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

by R. A. Salvatore

  “How can you know?”

  Duke Kalas fumbled over a few words, then just shrugged. “There is more to him than to any man I have ever known,” he said quietly, and Shamus looked at him intently, never having seen the proud and headstrong Duke Kalas seem so humbled. “If ever there was a man born to be a king, then it is surely Aydrian.”

  “His breeding is impressive,” said Shamus, and Kalas scowled.

  “He rises above the many shortcomings of both mother and father,” the duke insisted. “And pray, do tell me of his mother. Has Jilseponie passed this way?”

  “She has not, and until your arrival and news that she was on the road, I had feared that she remained in Ursal, imprisoned.”

  “You are telling me that the Palmaris garrison did not march through here?” Duke Kalas said suspiciously.

  “They did indeed, but had little to offer,” Shamus replied. “Nor did I question them intently, as they were merely rushing through, along the road to the north and east. To Vanguard, I presume.”

  “And many of the townsfolk went with them.” It was a statement and not a question.

  “Many indeed. Prince Midalis and King Danube fostered great loyalty in this region, to be sure, but no more so than did Jilseponie Wyndon.” Again Kalas scowled at him.

  “Tread carefully, good Duke,” Shamus warned. “The name of Jilseponie is not discredited up here north of Palmaris, whatever her reputation in the city and on the roads south. The people of Caer Tinella and Landsdown, and all along the road to the north, remember well all that she and Elbryan did for them.”

  “Which is why I would expect that the reports we have of her heading north out of Palmaris are likely true,” Duke Kalas replied. “Yet you say that she did not come through here.”

  “She did not, and if she had, then surely I would have seen her and spoken with her, and I assure you that I have not.”

  Duke Kalas stared at Shamus hard for a few moments, then, seeming satisfied, gave a nod.

  “Just because she did not come through here does not mean that she didn’t pass this way,” Shamus offered. “Never has she called Caer Tinella her home.”

  “It may be that she is farther north,” Duke Kalas agreed. “Back in Dundalis.”

  “And you will march that way?”

  “No,” Kalas said without hesitation. “That is not my mission. The Timberlands are not important at this time.”

  “Even if Jilseponie is there?”

  “I have not come out in search of Jilseponie,” Kalas explained. “And if I never see the witch again, I will die a happy man. My assignment was to take these towns for King Aydrian, and so I have, and now I will swing west with my legions and the Allhearts to secure all the lands in a ring about Palmaris, which now embraces Aydrian in good spirit. Even Bishop Braumin has spoken for the new king.”

  Shamus nodded, though the significance of that was not lost on him, nor was the curiosity of it. Hadn’t Braumin been one of Jilseponie’s staunchest supporters for all these years?

  “I came here for more than idle chatter,” Duke Kalas said suddenly, and he sat up straighter in his chair. “It is obvious that the folk of the towns have taken you as their leader.”

  “I would hardly say that.”

  “But I have said it, and I am not surprised,” said Duke Kalas. “King Danube took it as a great loss when you left the Kingsmen and your service to the crown. For many years, many of us considered that your future would be bright within the hierarchy of the kingdom, even after your decision to side with Elbryan and Jilseponie.”

  Shamus wanted to point out again that he had been proven right on that point, but he held the words to himself. He knew how stubborn Duke Kalas could be, and knew that to this day Kalas had never embraced the myth of the heroes of the north.

  “I wish you to return to service,” Duke Kalas went on when no protest was forthcoming. “I tell you with all my heart that King Aydrian will lead Honce-the-Bear to greatness beyond our comprehension. But as magnificent as he is, he will need competent leaders in his ranks.”

  Shamus was only partly aware of the fact that a slight breeze could have blown him over at that moment. To hear Duke Kalas, of all people, so exhorting the virtues of another! It was so uncharacteristic of the proud man as to be unthinkable!

  “I have long retired,” Shamus did manage to stutter. “I have little desire to pace the open road again, my Duke.”

  “I have shown you no road,” Duke Kalas replied. “I seek only stability in these towns, and I believe that you can deliver that stability, for King Aydrian.”

  “And against Prince Midalis?”

  “A fair enough question,” said Kalas. “And I pray that it never comes to that, for if Midalis goes against Aydrian, he will be destroyed. But we will let them play out that drama, should it come to war. For now, I seek only to assure the folk of Caer Tinella and Landsdown that all is as it was. I hope to coax back those who have fled because of their unfounded fear. Aydrian is no conquering king, but one who loves this land above all.”

  The words rang hollow on many levels, but Shamus could not deny that he was glad to hear them. Whether his loyalties lay with Jilseponie or with the nobles of Ursal was not the point—and was nothing that he could investigate at this time, in any case, having seen neither the former queen nor her son. What truly mattered to Shamus Kilronney at that moment was exactly what Duke Kalas had just said to him: the stability of Caer Tinella and Landsdown.

  “We have seen too much war,” Shamus said.

  “Then remain out of any that might march your way,” offered Duke Kalas. “Keep these towns safe and secure. Assure the folk that King Aydrian is no enemy, but an ally who will not forsake his people at any cost.”

  “Then why have you come in with an army, Duke Kalas?” Shamus dared to ask. “If what you say is true, then why not send a courier with the news, bidding support for the new king?”

  “Because there will likely be war, and we know not when we might find it,” the duke explained. “A sizable portion of the garrison of Palmaris, guided by errant loyalties, have marched out of the city. We know not when we will encounter them.”

  “And you wish to ensure that they are not welcomed in Caer Tinella and Landsdown through the winter months,” Shamus reasoned.

  “I doubt they are anywhere near here,” said Kalas. “But yes, there is that small fact. I will be gone from this place soon, but I am leaving a force behind to secure the towns and to help them through the difficulties of the winter months. I would have you aid them in their cause.”

  Shamus Kilronney spent a long time staring at the man. He really had little choice in the matter, he knew. His loyalties, first and foremost, were to these towns he now called home, and leading them against the legions of Ursal would be nothing short of suicide and complete disaster.

  A few moments slipped by, with Shamus not answering.

  “Yet, you were a friend to Jilseponie, not De’Unnero,” Duke Kalas did remark.

  “No more a friend to De’Unnero than are you,” Shamus countered effectively.

  “True enough,” said Kalas. “Then I can inform King Aydrian that Captain Kilronney will hold the towns of Caer Tinella and Landsdown in his name?”

  Shamus thought on it for a moment, and said, “We will not become enemies to those who do not come to us as enemies.”

  It was enough of an assurance for Duke Kalas obviously, for the man stood up and motioned for his soldiers to lead the way out. “The force I leave with you will not be substantial,” he explained. “Your duty will not be to engage Prince Midalis, if this way he rides—and surely he will!—but to send riders far and wide that we might offer the proper defense in Palmaris to the south.”

  “We want no fight here,” Shamus assured him. “But tell me again, on your word, that you do not hunt for Jilseponie.”

  “Old loyalties die hard?” Duke Kalas replied with a chuckle, then he added, “Marcalo De’Unnero was not pleased at Aydrian’s de
cision to leave her to the Timberlands, if that is where she has fled. He wanted nothing more than to press on after her. Personally, I hope she simply fades away, never to be seen again.”

  Shamus grimaced and held a hard stare, but allowed him that.

  It had gone better than expected, but the captain was glad indeed when he shut the door behind the departing duke and made his way back to the sitting room.

  A soot-covered Roger Lockless was just crawling out of the chimney as he entered.

  “You heard?”

  “Every word,” Roger answered. “My body wears the aches of middle age, but my hearing is acute, I assure you. Especially when the subject is one so dear to my heart.” Roger dusted himself off and gave a little laugh. “I’m amazed that Duke Kalas was so quick to trust you. He has to know that these two towns might prove pivotal in any march of Prince Midalis—and these are no longer the minor villages they were in the days of the demon dactyl. Five thousand call this region home now, and more than half, including many hardy warriors, are on the road to join Midalis!”

  “Duke Kalas trusts me not at all, though he understands that I am honor-bound as a soldier,” Shamus explained. “Likely he will leave many in his force to watch over me specifically, and I hold no doubt that at the first indication I offer in swaying at all toward Prince Midalis, should it come to that, they will have me chained and dragged all the way to Ursal.”

  Roger looked at him hard, all hint of a smile long gone.

  “Take care where you stand in this, Roger Lockless,” Shamus honestly warned him. “And pray keep Jilseponie safe. This is not a war that will easily be won, I fear, and the enemies are not clearly defined this time, as they were with the minions of the demon dactyl. Choose wisely, for all our sakes!”

  “You can’t believe there is legitimacy in Aydrian.”

  Shamus gave a shrug, as if it did not really matter. “We are a long way from Ursal,” he explained. “If King Danube had died years ago, our lives here would not likely have been any different than they are now. Unless this Aydrian proves to be a tyrant, levying crushing taxes and impressing the folk of the land into service to his kingdom, then what real difference does it make?”

  “These are not the words of the Shamus I knew!” Roger insisted.

  “Perhaps not. But they are the words of a man who has known too much battle.”

  “Have you no loyalty to King Danube?”

  “I did.”

  “And what of his brother, then? The rightful successor?”

  Again Shamus shrugged. “We know nothing of Prince Midalis’ designs at this time. Would you have me lead a revolt against the Allheart Knights and legions of Kingsmen? Would you have me lead my people into slaughter, or back out into the wilds of the forest, to run and hide from an enemy we cannot hope to defeat?

  “Besides, how do we know that young Aydrian will not prove to be the true offspring, in spirit as well as blood, of Elbryan and Jilseponie?” the man went on. “And if that is the case, Honce-the-Bear may yet know its best days.”

  Roger could see the logic in that, and in not resisting the overwhelming forces of Duke Kalas at this time. But he countered, and with great effectiveness, by reminding the former Kingsman of Aydrian’s sidekick, saying merely, “Marcalo De’Unnero.”

  Shamus gave a resigned nod and smirk that fast turned to a scowl.

  He would cling to his hopes, Roger understood, and so would many in the kingdom, but those hopes were placed upon the shoulders of a man who had risen to power under the tutelage of a monster whose past exploits could not be ignored.

  Roger went back out into the forest before the dawn, and found Bradwarden waiting for him at the appointed spot. He recounted the events to the centaur, who listened carefully, nodding all the way through and giving little indication of whether he approved or not.

  Expecting a more vociferous response from the volatile creature, Roger said emphatically, “They refuse to draw the battle lines!”

  “Wisely so,” said the centaur. “Shamus Kilronney’s not to be leading his people to slaughter, and if ye’re thinkin’ they’ve got a chance in the world o’ fighting the army that’s marched out o’ Palmaris, then ye’re thinking wrong.”

  “We have to do something,” Roger argued.

  “And we’ll see if it comes to pass,” said the centaur. “Prince Midalis’ll be heard from afore this is ended, don’t ye doubt, but right now, it’s seeming to me to be his fight to start, then ours to choose sides.”

  Roger paused and considered that for a moment, with Shamus’ warning that he should choose sides carefully echoing in his ears. “And we do nothing?” he asked.

  “Oh, we got plenty to do,” Bradwarden replied. “We got a friend in the north who’s needing us, and a friend in the south who’s in more trouble still. I’m standing by me friends, whate’er the cost, and so is yerself, if ye’re the Roger Lockless I’m knowing.”

  Roger looked at him curiously, not quite understanding. He caught the reference to Pony, obviously, but who might the friend in the south be? Braumin Herde? Did the centaur think that he and Roger and anyone else they might find had any chance at all of getting to the man, if the man was even still alive?

  “Climb on me back,” the centaur instructed. “We got a long run to Palmaris ahead of us, and I’m thinking to make it quick!”

  Roger, still perplexed, did as instructed, and the centaur leaped away, his large hooves tearing up the turf.

  “I’m thinkin’ it’s good that we got so many soldiers behind us,” Bradwarden called back to him. “That’ll mean less to fight once we get to the city.”

  Roger just held on.

  Chapter 14

  The Weight of Responsibility

  BRYNN REVIEWED THE ASSEMBLED TO-GAI-RU RIDERS ARRAYED BEHIND TANALK Grenk: several hundred in number. He had brought them out of Dharyan-Dharielle and along the road to support their beloved leader, the Dragon of To-gai.

  The woman gave a doubtful look over at Pagonel and Agradeleous, the dragon in his bipedal lizardman form. They were back in the west now, closer to Dharyan-Dharielle than to Jacintha, after a swift flight that had added the emissary Paroud to the group of riders.

  “They number not nearly as many as I would have hoped,” Paroud said curtly. “But they are Ru … To-gai-ru warriors, after all, and renowned for their ferocity.”

  “Many more are moving toward Dharyan-Dharielle as we speak,” Tanalk Grenk answered him. “Doubt you the might of To-gai after the defeat of your own kingdom?”

  Paroud started to answer, but Brynn cut him off with a simple, “Enough!”

  She looked again to Pagonel, silently pleading for his help. What was she to do? Send this army charging to the aid of Jacintha and reinforce the Behrenese secured there with more and more To-gai-ru as they rode out of To-gai to her call? The exchange she had just witnessed between Grenk and Paroud was a telling reminder of the enmity between the peoples, a basic distrust that went back many hundreds of years. Given that, was it right for Brynn to ask her fellow To-gai-ru to die for the cause of Behren, for the security of a Yatol priest who had gladly served the previous, imperialistic Chezru Chieftain? Had Yatol Mado Wadon even questioned the decision by Chezru Douan to invade To-gai and conquer Brynn’s people?

  And yet, she could not deny that the other player in the drama that was now Behren was a man she hated even more profoundly. Yatol Bardoh had been the executor of the invasion, a brutal and unmerciful man who had murdered To-gai-ru without the slightest hesitation.

  Including Brynn’s own parents.

  She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Personally, she wanted revenge on Bardoh, but would that justify throwing To-gai into the middle of the Behrenese civil war?

  She opened her eyes when she felt a light touch on her arm. Pagonel motioned her to follow him to the side, where they could privately discuss the matter.

  “To engage Yatol Bardoh’s forces within the city of Jacintha, should they breach the wal
l, would be foolhardy,” the mystic cautioned. “Your warriors are better suited to the open desert and roads. Use them to nibble at the perimeters of Yatol Bardoh’s force.” He paused there and spent a long moment studying Brynn’s doubting—scowling, even—look. “If you choose to use them at all,” he added.

  “Can I?”

  “They look to you as their leader,” Pagonel replied. “If you instruct them to go to war, they will go to war.”

  “And can I, in good conscience and with the benefit of To-gai in mind, ask that of them?” Brynn clarified.

  “Would To-gai see a benefit if Yatol Bardoh assumes the leadership of Behren?” Pagonel answered. “He has made no secret of his continuing designs on your homeland.”

  It was true enough, and there lay Brynn’s dilemma. If she let this civil war continue and Tohen Bardoh proved victorious, then To-gai would likely know war soon enough. And certainly, Bardoh’s first move would be to try to reclaim Dharyan-Dharielle for Behren.

  Of course, Brynn understood her limitations quite clearly. She looked back at the small force of riders. Would throwing her warriors and herself into the middle of the conflict even make a difference in the outcome?

  There was the rub, and the weight that tipped the scales within Brynn’s thoughts. She looked at Pagonel and nodded appreciatively, then moved back to the others on the road. For the last two weeks, she had tried to avoid this moment of decision. All along the way to Agradeleous’ cave and back again, Brynn had hoped that Mado Wadon would crush Tohen Bardoh and be done with it before she ever had to declare openly whether or not she would engage To-gai in the fight.

  Now she had run out of time.

  “Go back to Dharyan-Dharielle and organize all of those coming in,” she instructed Tanalk Grenk.

  “You must be quick, then!” Paroud advised. “If you are to assemble a larger force, then do so at once, or it may prove too late for Yatol Wadon!”

  Brynn shot him a brief look, but turned back to her trusted commander. “Organize the defense of Dharyan-Dharielle, and of all the paths leading into To-gai,” she ordered. “If Yatol Bardoh proves victorious, he will turn against us, I do not doubt. And we will be ready for him.”