly clenched.

  “I seek wisdom and enlightenment, not trouble,” Pagonel calmly replied. “But I am of the body, Jhesta Tu, and am sworn to protect that body.” He released the hand as he explained, and the commander retreated a step and stood straight, rubbing his sore thumb and glaring at the mystic.

  “I am the voice of the Chezru Chieftain in this province,” the commander growled, and Pagonel noted that many of the soldiers were collecting their weapons at that point. He wasn’t afraid of them—not for his personal safety, at least—but he was very concerned at the implications of a confrontation here, before he had even really begun to explore To-gai and his vision.

  “I question your authority not at all, Commander of the Square,” Pagonel said humbly.

  The commander held up his hand, motioning for his soldiers to hold calm. “Yet you have committed a crime against the God-Voice,” he said.

  Pagonel bit back the obvious response. He just sat calmly and listened.

  “You are not to touch me, and I will treat you as I deem appropriate. Do you understand?”

  Pagonel’s expression remained impassive. He suppressed his instincts then, as the commander reached out toward his face again. The man took Pagonel’s chin in his hand, a tight and strong grip, and forced the mystic to look at him directly.

  Pagonel considered the thirty or so ways he could cripple the fool, but he only entertained those thoughts to distract him from his current revulsion.

  “I will have all of your coins as a fine for your insolence,” the commander declared, and he pushed Pagonel’s face aside.

  “I am Jhesta Tu, and without many funds,” the mystic replied.

  The commander reached over and pulled the small purse from Pagonel’s belt, then dumped the silver coins into his open palm. “It is not enough to pay for your crimes,” he said. “But I will forgive your transgressions, this one time.”

  As he finished, he turned and started back toward his soldiers, who were all chuckling and nodding approvingly.

  Pagonel let him go. For the price of a few easily replaced coins, he had defused the situation. That was his duty as a brother of Jhesta Tu. They were not a warlike order.

  But, if pressed …

  Pagonel took a long look at the Commander of the Square, imprinting the man’s image in his mind.

  The soldiers, predictably, began to taunt the mystic then, with a couple tossing small items Pagonel’s way, and one even spitting at him.

  “He’s a bully, that one,” the To-gai-ru innkeeper said quietly, bending low so that only Pagonel could hear. “Don’t pay him no heed.” As he finished, the innkeeper put a second glass of water before the mystic.

  “I have no money,” Pagonel started to explain, but the innkeeper shook his head and held out his hand, showing that he wouldn’t have accepted any money even if it had been offered.

  “Perhaps someday you’ll tell me tales of your order in payment.”

  “That I cannot do,” said Pagonel.

  The innkeeper shrugged and smiled, as if it did not matter.

  Pagonel left the common room a short while later, to the jeers and spit of the Behrenese soldiers.

  He accepted it.

  He filed it away in a place in his mind where he would not forget.

  Outside, the mystic brushed himself off and spent a moment in quiet meditation, finding his center.

  “You gave him free drink!” he heard the commander shout, back within the common room.

  The mystic turned a bit, craning his ear toward the door.

  “And so free drinks will be the way of the night,” the commander declared.

  “It was only water,” the innkeeper protested.

  “And he was only a Jhesta Tu dog,” the commander shouted back. “If he is worth water, then my soldiers are worth all of the drink that you have, and all of the money as well!”

  The innkeeper’s protest was cut short by a sharp slap.

  The cries of the soldiers, calling for drink, and of the commander, demanding an apology and all the money within the common room were cut short, abruptly, as the door banged open.

  All eyes turned to see the Jhesta Tu mystic standing in the open portal, expression calm and arms down by his side, seeming vulnerable.

  Deceptively so, the first soldier to attack him realized. The Behrenese charged straight in, spear leading. He hardly saw Pagonel move, and so he was completely off-balance as he somehow missed with the thrust, sliding past, leaning forward.

  A hand came up fast in front of his face, barely hitting, but perfectly aimed to snap the man’s nose straight up. Pagonel’s other hand grabbed at the back of his belt as he stumbled past, heaving him along to tumb
le out into the street.

  Two more soldiers charged in, side by side, the one on Pagonel’s right coming with another straight spear thrust, the other slashing a sword horizontally before him. A twitch of his toned muscles and a tight tuck had the mystic somersaulting over the swinging sword. He reversed his momentum immediately as he landed, half-turning and snapping a kick to the side of the soldier’s knee, caving in the leg.

  Pagonel leaped and shoulder-rolled right over the soldier’s shoulders as the man slumped. He landed lightly on his feet next to the dropping man’s companion, within reach of the cumbersome spear.

  His open-palmed thrust only moved about four inches, but with enough force into the center of the soldier’s chest to take his breath and his strength away. The soldier gave a great gasp, gulping air, and collapsed to his knees.

  Pagonel reached with his right leg across the kneeling man, hooking him under the arm, then swung back out to the right, launching the man headlong at the feet of another charging soldier, tripping him up. The mystic ran along the back of the sprawling soldier, lifting off lightly into the air, right in the middle of three more startled soldiers.

  He kicked left with his left foot, right with his right, then straight ahead with the left, before ever touching the ground, and three more Behrenese went flying away.

  As he touched down, the mystic skittered out to the left, toward the bar. As he approached another table, he made a move as if to leap it, then ducked fast and skittered under instead.

  A soldier, falling for the ruse, swept his spear across above the tabletop, then tried to recover fast and stoop down to stab at the mystic.

  Pagonel’s hand exploded through the wooden table, snapping a clean hole. He grabbed the bending soldier by the hair and snapped his arm back down, moving out as he did, so that when the soldier’s face smashed into the table with enough force to shatter the piece of furniture, Pagonel was already coming out the far side.

  He looked more like a dancer than a warrior as he crossed the room, his feet touching the floor, the chairs, the tables or, impossibly, nothing at all. However the mystic did it, he was standing right before the stunned commander in a matter of moments.