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

by R. A. Salvatore

  “An informant from Dharyan,” Pagonel went on in response to Brynn’s blank stare. “Her cousin works in the great temple of Dharyan and often overhears Yatol Grysh and his leaders.”

  Brynn nodded and turned back to regard the woman.

  “She came in to tell us of the poisoned food,” Pagonel went on. “Though she recognized that she would likely arrive too late.”

  “How convenient for Yatol Grysh,” Brynn remarked off-handedly, and though she wasn’t really suspicious, the thought did cross her mind that any such informant had to be handled carefully.

  “Her information has been reliable on many matters, I am told,” Pagonel replied. “Ya Ya Deng is among Ashwarawu’s greatest assets.”

  “She must be loyal to have come all the way from Dharyan, though she knew that her information would not be timely.”

  “She came in to inform Ashwarawu, as well, that the two twenty-squares of Jacintha soldiers who arrived in Dharyan will not be staying, nor will they be heading west to To-gai,” the mystic said. “Apparently, they are to return to Jacintha on the first true break in the weather.”

  Brynn looked at him curiously. “Twenty-squares?”

  “Ashwarawu learned of their arrival in Dharyan. Perhaps that is why we have not been skirting the borderland of late. I believe that our leader feared that his reputation might have grown too strong too far to the east too quickly, catching the attention of enemies he is not ready to face.”

  Brynn nodded, understanding well why Ashwarawu would welcome the news that eight hundred trained and well-outfitted soldiers were turning back to the east instead of coming his way.

  “A fine line, is reputation,” Pagonel warned. “While it benefits among allies, inspiring confidence and support, its effects on the enemy are varied. On the one hand, how much stronger are your forces if the enemy is in fear of you because of your reputation. On the other, the game is dangerous when your enemy is powerful enough to destroy you, as the Chezru Chieftain certainly is, concerning all of To-gai.”

  Brynn nodded but did not reply. This was an important lesson, she knew, and one that she would not forget.

  Winter’s grasp grew thin on the land early in God’s Year 841. Several storms reared above the plateau, only to fizzle as they crossed out of the mountains, turning to a gentle rain or disappearing altogether.

  On the last day of the second month, with all of the fanfare they had brought upon their arrival to Dharyan, the two Jacintha twenty-squares marched out of the western Behrenese city. They left behind the sixty-four soldiers Yatol Grysh had requested the previous summer, but seemed no less diminished as they marched, rank upon rank, down the eastern road.

  They crossed through Bohgadee, the next Behrenese city in line, two days later, again with horns blaring, and then continued on down the eastern road, into the sandy desert, empty for many miles before the next oasis and city.

  And there, in the empty wasteland, the army of Jacintha executed their turn, with Chezhou-Lei Dahmed Blie’s group turning south and back to the west, and Chezhou-Lei Woh Lien’s group turning north and then back to the west.

  Advance groups, posing as simple scouting parties, had already prepared their camps, in the foothills along the mountains northwest of Dharyan, and in the cave complexes along the plateaus southwest of Dharyan.

  There they would wait for proud Ashwarawu to err.

  Chapter 18

  Baiting the Hook

  CARWAN PESTLE SETTLED INTO HIS CHAIR AT YATOL GRYSH’S SIDE IN THE MAIN audience chamber of the temple in Dharyan.

  Wan Atenn walked into the room almost immediately, storming up to stand right before the pair.

  “You have heard the latest reports of the rebels, I suppose,” Yatol Grysh remarked.

  Carwan Pestle nodded, for he, too, had heard the reports, which placed Ashwarawu closer to the rim of the To-gai plateau than before.

  “Ashwarawu is within striking distance of Dancala Grysh,” said the Yatol, referring to a small outposter settlement, just over the To-gai rim, that had only recently been renamed in his honor.

  Wan Atenn nodded.

  “That settlement must not fall!” Grysh yelled suddenly, rising from his seat, a huge scowl upon his thick-jowled face. “I will not be insulted as Chezru Chieftain Douan was insulted by the fall of Douan Cal!”

  “The Jacintha soldiers have departed, Yatol,” Wan Atenn reminded. “I have few warriors at my disposal—”

  “You have the garrison of Dharyan, bolstered by the men from Jacintha who remained behind. That should be sufficient to crush the fool Ru and his wretched followers.”

  Wan Atenn stiffened, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his broad and powerful chest. “Even with the additional soldiers, the defense of Dharyan—”

  “I did not ask you to defend Dharyan!” Yatol Grysh screamed at him.

  “Yatol?” the seemingly stunned Chezhou-Lei warrior asked. “That is my mission, above all. To defend Dharyan and to defend Yatol Grysh.”

  “And to defend the reputation of Yatol Grysh, you must defend Dancala Grysh,” the Yatol explained.

  Wan Atenn spent a long while staring at his leader. So did a confused Carwan Pestle. He had rarely seen the calculating Grysh so animated, and could hardly believe that Grysh cared so much about a minor settlement that had borne his name for only a few months.

  “Dancala Grysh has only a partial wall, and no defensive emplacements,” Wan Atenn explained. “To properly defend it will take nearly as many soldiers as are needed to defend Dharyan itself.”

  “Then take them.”

  “Yatol, I cannot,” the Chezhou-Lei warrior gasped.

  “We have more than three hundred men in garrison,” the Yatol said. “More than enough to defeat the one or two hundred known to ride with Ashwarawu, even without defensive emplacements. And even if our losses are heavy in the fight, ridding the land of that dog Ashwarawu will be worth the price. I will call to Jacintha for replacements, if need be, once the battle is won.”

  “Perhaps you should put out the call now, Yatol,” Wan Atenn offered. “Reinforce Dharyan before ordering the garrison out on the hunt.”

  “Dharyan is secure.”

  “There are goblins in the mountains to the north.”

  Carwan Pestle looked at the Chezhou-Lei warrior curiously after that remark. There had been no recent reports of any goblins forming in the mountains—not in any real numbers, anyway.

  “You wished to poison the rebels, and so we tried, and so we failed,” Yatol Grysh countered. “How many embarrassments must I suffer at the hands of the dog Ashwarawu? No more, I say. He is said to be near Dancala Grysh, and so there you will go with my soldiers. And there he will die, and I will be bothered in hearing his name no more!”

  Wan Atenn stiffened again, noticeably. “I will not, Yatol,” he said calmly. “I am bound to remain by your side whenever I perceive that you are vulnerable. And so you shall be if …” He paused and stared at the Yatol, then nodded hesitantly. “When,” he corrected, “the garrison marches to Dancala Grysh. They will defeat Ashwarawu without me, I am sure.”

  Yatol Grysh stared coldly at the Chezhou-Lei warrior for a few moments, then gave a tension-breaking laugh. “Press a hundred men into service to accompany the garrison,” he said. “It will take at least that many to make up for the absence of Wan Atenn in the battle for Dancala Grysh. And select another hundred civilians to bolster our walls. The Shepherds can spare a couple of weeks away from their flocks, and this business should be promptly concluded. It saddens me that you will not be there as my personal representative when Ashwarawu is killed, but I will not force you to abandon your vows to protect me.”

  With a click of his heels and a curt bow, Wan Atenn spun about and strode powerfully out of the room.

  “I do not think …” Carwan Pestle started to ask, but the Yatol cut him short.

  “I am weary and will retire now,” he said. “Come with me to my private quarters, that we might speak of
these new decisions. Perhaps I will send you as my emissary to Dancala Grysh.”

  That remark certainly widened Carwan Pestle’s eyes, but he held his tongue, obediently following his master from the audience hall, back to the lavish private quarters.

  “Speak openly,” Grysh said as he fell into a comfortable chair in a small and cozy room.

  Carwan Pestle stammered over a couple of words.

  “Speak, young Shepherd,” the Yatol demanded. “This is a glorious time. Do you not understand?”

  “You mean to chase Ashwarawu across the steppes, Yatol?” Pestle asked nervously. “I thought that our policy of bolstering the defenses of the settlements slowly and deliberately, of encouraging walls to be built around every village, and of sending soldiers out to oversee the construction of proper defenses was becoming effective. Over the whole of the winter, Ashwarawu has not struck at a single village. Only caravans.”

  “Of course it has been effective,” Grysh replied. “Ashwarawu cannot risk defeat at a minor settlement when so little gain is to be found and so great is the possible loss. He will attack Dancala Grysh only if he perceives that there is little risk.”

  “The town is not the best defended of the settlements, at last assessment, but—” Carwan Pestle was stopped short by Grysh’s renewed laughter.

  “Wan Atenn understands,” the Yatol explained. “That is why the glory-hungry Chezhou-Lei refused to leave Dharyan.”

  Carwan Pestle’s face screwed up with confusion, then his eyes gradually widened as he began to catch on. “You believe that Ashwarawu will bypass Dancala Grysh and strike at Dharyan?” he asked incredulously.

  “All signs are that his force has grown stronger,” the Yatol reasoned. “Ashwarawu’s reputation lends courage to all the Ru, and each of his victories sends more warriors flocking to join him. A great and significant victory could mobilize the entire region of To-gai behind him. Ashwarawu is no fool. If he thinks we are weakened here, he will desire that significant victory—one that will carry him to greater glory over the course of the summer. He knows that he cannot continue striking and running, that soon enough we will grow tired of him and send an army powerful enough to hunt him down and utterly destroy him—I am sure that he was a bit worried when two twenty-squares marched into Dharyan at the beginning of the winter, fearing just that consequence. Thus he needs the big strike, the huge victory, to wave as a rallying pennant to the other To-gai-ru. He will come against us, and then he will be mine.”

  Carwan Pestle sat back and digested it all; and of course, it then made sense to him. All of it. For why would Wan Atenn ever have truly feared for Yatol Grysh and Dharyan with eight hundred soldiers camped within a day’s march of the city?

  It was all a coordinated plan, all a ruse designed to lure Ashwarawu, to make the rebel leader think that the grandest prize of all was his for the taking. Carwan Pestle stared at Yatol Grysh with sincere admiration then, for the man had been executing this one ruse since the unexpected arrival of the Jacintha soldiers. Each movement he had made, each caravan sacrificed, each accurate message slipped out to the Ru informants, had led to this hoped-for conclusion.

  “I know Ashwarawu better than Ashwarawu knows himself,” the Yatol said with confidence. “I understand the motivation behind the warrior. That motivation is pride, my young friend, and pride is the easiest human weakness to exploit. Oh yes, he will come. And he will die. And it will be a long time indeed before the Ru find the courage to stand against Behren again. Watch and learn well, my student, for you will likely succeed me and face the next Ashwarawu, and how disappointed I will be in Paradise if I look back upon the earthly realm to witness your failure.”

  Carwan Pestle nodded, and then, as Grysh exploded into another burst of laughter, let a smile spread across his face. As he considered all that had transpired over the winter—the caravans sent out as bait in very specific order and to very specific locations; the poisoning ruse, done merely to make Ashwarawu even more confident in himself and in his informants; the renaming of the minor settlement—for no better reason, he now understood, than to make his desired defense of it seem more plausible. Carwan Pestle realized that he had very much to learn.

  He recalled the last brutal lesson, at the riverbed and the Ru encampment, and couldn’t stop a shudder from running along his spine.

  Brutal and effective.

  Carwan Pestle trusted his teacher, even though he was terrified of the man.

  “Our friend from Dharyan challenges us,” Ashwarawu was telling his soldiers. “He does not understand how we have grown.”

  “In numbers and in resolve,” Pagonel, who was standing far to the side of the group, whispered so that only Brynn could hear.

  The young ranger smiled; they had both heard this speech many times before.

  The band was on a high ridge that day, looking down at the distant outposter settlement, and the line of soldiers streaming into it. The estimates of their scouts had put the number of soldiers at near to four hundred, which made it almost twice as large as the force that Ashwarawu possessed, though his forces had more than doubled in the waning days of the winter season.

  Still, the confident raiders believed that one To-gai-ru warrior was worth three Behrenese, at least.

  “We will answer that challenge,” Brynn heard the brave leader declare. “On our terms and in our time.”

  “Do you think he will lead us against the settlement?” Brynn asked Pagonel.

  The mystic shrugged. “I do not think it a wise course, for though I believe that we would win, our losses would be heavy.”

  Brynn felt exactly the same way, but this was Ashwarawu they were speaking of, and so she had no idea if he would lead the charge or not.

  The raider band camped on the ridge that night, sending out scouting arms to encircle the village, while other riders went out farther to the east, looking for a certain informant at every determined rendezvous site.

  Ya Ya Deng’s information arrived the very next morning, confirming what the scouts had come to believe, that this was the Dharyan garrison, almost the whole of the Dharyan garrison, come out to fortify the settlement.

  Once again, Ashwarawu convened his raiders on the ridge overlooking the busy village, and once again, Brynn and Pagonel sat astride their horses to the side of the main body of raiders.

  “You seem troubled,” Brynn remarked as Ashwarawu began rousing his soldiers.

  The mystic shook his head, his eyes never leaving the distant settlement. “Yatol Grysh sends out his garrison so soon after the Jacintha soldiers leave Dharyan?”

  “Ya Ya Deng claims that he will not have a village bearing his name fall to Ashwarawu. Perhaps that will inspire our leader to attack at once.”

  Her sarcasm was not lost on the mystic, but he remained too perplexed and unsure to comment on it. With Pagonel still looking down at the distant settlement, Brynn turned her attention back to Ashwarawu.

  “Yatol Grysh brings his forces here, out in the open, as a challenge to us and to all To-gai,” Ashwarawu reasoned. “He believes that this paltry force can defeat us!”

  “No!” came the cries from many corners of the camp.

  “Are we to accept this challenge?” Ashwarawu asked.

  “Death to the Wraps!” one man cried, and another and then another echoed his sentiment.

  Ashwarawu put on a wicked grin. “Death to Yatol Grysh,” he said. “In his arrogance and frustration, he has erred, for his forces cannot match our pace as we ride to the east!”

  “I think he just said that we are to attack Dharyan,” Brynn remarked to Pagonel dryly.

  That got the mystic’s attention, and he looked to her, then turned to the distant Ashwarawu.

  “Let us take the battle to Yatol Grysh’s home, and see how strong his resolve remains,” Ashwarawu cried. “Our enemy thinks so little of us that he empties his city in the hunt. He insults us and taunts us. How loud will his taunts resound when Dharyan is in flames?”

 
That last question elicited thunderous cheers from the gathering, as fierce a war cry as Brynn Dharielle had ever heard, and the woman joined in.

  But Pagonel did not. He was looking back at the settlement, then, thinking that this was all a bit too convenient. Certainly the rebels had discussed attacking Dharyan before; they had even made arrangements, through Ya Ya Deng, to build some support within the city if a battle should be joined.

  But now, so suddenly, Dharyan seemed ripe for the plucking.

  Obviously so.

  The raider band set out almost immediately, breaking down their camp with stunning efficiency and riding hard to the east. Dharyan was five days away, but Ashwarawu hoped to knock a full day off the journey, so that the city could be struck, perhaps even sacked, before the garrison now settled into the outposter village could hope to get back and help.

  The rebel band eagerly accepted Ashwarawu’s desired pace, even exceeding it, so that the white walls of Dharyan and the great temple within were visible to them as they set their camp on the third night.

  “Tomorrow will bring triumph or disaster,” Brynn said to Pagonel.

  “A resigned tone is not the voice of a warrior,” the mystic observed. “What do you fear?”

  Brynn spent a long while sorting through her feelings, then answered quietly, “It seems as if our enemy, Grysh, has erred in failing to understand the strength of our forces. Could he have been so foolish as to strip his walls of trained soldiers?”

  “Or?” The mystic’s prompting told Brynn that he knew everything she was thinking, that he had likely already sorted these confusing issues out in his own mind.

  “Or he wanted us here,” Brynn admitted. She gave a great sigh. “But does not every leader faced with such a seemingly wondrous opportunity question it? And are not blunders, exactly like this one that Yatol Grysh has apparently made, often the turning point in a prolonged battle?”

  “He does, and they are,” the mystic answered.

  “Then where does that leave us?”