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

by R. A. Salvatore

  It all meant little to Brynn, of course, but as she considered the machinations underlying the tumultuous state in Behren, she was reminded once again to proceed with great caution.

  “The situation will prove very fluid,” Pagonel put in, seeming to share the woman’s thoughts. “Let us learn all that we may. Perhaps a visit from Brynn and Agradeleous will dampen the designs of Yatol Bardoh and the willingness of Yatol Peridan to choose such an ill-advised ally.”

  “Perhaps,” was all that Brynn would say, and her gaze never left the emissary, Paroud. Her tolerance for presumptuous Behrenese was not great, and while she wanted Behren under the control of someone like Mado Wadon, who had seen the wisdom of making peace with the To-gai-ru, there was, after all, a limit to their friendship.

  On a warship not far from Jacintha harbor, and flying the flag of the kingdom to the north, Abbot Olin and Duke Bretherford listened carefully as Master Mackaront recounted a similar tale of the changing situation south of the great Behrenese city.

  “Mado Wadon is terrified,” Mackaront remarked. “He understands well that the march of Bardoh will be relentless once Yatol De Hamman’s forces have been destroyed. Mado Wadon now openly asks for whatever assistance we can offer, and rumor flies throughout Jacintha that he is looking west for help as well, to the Dragon of To-gai and her fierce warriors.”

  “And have the To-gai-ru answered that call?” Abbot Olin demanded, his smug expression wiped away by the mere thought of Jacintha finding her needed aid elsewhere. He had a fleet of warships laden with warriors ready to land south of any attacking army, and ten thousand more warriors ready to sweep down from the mountains in the north, catching the attackers in a deadly vise.

  “No,” Mackaront replied. “There are no reports of any army moving along the northern road from Dharyan-Dharielle. It is doubtful that Brynn of the To-gai-ru will be able to gather any substantial force together in time to halt the charge of Yatol Bardoh.” The man offered a confident chuckle. “It is doubtful that Brynn Dharielle will be able to rouse her warriors to any cause that involves aiding Behren. The hatred between the two peoples runs deep, I assure you, despite the forced treaty.”

  Abbot Olin smiled wickedly at that welcome news.

  “And thus, Mado Wadon bids you to join with him as soon as possible,” Mackaront began, but Abbot Olin cut him short.

  Olin glanced over at Duke Bretherford. “You have spoken with Maisha Darou?”

  The duke nodded. “As you expected, Yatol Peridan approached him and bade him to redouble his efforts very soon after the alliance was sealed with Yatol Bardoh.”

  “And he understands his continuing and expanding role?”

  “A few bags of gems always clear the mind of a pirate,” Duke Bretherford replied sourly.

  Abbot Olin gave a laugh and looked back to Mackaront. “There you have it.”

  “Then I can assure Yatol Wadon …”

  “Of nothing,” Abbot Olin quickly corrected. “Yatol Wadon will wait until I deem the time proper. The desperation of Jacintha is our ally.” He looked around at the two men. “Yatol Wadon will welcome us with open arms. I will be the savior of Jacintha, and that will give us the foothold we need.”

  “To convert the Behrenese to the Abellican religion?” asked an obviously skeptical Duke Bretherford, who had been in a sour mood ever since he had arrived in Entel, and all during the journey here to Jacintha, even though Abbot Olin had given him Rontlemore’s Dream as his flagship and it was truly as grand as anything in the Ursal fleet, River Palace included.

  “To find common ground between our religions,” Abbot Olin corrected without any hesitation.

  “To bring them into your flock,” the duke responded.

  “However you interpret it,” Abbot Olin allowed. “Your King Aydrian desires Behren, and so we shall deliver Behren to him. It is that simple.”

  Duke Bretherford nodded and lifted a mug in obedient salute. He understood well that this was more about Olin than Aydrian. Yes, the young king was ambitious, but this move into Behren—and before the monumental issues within Honce-the-Bear had even been properly settled—was more about the craving of Abbot Olin.

  Duke Bretherford had been around the court of Ursal long enough to understand that Aydrian had decided to put Olin out of the way here, as he had put Bretherford out of the way. And what better prize to show to Olin than the city of Jacintha and all the land about it? Bretherford couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the move, for he did not doubt that the forces secretly arrayed by Honce-the-Bear to defend Jacintha would prove more than sufficient and would indeed allow Olin to begin a power grab. Despite that, though, a nagging doubt did hold fast in the thoughts of the duke of the Mirianic, one that had grabbed at him since the change of power in Honce-the-Bear.

  One that included the name of Prince Midalis.

  Chapter 13

  Under Cover of Darkness

  “THIS IS CRAZY,” ROGER WHISPERED. “YOU’RE CERTAIN TO GET US BOTH KILLED!”

  Bradwarden didn’t answer, for the centaur was too busy staring at the remarkable and unexpected scene before them.

  The mighty Allheart Brigade, along with legions of Ursal Kingsmen, swarmed over the towns of Caer Tinella and Landsdown. There had been no resistance, for the invading soldiers marching north out of conquered Palmaris had found the two towns substantially thinned of their populace.

  “Ye gived them a warning, did ye?” Bradwarden asked.

  “We did not go in,” Roger replied. “Pony wanted to get to Dundalis as quickly as possible, so we bypassed the cites altogether on our ride north.”

  “Well, someone came through,” the centaur remarked.

  “The Palmaris garrison,” Roger reasoned. “Many of them left the city right behind us. They would have stopped here, and would have warned the people to flee.”

  “Or to accept the new king,” said Bradwarden. “And it seems as if a fair number have done just that. But I wonder where them that ran might’ve gone to. Not to Dundalis, or we’d’ve seen ’em on the road.”

  “Vanguard,” said Roger. “They went to the east with the Palmaris garrison to join up with Prince Midalis.”

  “They’re goin’ to be finding a long and cold road, then. Winter’s to come on early this year, and earlier still in the forest lands north o’ the gulf.” The centaur looked all around, his gaze finally settling on Roger. “Ye go in there tonight, playing the part of a simple townsman.”

  “In there?” Roger asked incredulously. “Do you know who might be in there? Marcalo De’Unnero is likely about, and if not him, then surely Duke Kalas. He knows me. If I go into Caer Tinella or Landsdown, I don’t think I’ll soon be coming out.”

  “We got no choice in the matter.”

  “We?”

  “Well, yerself at least. We’re to need more information if we’re to get all the way to Palmaris and get anything done,” the centaur explained.

  “Then we’ll sneak about the perimeter and learn what we might,” Roger offered. “Sentries have big mouths and lack basic discretion. I’ll go down and find a place to hide near a group, and we’ll know all that we need to know.”

  As he finished, he snapped his fingers and flashed a smile, and started off toward the town.

  “Ye go right in,” Bradwarden ordered. “Ye go to the common room in Caer Tinella and ye’ll hear more in a drink than ye’ll get all the night near the half-frozen and miserable sentries.”

  Roger glanced back, but Bradwarden’s expression brooked no debate.

  With a sigh, the small man headed off.

  He kept the cowl of his cloak up high, but not so high as to make it look as if he were trying to avoid being recognized. Roger had always been a resourceful fellow. In the time of the DemonWar, he had used his skills at hiding and thievery, as well as his persuasive manner, to keep a band of refugees from these very towns well fed and well hidden. Until Elbryan and Pony had arrived to lead the hapless band of villagers into a greater union aga
inst the minions of the demon dactyl, Roger Lockless had provided for them and kept them safe, mostly by outwitting the powries.

  But those were just powries—ferocious and tough dwarves, yes, but …

  But this was Marcalo De’Unnero.

  The mere thought of the man sent shivers coursing along Roger’s back. If De’Unnero was here, and happened to recognize Roger, then nothing in all the world—not Bradwarden, not Pony—could save him.

  As he moved along the streets of Caer Tinella, with more soldiers about than townsfolk, Roger began to become more at ease. This was his home, after all, the town where he had been raised into adulthood.

  He neared the common room, as Bradwarden had bade him, but upon reaching the door, found that the place was nearly deserted. On an impulse, Roger turned aside and moved swiftly along a side street, coming to the home of an old friend.

  He knocked gently, and when there was no answer, he glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then quietly picked the lock on the door and moved inside. The place did not show signs of any hasty packing, and when he saw pieces of the man’s battle armor and a fine sword leaning against the side of a stone hearth, Roger was fairly certain that his friend hadn’t deserted the town.

  That made sense, Roger knew, for the owner of this house, Captain Shamus Kilronney, was not one to shy from a fight.

  Roger moved into the sitting room, plopped into a chair right before the dark hearth, and waited.

  A couple of hours slipped by, and Roger became nervous and agitated. Might something have happened to Shamus? he wondered. Had the man protested the new king too loudly and been thrown into a jail cell?

  Roger had just made up his mind to go and find out, and was even up from his seat and heading toward the door, when it opened suddenly and a very weary-looking Shamus Kilronney walked in. He tossed his hat on the table near to the door and moved a chair back as if to sit in it, and then, in a movement most uncharacteristic for the normally calm and composed man, he flung the chair across the room to crash against the wall.

  “It has not gone well, I take it?” Roger asked, moving out of the shadows.

  Shamus jumped at the sound and the sight of him, moving right into a defensive posture. But he relaxed visibly when he recognized that it was Roger.

  “What are you doing here?” asked the former soldier, once a leader of a Kingsman contingent that served in Palmaris.

  “A pleasure to see you again, too,” Roger answered dryly.

  Shamus seemed suddenly off balance and totally flustered. “Of course,” he stammered, and he moved forward, extending his hand to his old friend. “Roger!” he said, and instead of shaking Roger’s hand, he wrapped the man in a great hug.

  All of this was so out of character for Shamus Kilronney, and that fact told Roger more than a little about the present occupation of Caer Tinella.

  “How quickly the world changes,” Shamus said, taking a seat and motioning for Roger to sit across from him. “Tell me, where is Jilseponie? Is she safe after the unexpected death of King Danube? Is she …”

  Roger patted his hands in the air to calm the man. “Safe? Yes,” he answered. “In body at least, though to be sure, the truth of Aydrian revealed has been more than a bit of a shock to her.”

  “Is it true, then?” asked Shamus, leaning forward eagerly. “Is the new king truly her son?”

  “As they say,” Roger conceded. “But though he has the blood of Elbryan and Jilseponie flowing through him, he is not akin to either by any action he has shown.”

  “I know not where this will lead,” said Shamus. “But to evil, no doubt. Prince Midalis is not to allow this without a fight. All the kingdom will be torn apart!”

  “Has Aydrian come to Caer Tinella?”

  “He remains in Palmaris.”

  “And what of Marcalo De’Unnero?” Roger pressed, leaning forward in his seat. “Has he come here?”

  “De’Unnero?” Shamus echoed, and he seemed both confused and as if he was about to fall over. “What has Marcalo De’Unnero got to do with any of this?”

  “Who represents King Aydrian here?”

  “Duke Kalas, who leads the Allhearts.”

  “And the good duke has not seen fit to tell you of Aydrian’s principle advisor?”

  “De’Unnero?” Shamus asked, again with complete incredulity. “Does he even live on?”

  “De’Unnero precipitated the rise of Aydrian in Ursal,” Roger explained.

  “It cannot be!”

  “Jilseponie herself told me of this,” Roger explained. “There can be no doubt. If he is not here, then likely he remains in Palmaris with Aydrian. That is the hope, at least,” he added, and he couldn’t help but glance all about nervously. “Better that than to have him stalking about the region, half man and half beast.”

  Shamus Kilronney ran his hand through his thinning and graying hair repeatedly, as if trying to get a handle on all of the startling news that had overwhelmed him these last days. “It all makes no sense,” he remarked. “Duke Kalas is not an evil man, and yet it appears as if he has forsaken the line of Ursal. And why would he ever go in league with Marcalo De’Unnero?”

  “Is he truly?”

  Shamus Kilronney seemed intrigued by that prospect, but only for a moment, then he nodded. “He took the towns in the name of King Aydrian, and those soldiers of Palmaris who came through here a couple of weeks ago insisted that the new king’s march to Palmaris was led every stride by Duke Kalas.”

  Roger could only shrug.

  “I am to meet with Duke Kalas this very night—he may be on his way here at this very moment,” Shamus explained. “Sit with us and perhaps we can together begin to unravel this mystery.”

  “Hardly,” Roger said with a chuckle. “Kalas has never been overly fond of me, and hates Jilseponie above all.”

  “We can reason with him—”

  “He will throw me in chains and drag me back to Palmaris, if I am fortunate,” Roger said. “No, I have no desire to face the likes of Duke Kalas.” As he finished, he rose from his seat and moved to the curtained window beside the door. He drew back the curtain just an inch, and peered out, and noticed a group of soldiers heading his way.

  “Kalas?” asked the perceptive Shamus.

  Roger nodded. “I beg you not to betray me,” he said. “I do not know how all of this will fall out, my old friend, but I doubt that I will ever find myself in league with the likes of Duke Targon Bree Kalas!”

  “Begone, and be quick, then,” Shamus agreed, and Roger moved swiftly out of the room even as there came a loud knock on the door.

  Shamus hesitated a few moments to give Roger a head start, then walked over and pulled wide the door. A group of soldiers entered, nodding deferentially to Shamus, but pushing past him and into the house. At once, they began moving about, searching every cubby and closet, overturning blankets and falling to the floor to peer under anything high enough off the floor for a man to squeeze beneath.

  Shamus started to protest, but changed his mind and held his words. He had spent most of his life in the Kingsmen, serving Baron Bildeborough of Palmaris and other dignitaries, and he understood that these men were only acting as they had been trained to do, securing the house before the arrival of their lord.

  Not waiting for any all clear, the ever-confident Duke Kalas strode in.

  “Duke Kalas,” Shamus said with a low bow. “Too long has it been.” He heard banging in the other room then and stifled a grimace, hoping that Roger had not been found.

  “I am surprised to find you here, Captain Kilronney,” the duke admitted, taking a seat at the table and motioning for Shamus to do likewise.

  “This is my home,” Shamus answered. “Where else would I be?”

  “On the open road with Jilseponie, and others of like mind,” Duke Kalas bluntly replied. “It would not be the first time you have taken up with her against the crown.”

  The insult was not unexpected, of course. In the dark days,
Shamus had indeed stood strong beside Elbryan and Jilseponie, and had even been with Elbryan at the Barbacan when Duke Kalas and Marcalo De’Unnero had led an army there to capture the ranger.

  The other soldiers came into the room, then, and to Shamus’ relief, they weren’t dragging Roger Lockless.

  “I will concede that I stood with her, and with Elbryan,” Shamus replied, not backing down. “But never did Jilseponie truly stand against the crown. You know that now, Duke Kalas. In her efforts against Father Abbot Markwart, she was correct, and—”

  “Spare me the recital of the virtues of Jilseponie,” Duke Kalas said dryly. “I have heard too much from her and about her these last years. I can only hope that she ran off into the forest and was eaten by a bear.”

  “Or a tiger?”

  The obvious reference to De’Unnero made Kalas sit a bit straighter suddenly, and narrow his eyes.

  “Yes, I have heard of Marcalo De’Unnero’s unexpected return,” Shamus confirmed. “Though I admit that I am more than a little surprised to find that he and Duke Kalas are on the same side once again.”

  “This is not about Marcalo De’Unnero,” Duke Kalas snapped back, and the harshness in his tone betrayed how strongly he felt about the fallen monk. “This is about putting the kingdom of Honce-the-Bear back as it was, about restoring …”

  “The name of Ursal?”

  “Captain Kilronney,” Duke Kalas said quietly, evenly, as clear a threat as Shamus had ever heard.

  Shamus held up his hands, showing that he would let the issue drop.

  “I am as surprised by the turn of events as are you, I assure you,” Duke Kalas went on. “But I am also certain that our land will prosper as never before under the command of Aydrian.”