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

by R. A. Salvatore

  Merwan Ma rocked back on his heels, amazed by how profoundly this disaster had sparked his master to action. Over the last years, skirmishes against To-gai had been just that—minor battles. But now the God-Voice was readying for an all-out war against the people of the steppes, as he had done a decade and more before.

  The Shepherd left the audience room quite unsteadily, quite shaken, but also quite reassured that his master was in control.

  Yakim Douan paced for a long time, growing more and more agitated. How dare these ungrateful To-gai-ru strike so boldly and mercilessly into Behren? Hadn’t he brought the barbarians some semblance of civilization? Hadn’t he brought a better way of life to the wilderness of To-gai?

  His breath coming in short and harsh rasps, the Chezru Chieftain continued to pace, kicking his heels against the floor with each step.

  A sudden burning pain erupted in his left shoulder, spreading like a wave of fire down his arm. Douan stumbled and nearly fell over. His vision blurred briefly, and when it cleared, the man realized that he was sitting in his chair again.

  And now the pain was in his chest.

  Yakim Douan struggled to regain his footing, then stumbled to the door. He started to call out for Merwan Ma, but changed his mind, realizing where he had to go, and realizing that he had to go there alone.

  Step by step, the stubborn old man made his way along the corridors to the chalice room. The pain had lessened considerably by then, but still Yakim Douan grabbed up the chalice eagerly, so much so that he spilled some of the blood on his robes and the floor. Clutching the chalice to his chest, the man fell into the magical gemstone, diving into its swirling gray depths.

  He went inside himself, trying desperately to find the harmony of his body, the natural and healthy rhythm. He began to breathe easier almost immediately, and not from his healing powers, but merely from his realization that nothing serious had befallen him, a point accentuated by a series of loud belches.

  Yakim Douan laughed at himself and his desperation, a clear reminder of how much he had to lose. He was immortal, but only as long as he remained in control of the situation about him. If a sudden, burning attack felled him, would he be able to spiritually connect himself to the hematite in time to soar out and find a replacement body?

  Yakim rubbed the base of the chalice, his fingers separated from the gemstone by a thin sheet of metal. He could feel its presence in there, its tangible power to take him across the generations and the centuries.

  A crash from the back of the room startled him, and he turned to see Merwan Ma standing there, a look of both surprise and horror on his face, and a plate of utensils, the sacrificial knife among them, lying on the floor at his feet.

  Yakim considered his own appearance, clutching the chalice, blood on him and on the floor, in light of Merwan Ma’s expression, and he knew at once that the Shepherd understood that there was something more to this chalice.

  “Ah, yes, my young attendant,” the Chezru Chieftain said with as much calm as he could muster. “Finishing your duties before going out to the Chezhou-Lei, I see.”

  Merwan Ma stammered something undecipherable, but otherwise did not respond. He bent low and picked up the utensils.

  “What is it?” Yakim Douan asked bluntly, and coldly, and with enough authority to freeze the poor young man where he knelt.

  “God-Voice?”

  “You are surprised to see me in here.”

  “Yes, God-Voice. I had thought that you would rest in your audience chamber.”

  “But it is much more than that, is it not?” Yakim Douan asked slowly and deliberately, moving toward Merwan Ma with each word.

  “God-Voice?”

  “What do you know of the chalice?”

  Merwan Ma began stammering the typical responses concerning the rituals and supposed powers of the sacred chalice, and Yakim Douan let him ramble for some time. Each remark seemed more of an excuse, a front, than anything from the man’s heart, though, and so the perceptive Douan began to understand the truth of it, that Merwan Ma knew about the hematite in the chalice.

  The Chezru Chieftain sent his spirit into that gemstone, used the portal that was the stone to let him fly free suddenly of his physical body. He didn’t slow as he came free, but soared straight for the unsuspecting Merwan Ma, his spirit rushing right into the man, laying bare his soul for Yakim Douan to see.

  And he knew then, in that instant, that Merwan Ma did indeed know of the hematite, and that it was the presence of that gemstone, along with Yakim Douan’s clutching of the chalice, that had prompted the horrified look upon his face.

  Confronted by the spirit of the God-Voice, the poor Shepherd fell back, toppling over to a seated position on the floor, one arm up over his face defensively, as if warding the man away.

  Yakim Douan was already in retreat anyway, rushing back to his body, afraid to give too much away here to the curious Shepherd. He went back into his own body and blinked his physical eyes.

  “What is it, my son?” he asked innocently.

  Merwan Ma gradually relaxed, but only somewhat. He pulled himself to his feet and tried to act as if all was normal. But Yakim Douan saw the truth for what it was. Merwan Ma knew, and was afraid because he knew.

  “I must clean these once more,” the young man stuttered.

  “Go, then,” Yakim Douan replied cheerily. “But out to the Chezhou-Lei first. Your duties here can wait.”

  Merwan Ma paused a moment and stared at his master, but then answered, “Yes, God-Voice,” bowed repeatedly, and shrank back out of the room.

  Yakim Douan growled in frustration at his own carelessness. He replaced the chalice and wiped the blood from the floor, then moved out of the room back to his own private quarters, cursing with every step.

  Merwan Ma knew, and he could not tolerate that. He would miss the young Shepherd greatly.

  Chezhou-Lei Shauntil stood at rigid attention before the Chezru Chieftain, the God-Voice, and now—given the disaster at the Mountains of Fire, the failure and honorable suicide of the Kaliit—the only real authority left in the proud warrior’s existence.

  “You understand the statement of your mission?” Yakim Douan asked.

  “To instate Merwan Ma as governor of Dharyan,” the warrior recited. “To drive the To-gai-ru from the city and reclaim it for you, then to pursue the rebels onto the steppes, under the leadership of Yatol Tohen Bardoh, destroying them utterly and returning to you the head of this foul woman, the Dragon of To-gai.”

  “You understand the truth of your mission?”

  “As stated,” the warrior replied, and he squared his shoulders and puffed out his massive, muscled chest. “Except that it is Carwan Pestle who is to serve as governor until a Yatol can be put in place.”

  “Because?”

  “Merwan Ma will die in a battle.”

  Yakim Douan nodded and turned away, bitter about issuing such a command against the Shepherd who had become his friend over the last years. He had known for a long time that perhaps he had become too close to Merwan Ma, and now the incident at the chalice had sealed the young man’s fate. Yakim Douan simply could not take the chance that Merwan Ma had learned too much, for the mere existence of the hematite would damn him in the eyes of many of the Yatols. Their religion was unbending on this point, that the gemstones were the tools of the demons, were the perverse religious articles favored by the heathen Abellicans in the north.

  Merwan Ma knew of the hematite in the chalice, and could easily guess at Douan’s connection with it. That revelation, should the Shepherd ever make it, might lead some to guess the truth of Transcendence. And that, of course, the Chezru Chieftain could never suffer to pass.

  Still, it bothered him more than a little to so order the death of Merwan Ma. At least he was allowing the man to die honorably. Yes, he would hold a great celebration of the life of Merwan Ma when the tragic news returned to Jacintha.

  “Leave as soon as the engines of war, and those designed to def
eat the dragon, are prepared,” he instructed the Chezhou-Lei. “On the road, your word is rule, as it remains even when Yatol Tohen Bardoh joins you after the recapture of Dharyan, on all matters military. Yatol Tohen Bardoh understands the value of the Chezhou-Lei, I assure you. He knows his place in this ugly business.” The last words sent a shiver along Yakim Douan’s spine. Indeed, Yatol Tohen Bardoh knew well the means of terrorizing a conquered people. Douan had pulled the man back from To-gai, not because he was ineffective, but because he seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much. Now, given the sudden turn and the utter stubbornness of the To-gai-ru, Douan wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake in relieving the brutal man.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself and he waved Chezhou-Lei Shauntil out of his private room. He had other matters to attend—primarily the selection of a new personal attendant, one who would watch over him as he came to maturity in his new body. Only after realizing that he had to get rid of Merwan Ma had the Chezru Chieftain come to understand the depth of his mistake in becoming so close to the man over the years, not only because of his personal grief at having him killed, but because he had not bothered to seed the pool of potential replacements in the event of some unforeseen tragedy.

  Again, it didn’t matter, he told himself. Transcendence was a couple of years away, at least, and in that time, he would undoubtedly find some overpious fool eager to assume the duties.

  Brynn, Pagonel, Juraviel, Cazzira, and Agradeleous watched the marching force with a mixture of awe and amusement. Never had any of them seen such an array of sheer power, with thousands of marching soldiers and hundreds of cavalry, and great war engines, from catapults to gigantic spear-throwing ballistae. This was the power of Behren, the might that had swarmed over To-gai and that kept the often imperialistic Bearmen of Honce-the-Bear, even with their gemstone-wielding Abellican monks, at bay.

  “And so I see why you chose not to defend Dharyan,” Juraviel said to Brynn. Indeed, Brynn had taken her entire force out of the city soon after sending the refugees down the eastern road toward Jacintha. The To-gai-ru warriors had moved south of the city and were now hiding in the desert, while Brynn and the others had come there, just east of Dharyan, to view the response from Jacintha.

  “I did not know it would be so overwhelming,” the woman admitted.

  Agradeleous snorted, hardly agreeing with that assessment.

  “They have prepared for you,” Juraviel remarked to the dragon, pointing out the ballistae. “One strike from those would take you down to the ground.”

  The dragon snorted again, unimpressed.

  “We could not have held Dharyan,” Pagonel remarked. “Not even for a single day against this force.”

  “We cannot, can never, fight the Chezru Chieftain, army to army,” Brynn explained. “We will frustrate him and his commanders and make them all see that a continuing war is not in their best interests.” She turned to the dragon. “This is where you will show your greatest value to our cause, Agradeleous. Pagonel will help us to forage, what little there is to find, but—”

  “More than a little,” the mystic put in.

  Brynn nodded deferentially, not wanting to underestimate the Jhesta Tu in any way. She was quite sure that Pagonel’s understanding of the land would prove invaluable. But still, she knew that it would not be enough, not for her warriors and not for their horses. “But,” she continued, “it will be Agradeleous with his great speed and strength who will truly supply us. Fly out at night to a river and return to us with buckets of water. Descend upon a herd of deer and bring us more meat than we could possibly consume!”

  “There are thousands of you,” the dragon remarked, seeming not quite convinced.

  “I hold faith in Agradeleous,” Brynn answered. “We will construct a great platform and use heavy ropes with which you can bear it.” Brynn turned to the others, to see the elves nodding with more than passing curiosity and Pagonel rubbing his chin, considering it all.

  “If we can stay mobile, and independent of the few known watering holes, then the Behrenese will have a difficult time in catching us,” Brynn explained. “We can maneuver about them and strike wherever they are weakest.”

  “Then we must always know where they intend to be next,” said Pagonel, turning a wry look upon Brynn. The two had already discussed this somewhat, with the mystic explaining that he would serve her well as a spy.

  “They have many To-gai-ru slaves among them,” Juraviel noted.

  Brynn looked from the elf to the mystic. She really didn’t want to be apart from him, considering him an advisor who, in many ways, was even superior to Belli’mar Juraviel. Pagonel understood the Behrenese as well as she did, and knew even more about the Yatol religion that so dominated the desert people.

  But she couldn’t deny that her only advantage here was information, was knowing her enemy better than they knew her, and so, after many moments of staring hard at her dear Jhesta Tu friend, she finally nodded her assent.

  Pagonel leaned over and kissed her for luck, then slipped around the back of the sand dune, disappearing into the desert sands.

  That same night, as the Behrenese army camped in sight of the city now called Dharielle, their contingent of To-gai-ru servants grew by one. Farther to the south, a dragon took to the air, bearing the warrior woman back to her army of four thousand. The two elves and Agradeleous did not stay with Brynn, but took to the air again, scouting the region, then settled back near to where they had parted ways with the Jhesta Tu mystic, to await his return.

  More than two hundred To-gai-ru slaves had accompanied the Jacintha army on its long march from the east, nameless and faceless in the eyes of the superior-minded Behrenese, and so Pagonel slipped into the large encampment with little difficulty. He wore nondescript clothing, rags like all the other slaves, and kept his telling and magnificent sash about his waist, but under his large shirt.

  He moved about the encampment for a long while that night, among the To-gai-ru gatherings, listening far more than speaking. Their talk of the Chezru Chieftain’s outrage reminded Pagonel just how dangerous this whole game had become. The might of Behren was sweeping, and dominating, and not even the mighty kingdom of Honce-the-Bear desired to match armies with the Chezru Chieftain. And now Brynn had turned all that might upon herself, against To-gai, and the only chance they had was in hitting the Chezru Chieftain where he did not expect it, continually flanking the massive armies and pecking away at vulnerable spots until the Behrenese decided that they had gone to too much trouble.

  Looking at the encampment, a massive, well-prepared, well-drilled, and eager force, the mystic had to wonder if Brynn hadn’t stepped a bit too far over the line. He was somewhat bolstered, though, by the whispers of the prisoners whenever the quiet discussions turned to the Dragon of To-gai. Apparently Brynn’s fame had already spread—among the To-gai-ru slaves, at least—all the way to the coast. She would find many willing to join her army with each city conquered.

  The next morning, the Behrenese army rolled in sight of Dharielle’s eastern wall, close enough so that the body of Yatol Grysh could be seen, still hanging before the closed gates. Now Pagonel paid close attention; there were several Chezhou-Lei warriors among the soldiers, he knew from their distinctive armor, and their hierarchy became apparent almost immediately, with one large and powerful warrior taking the lead in delegating commands. With frightening efficiency, the army set up its catapults and ballistae. Riders went out north and south, encircling the quiet city.

  Pagonel noted that the Chezhou-Lei leader kept returning to two men, Chezru Shepherds by their dress and the styling of their hair, as if explaining his intent. Pagonel recognized one of them as the attendant of Yatol Grysh.

  An hour passed, and then another, and the scouting riders returned with reports that no one had been spotted along the walls of the conquered city.

  One of the Chezhou-Lei rode forward under a flag of truce, moving near to the city gates and calling out a greeting in Behrene
se and in the To-gai-ru language. But of course there was no response from deserted Dharielle.

  That only seemed to infuriate the Chezhou-Lei leader. He stormed over to where the To-gai-ru slaves had been gathered, selected one man randomly from the horde, then stalked away, dragging the man along.

  A few minutes later, one of the catapults launched a living, screaming missile over the city wall.

  The only responding sounds were the startled cries of the carrion birds within.

  Pagonel studied the leader intently, then looked around at his To-gai-ru fellows, reading much from their grim expressions.

  The Chezhou-Lei leader began barking a series of commands, and his army fell into its prescribed positions. The catapults let fly more conventional missiles of burning pitch and large rocks, and the ballistae held back, their great spears pointing toward the skies as if expecting the Dragon of To-gai to fly past at any time.

  Batteries of archers sent a volley of arrows over the wall, but then they, too, held their shots, scanning the skies above.

  And then came the charge, hundreds of horsemen thundering for the gates, foot soldiers falling into ordered defensive arrangements behind them. It was a feint, Pagonel knew, because the Behrenese would never lead with their cavalry, and sure enough, the horsemen got near to the wall, yelling and screaming, and then swung about to the south, running along the wall, looking for some enemy somewhere.

  The foot soldiers swarmed for the eastern gate, a large ram leading the way.

  They went through without resistance, swarming into the city, and then the cavalry went in right behind.

  Pagonel took great amusement in the outraged expression of the Chezhou-Lei leader when he learned that the city, Dharyan once more, was deserted.

  With great ceremony, the whole of the army, except for scouts sent to the west, entered Dharyan and began securing the place, putting the slaves to work at patching burned-out roofs and clearing rubble and dead bodies.