Yatol Wadon cupped his hand across his brow to shield the glare and peered out to the southwest, to that high dune, to a line of catapults that had been dragged into position.
The second volley was soon airborne, a combination of boulders and flaming brands, and in seconds, several structures about Jacintha’s southern wall went up in flames.
“The advance begins in full!” proclaimed Abu Das Abu, the undercommander for Yatol Peridan’s waterborne legions. The obese man sat on a huge padded chair specially constructed to hold his girth. Once a great warrior, considered a match for even a Chezhou-Lei, Abu Das Abu had been sorely wounded in a tragic wagon accident many years before and had lost all strength and feeling in his lower torso. Normally in the harsh Behrenese society, such a debilitating injury would have meant a death sentence, but so valuable was Abu Das Abu’s battle cunning that Yatol Peridan had kept him on all these years. It was Abu Das Abu who had led Peridan to the pirate leader Maisha Darou in the early days of his conflict with Yatol De Hamman, and that alliance had given Peridan a decided edge over the Yatol to the north.
And now, with the greater promise of Jacintha itself, and indeed, all of Behren, that alliance had seemingly paid dividends once again, for Maisha Darou had responded to Peridan’s plea with a tremendous fleet of ships.
Abu Das Abu had more than five thousand warriors on those ships, sailing fast to the north, paralleling the charge of the infantry as it neared Jacintha’s southern district and wall.
“We will let the fighting begin in earnest, then sweep into the docks,” Abu Das Abu directed Maisha Darou. “Yatols Peridan and Bardoh will pressure the city’s defenses. Jacintha will need every warrior to hold the wall, and so the docks will be ours!”
Maisha Darou reflected the obese man’s wicked smile. “We will find a favorable tide coming in from the north,” he explained. “We must tack deeper out to sea so that we are not seen by the watchers on the docks. They will expect an attack from the sea, but from the south and not the north.”
Abu Das Abu looked at the man suspiciously for some time, weighing every word. Darou’s course change was not in the original plan, and while Abu Das Abu wanted the infantry to reach the city first, the fleet could not lag too far behind.
“I know these waters,” the pirate said, clapping the big man on the shoulder. “Once we get out past the southern coastal current, our speed will amaze you. And there is a swirl out there and a back tide that will rush us in to Jacintha’s docks faster than a To-gai pony.”
“Back tide?” Abu Das Abu asked doubtfully. “I have never heard of such a thing.”
But all that Maisha Darou would reply was, “You will see,” and the pirate walked away, motioning to his pilot to tack hard right, turning the ships out to the deeper waters of the great Mirianic.
Just as Duke Bretherford had instructed.
“You see, Yatol Peridan, it is all in the execution,” Yatol Bardoh said smugly, watching the pounding at the southern wall of Jacintha from a position on the high ridge, beside his formidable battery of catapults and great, spear-throwing ballistae. “Now, as soon as your Abu Das Abu takes his force onto the docks, all pretense of Jacintha’s defense will shatter, and we will have the city.”
Peridan started to respond, but reflexively ducked as another great volley went out from the artillery beside them. He shook his head in absolute amazement at the effectiveness of those batteries. These were Yatol Bardoh’s trump card, as Abu Das Abu’s force was Peridan’s. Bardoh had spent weeks with his forces doing nothing but building these great war engines. Their power would bring down Jacintha in short order, he had promised Peridan, and—and this was the real prize in Bardoh’s eyes, Peridan knew—would evict the troublesome Dragon of To-gai from the Behrenese city of Dharyan.
And it all seemed to be going extremely well. Even from this great distance, Peridan could see that the city’s defenders were sorely pressed. Sections of wall were down, and large fires had begun to rage. And all the ground before the wall was strewn with the dead peasants and the pitiful refugees who had swarmed north from De Hamman’s towns before the charge of Peridan and Bardoh. Now, if only Abu Das Abu would reach the docks …
And he should be there, Peridan knew, but there were no indications of any action along the city’s eastern side, though in truth, he couldn’t see it well enough from his vantage point to gauge properly.
His relief was palpable when an aide came riding hard toward the ridgeline, crying out that there were ships in the harbor.
“Abu Das Abu,” Peridan announced to Bardoh, and the Yatol of Avrou Eesa grinned wickedly and nodded his approval.
“Ships in the harbor!” the messenger cried again, his horse struggling up the ridge. “Great warships! Flying the pennant of the bear and tiger!”
In the blink of an eye, the smiles disappeared from the faces of the two Yatols.
“Honce-the-Bear?” Yatol Bardoh said to the man, who dismounted and began scrambling toward the great leader.
“Yes, Yatol,” the messenger replied. “They are Bearmen, no doubt. There are whispers that Abbot Olin is among them!”
“Where is our fleet?” Yatol Bardoh demanded of the messenger, and he turned as he spoke, throwing the question at Yatol Peridan, as well.
“I do not know!” the messenger shrieked.
In his rage, Yatol Bardoh turned and motioned to Ung Lik Dy, his personal Chezhou-Lei bodyguard, and the muscular man stepped forward immediately and with a sudden movement, whipped the delicately curving sword from its sheath across his back and in a single fluid motion, took the head from the messenger’s body—so quickly that the man didn’t even have the time to cry out.
The head rolled across the dirt and wound up staring back at the headless body, which was only then beginning to sway and topple, and the messenger’s eyes and mouth widened in unison, as if in that moment of his death, he had suddenly realized what had just happened.
“You told me that Abu Das Abu was reliable, Yatol,” Bardoh growled at Peridan.
“He is likely circling the Honce-the-Bear warships even now, preparing to sink them in the harbor,” Peridan stammered, and all the while he was speaking, his gaze alternated between Ung Lik Dy and the head of the messenger.
“What are they doing here?” Yatol Bardoh demanded, and before Yatol Peridan could answer or Bardoh could press on, there came the winding of horns, so many horns!
The two men spun about, as did everyone else on the ridge, and even from this distance, the charge of the Bearmen was purely stunning.
They swept along the western wall of Jacintha in tight formations, squares of infantry leading the way, their shields interlocked and spear tips gleaming in the morning sunlight. Flanking them came a line of cavalry, a thousand at least, all armored, rider and horse.
“How is this possible?” Yatol Peridan said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
“He has allied with Honce-the-Bear!” Tohen Bardoh screamed. “The fool is just like his predecessor, a friend to the Abellican gemstone wizards more than to his own people, and more than to his own religion. But he will not survive this, despite his alliance!”
He glared at Peridan. “Order a full retreat to this ridge. We cannot stand in open combat against the Bearmen with their heavy-plated armor, but they cannot hope to pursue us for long. Let the hot sun steal their strength! By the time they arrive at this ridge, they will be falling from exhaustion, and then we will come back at them!” Bardoh turned to his artillerymen. “Fill the area about the Bearmen with burning pitch, and be prepared to wheel the catapults away at a moment’s notice. We have no idea what other sundry alliances the dog Wadon has made!”
As he finished, all of the artillerymen who were looking his way suddenly blanched, their eyes widening, their jaws drooping open. Following that lead, Tohen Bardoh saw indeed what other alliance Yatol Wadon had forged, in the form of a great dragon swooping in at their ranks!
The Behrenese cried out and broke ranks, fle
eing every which way as the dragon dove for the line of catapults. Peridan fled down the ridge, and Bardoh moved to follow, but his Chezhou-Lei warrior grabbed him by the arm and tugged him back toward the rushing dragon, correctly guessing that the wurm would not be able to compensate for their move and would swoop right above them.
“Bardoh!” Brynn cried, recognizing the hated man. She knew at once that Agradeleous could not possibly react in time, though, and so she flipped her leg over the dragon’s neck and dropped into a roll in the sand.
Agradeleous kept his path true and the first two catapults went up in flames beneath the power of his fiery breath. The third war engine fell, too, toppled by the dragon’s mighty claws.
Brynn rolled over and over and over, absorbing the shock of the impact. She came up in perfect balance and swung about, glancing back over her shoulder in time to see the dragon’s destructive run, and to see a second form, Pagonel, similarly drop to the sand.
Brynn charged on after Bardoh. All about her, Behrenese soldiers scrambled and shrieked, and not one would turn to face the formidable woman.
Not one, except for Ung Lik Dy.
Bardoh continued to flee behind him, but the Chezhou-Lei warrior stood resolute, parting his feet about shoulders’ width and rocking back and forth a bit to get complete balance in the soft sand.
“We are not enemies,” Brynn said to him, coming up before him with Flamedancer, her slender and strong elven sword, held out to the side. “Or we need not be. How many Chezhou-Lei must die in these times? Was not the disaster in the Mountains of Fire enough for you?”
She knew, despite her claim that they were not enemies, that her reference to the Mountains of Fire would spur the man to action, for in that place, not so long ago, she, the Jhesta Tu mystics, a pair of elves, and Agradeleous had decimated the Chezhou-Lei order.
Ung Lik Dy leaped forward, his magnificent sword cutting a circle at Brynn’s eye level, once and then again. Before the ducking Brynn could even think about stabbing forward under that slashing blade, Ung Lik Dy altered the momentum so that his sword was cutting diagonal slashes between the two combatants, forcing Brynn to retreat instead.
And she did, and with perfect balance, for she was schooled in bi’nelle dasada, the elven sword dance.
Once out of range, she set herself, feet perpendicular, right foot in front with her toes pointing the way to Ung Lik Dy and the bulk of her weight centered over that back, balancing foot. She brought her left hand up in the air behind her further to solidify her balance, and let Flamedancer weave delicately before her, like the teasing sway of a serpent.
The Chezhou-Lei came forward in a sudden rush, sword spinning in those diagonals. He changed hands repeatedly, altering the cut, and when Brynn tried to parry, he turned the blade into the diagonal, nearly getting past her outstretched sword.
Brynn made a mental note to dodge, not parry!
The tireless Ung Lik Dy pressed on, his shining sword humming as it cut through the air. He only seemed to be gaining momentum and speed, and Brynn was retreating as fast as she could, while still maintaining the balance needed to fend off the dynamic warrior.
She thought of calling to Flamedancer then, to ignite the blade and thus startle the warrior. She held back, though, wanting to get a better measure of her opponent before playing so desperate a deception. Under different conditions, Brynn might have held the fires of the sword altogether, for the sake of honor, but at that time, her goal was not to win a test with a Chezhou-Lei warrior, but to get to the dog, Bardoh!
She continued to dodge and to back away, allowing Ung Lik Dy to play out his momentum. Soon enough, she planned to turn back on him. Or so she thought.
For out of the corner of her eye, she noted two of the other Behrenese warriors, apparently gaining heart with the sight of the deadly Chezhou-Lei warrior, coming in hard at her. She had to turn to fend, she knew, but she could not without getting decapitated by the warrior!
In the pair came, spears lowered, and Brynn had no practical defense. She reversed her movement and went ahead instead, and suddenly, stabbing her sword up high to ring against the Chezhou-Lei blade to tap it just enough to break the man’s rhythm.
And then she tucked in her hip and spun, knowing that she had no chance to avoid getting skewered.
But then a form came rushing between Brynn and the two spearmen, turning as it went, and turning their spears aside.
Pagonel lifted his elbows in that turn, expertly slamming the first and then the second warrior in the face, in rapid succession. One went down, while the other staggered a few steps to the side, stumbling some ten feet from the Jhesta Tu mystic.
Pagonel stopped his rush, planted his feet immediately, and leaped back the other way, up high and turning to the horizontal.
The stunned warrior tried to lift his spear, but he was too late, and the mystic came in over it, double-kicking the man in the face and laying him low on the sand.
Too engaged with the Chezhou-Lei, Brynn didn’t watch the spectacle, but despite their desperate dance, she realized that her opponent couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight of a hated Jhesta Tu.
At that moment Brynn did call to her sword, and the blade flamed to life. She snapped it up high, and bade the sword to extinguish, then snapped it back down low.
But the Chezhou-Lei, his eyes tricked by the burst of fire up high, didn’t follow that sudden downward movement, and so his defenses went up high, as well.
And Brynn’s thrust came in hard below his sword, catching him in the throat.
Sputtering and gasping, the warrior fell away.
Brynn didn’t hesitate, sprinting past him as he fell, in full pursuit of the running Bardoh, though in the up-and-down terrain of the immediate area, she was not sure where he had gone.
But then Agradeleous was there, flying beside her, and she called out to him to guide her to Bardoh.
“He is right there,” the dragon answered, looking ahead and to the left, just over another windblown dune. “A tasty morsel!”
“No!” Brynn screamed at him, and the wurm pulled up.
Brynn didn’t bother to offer an explanation, just sprinted ahead and leaped over the ridge, nearly landing on the terrified Bardoh. He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but the pose didn’t even register to the outraged woman.
Yes, Brynn remembered this man, oh so well. He was the invader of To-gai, who had enslaved and tortured her people. He was the man who had ordered mass executions of To-gai-ru, simply to teach the hated Ru some discipline. He was the man who had murdered her parents when she was but a child.
That last thought was sweeping through Brynn’s mind even as her elven sword was sweeping through Tohen Bardoh’s neck, lopping his head from his shoulders.
Chapter 15
Caught by Her Own Gemstone
“BUT AREN’T YE LOOKING LIKE A GREAT FEEDER O’ THE PIGS THIS FINE MORNING!” Dainsey Lockless cried out in a spirited tone when she and Pony moved to the back, private rooms of Fellowship Way, the Dundalis tavern named after the place in Palmaris where Pony had grown into womanhood. A scented candle was burning nearby, giving the room a soft and smoky aroma, and a shade was drawn over the room’s lone window, keeping out the brilliant sunlight. All in all, the place gave Pony the impression of a room where someone might go to die. Dainsey’s words had been obviously exaggerated, for the man at whom she had aimed that phrase so energetically seemed far from worthy of the mood. Old and weary, Belster O’Comely was propped upon several pillows, making his great girth seem even larger. He had always been a man of many chins, as the saying in Dundalis went. Now it looked as if he had found many more.
His shirt was less than fresh; his hair, what little was left of it, unkempt; and he was sorely in need of a shave.
“And here I am thinking that the only thing I’ll ever feed to the pigs again might well be my own flesh,” he replied in a phlegm-filled voice with as much energy as he could muster—and the exertion had him co
ughing violently a moment later.
Pony went to his side and instinctively brought the soul stone out of her pouch. “Tell me where you’re hurting, Belster.”
The portly tavernkeeper, larger now by far than Pony remembered him, looked up at her warmly and smiled. “Ye got a cure for age, do ye?” he asked. “Where ain’t I hurting? There’s the better question!”
It struck Pony how much Belster’s enunciation had taken on the accent of the Timberlands region. She didn’t dwell on it, though, for she couldn’t resist that wry grin, and she moved forward and wrapped her dear old friend in a great hug.
“Ah, but there’s the best healin’ any man could ever want,” Belster remarked.
Pony pulled back. “You’ve a tavern full of patrons, old man,” she teased. “Why are you in bed?”
Belster’s expression became very serious. “Bah!” he snorted. “It’s been this way ever since I hurt the leg, ye know. Kept me in bed—and in bed, things’ve only gotten worse.”
“Because ye’ve gotten fat, ye old fool,” Dainsey scolded, and Belster laughed at her.
“Does your leg still trouble you?” Pony asked, reaching down to feel the man’s knee, and as soon as she touched it, Belster gave a little hiss and a jump, showing her just how tender it still was. She remembered her wedding day to King Danube those years ago, when she had first learned of Belster’s bad leg, and now she scolded herself privately for not rushing right up here to aid the man!
“Some days are better than others,” Belster admitted. “I can tell you when a rain’s coming, to be sure!”
Pony was glad to share his smile again. Belster had been such a great friend and protector to her in Palmaris in the days of Markwart; she hadn’t realized how much she had missed the man until this moment, sitting beside him in his small tavern in the heart of the Timberlands. How strange it seemed to her! And yet, how much at home she felt. It was as if she hadn’t seen Belster in decades, and as if she had been beside him only yesterday, all at once.
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 195
