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

by R. A. Salvatore

  He is the perfect undercommander.

  As winter settles on the land, our hold on the great and important river will be strengthened and made unbreakable, and with that done, all will be in place for the next two thrusts: southeast to Entel, securing the heartlands of Honce-the-Bear; and the voyage of the armada north to Pireth Dancard and then Pireth Vanguard. I will have the whole of the kingdom by midsummer, and much of Behren as well.

  The first reports coming back from Jacintha have been more than promising, and have silenced the critics among my advisors who feared that we had struck too far and too fast. Abbot Olin is in control of the Behrenese capital city now, and will have the entire southern kingdom soon enough, and it was none other than Brynn Dharielle who helped him achieve that initial victory. I cannot wait to see her again! Always have I cared for Brynn, and it will be through her eyes that I find my greatest satisfaction. Brynn will recognize me for what I have become and she will know that Lady Dasslerond was wrong about me. She will know that I am the epitome of the ranger, that I am more than the promise of my mother and my father, that I am more than the wretched Touel’alfar could ever have hoped to produce. Brynn will take pride in me; perhaps together we will rule the entire known world.

  Perhaps not, but I will ensure that she is not forgotten in the maelstrom of Aydrian Boudabras.

  Once I had thought that Brynn would ultimately become my bride, my queen. Two rangers, ruling the lands in a manner that the men of the world have never known. Now, though, I see another who must rise beside me. Every day that passes moves Sadye farther from the arms of Marcalo De’Unnero and closer to mine own. I will have her singing the songs of Aydrian alone soon enough, and now, I believe, De’Unnero has come to understand this. I hear it in the agitation of his voice whenever he speaks to me. I see it in the looks he tosses Sadye’s way, in the fists too oft clenched at his sides. But he will step back, I am sure, because that which I offer to him—all the Abellican Church and the complete control of the weretiger within him—has ever been more important to Marcalo De’Unnero than any woman.

  He will be happy for us. Or if not, he will remain silent.

  Either way, I do not care.

  Similarly, De’Unnero will not be alone in his criticism of my forthcoming decision, I understand. He suspects that I am seeking something in the area to the west—oftentimes has he questioned me about sending Duke Kalas and his forces on such a wide western sweep of the region surrounding Palmaris. When I tell them of my intentions, there will inevitably be doubters, even more so than when I sent Abbot Olin to invade Jacintha. This time, though, the prize is less apparent, for many of them do not even understand that the enclave of Touel’alfar exists. Aside from that, they will question my choice to go to war with an enemy that is irrelevant to the kingdom, and to any kingdom of man.

  But nothing could be more relevant to me than the destruction of Andur’Blough Inninness and Lady Dasslerond!

  And nothing in all the world will taste sweeter than the moment of my victory over the elves!

  I will hear her surrender. I will hear her admission that she was wrong. I will hear her proclaim Aydrian as worthy of the title “ranger,” as more worthy than any who came before him, including his legendary father!

  And then I will stamp Andur’Blough Inninness flat.

  It was not until very recently that I came to understand the depth of my hatred toward Dasslerond and her annoying little folk. I left Andur’Blough Inninness bitterly, to be sure, and after a struggle that would have cost me my very life had I lost. But still, for months and months, my feelings toward the Touel’alfar had been more along the lines of wanting to prove them wrong, of wanting to force from the lips of their pompous leader the honest admission that they did not appreciate me. The delicious irony of it all, of course, is that I have come to understand myself and my potential through Oracle, the elven gift to me, the discipline that Lady Dasslerond herself insisted that I master. At Oracle, I have come to see the selfishness of the Touel’alfar. At Oracle, I have come to see their unconcern for me, and for all humans. At Oracle, I have come to know their ultimate arrogance, their continual lies—not only to me, but to every human they have ever known. At Oracle, I have learned the darkness of Touel’alfar hearts, and the cruelty of Touel’alfar generosity. For they do nothing for the good of a human. They use that guise merely to gain full control, that they might manipulate their rangers to serve only the Touel’alfar.

  But at Oracle, I learned to turn their duplicitous games back upon them. The large shadow in the mirror prompted me on, even as the smaller shadow told me how many wondrous things the elves might teach to me. And so I used them even as they tried to use me. I let them teach me the sword dance, the gemstones, and the way of the ranger.

  How delicious will be the irony when I crush them!

  I wonder if Brynn has come to see the truth of these wretched slavers. I wonder if, in her rise to the leadership of To-gai, she has been able to look past her personal gains to understand that she had merely been an instrument for Lady Dasslerond. I wonder if she sees a shadow similar to my mentor in her darkened mirror at Oracle.

  If she does not, then I will become her shadow.

  I hope to see her in the summer. I hope to tell her in great detail of the fall of Dasslerond and the wretched Touel’alfar. I hope that she will come to see the truth.

  For it would truly please me if Brynn Dharielle, the Dragon of To-gai, walked this road beside me, willingly and with all of her heart.

  But if not, then so be it. I will construct the road of immortality over the bodies of lesser men and lesser women. I will lead humanity to its pinnacle of glory and hope, but that can be achieved only through war.

  Oracle has shown me this road clearly, and it is one I am prepared to walk. And Oracle has honestly shown me that this side journey I intend to make to Andur’Blough Inninness is not a necessary path to the conquest of the human kingdoms—as my doubting commanders will no doubt point out—but that it is a necessary journey for Aydrian the king nonetheless.

  If for no better reason than to enjoy the sweetness of Lady Dasslerond’s defeat.

  —KING AYDRIAN BOUDABRAS

  Chapter 19

  Stretching His Fingers

  THE WORK ALONG THE PALMARIS DOCKS WAS NOTHING SHORT OF FURIOUS. A LINE of wagons stretched the length of the city’s long wharf as one Ursal warship after another slid into line. The Kingsmen drilled along the docks, learning techniques for getting ashore quickly and efficiently and establishing defensive positions. Several ships were brought into dry dock for repair, recaulking hulls, and even replacing severely weathered planks. Second and third anchors were added to the larger ships, to hold them steady against potential winter gales.

  Not the Palmaris gales, though. Anyone observing the preparations who understood the region and seamanship would quickly come to the conclusion that many of these warships were soon to be departing, and to the north, into the open Gulf of Corona.

  And they would be taking extra crew—soldiers—along for the journey.

  In a small stone house not far from the docks—which was actually the house that served as St. Precious Abbey’s liaison house to the region, used by Marlboro Viscenti when he had sneaked out of the city just prior to Aydrian’s arrival—seven monks had gathered to watch an extraordinary presentation by an extraordinary man.

  King Aydrian sat between the brothers, a hematite in one hand and a graphite in the other.

  “This stone,” he explained, holding forth the hematite, “can serve you as a conduit to the other. Using the state of meditation offered through the soul stone, you will have easier access to the powers of the second stone.” To finish his point, the young king lifted both stones before him, closed his eyes, and sent a jolt of electricity emanating out from him, stunning and surprising the brothers and knocking a couple right to the floor.

  A few minor protests began, but Aydrian’s laughter, which quickly became contagious, cut them s
hort.

  Aydrian started to explain, but then just jolted them all again, and then again, laughing all the while, as were most of the brothers. With De’Unnero’s help, he had chosen only the most loyal and ambitious group of Abellican converts, and the promises of power he was now displaying for them simply overwhelmed any protests before they could gain strength.

  “It is so very easy,” the young king explained. It wasn’t quite true, he knew, and certainly would not be as easy for these brothers to perform as it was for him, who had learned the deepest secrets of the gemstones from his shadow mentor at Oracle. If he had thought for a moment that these brothers would ever even approach his power and ease of use with the gemstones, this was one secret the young king would have certainly kept to himself!

  Aydrian led the seven out the back door of the house, and into a narrow alleyway that he had ordered his soldiers to seal off to the public. And then he put the monks to work with the gemstones, one at a time, shooting bolts of lightning down the alleyway.

  Most of the shots were truly pitiful, Aydrian had to admit, but he kept them at it, over and over, and what heartened him was that the seven showed little signs of tiring from the extended magic use, which proved, at least, that they were having a somewhat easier time of accessing the graphite using his soul stone technique.

  At several points during the training, Aydrian fell into his own soul stone and stepped free of his mortal coil, moving to the training monk. He didn’t go in to possess the chosen man, but affected a sort of spiritual joining, that he could guide the monk along his journey from soul stone to graphite.

  A short while later, with the training on in full, the young king was drawn from his work by the sounds of an argument not too far away. Aydrian recognized the voices and was hardly surprised.

  He left the young monks to their work and moved out of the alley and back into the stone house, where he found Marcalo De’Unnero and Earl DePaunch in heated discussion.

  “It is folly!” De’Unnero declared. “The gulf is not to be challenged so late in the season when we have so much to lose and so little to gain.”

  “Perhaps you should ask our king about that before making such a statement,” replied Earl DePaunch, a thin and severe-looking young man, whose tight little beard and thick black eyebrows only added to the intensity of his dark and too-eager eyes. DePaunch, an Allheart Knight, had been appointed by Aydrian to replace Duke Bretherford as acting earl of the Mirianic on the suggestion of Duke Kalas; and in listening to him now, his every word dripping in an almost obsessive intensity, it wasn’t hard for Aydrian to understand the reasoning behind that recommendation.

  As he finished, DePaunch drew De’Unnero’s gaze over to the house’s back door, where stood a rather amused-looking King Aydrian.

  “All goes well, my friend,” Aydrian said to De’Unnero. “Why are you so concerned?”

  “The Gulf of Corona is an enemy we do not need,” De’Unnero replied, and he glanced from Aydrian to DePaunch in a manner clearly asking the young king to dismiss the upstart young earl. “If the ships exit the Masur Delaval and find a gale blowing down from the Timberlands, we may lose a thousand men to an indifferent enemy.”

  “I have faith that our friend DePaunch here will properly sail the ships to Pireth Dancard and quickly secure the island,” Aydrian answered.

  “We will overwhelm them, my King,” DePaunch snapped, coming to painfully straight attention. “I will have Pireth Dancard in my grasp within two weeks, and set the flag of King Aydrian waving from its high tower throughout the winter!”

  “There, you see?” Aydrian calmly asked, drawing a sour look from the dangerous monk.

  “You are sending but a third of our available ships,” said De’Unnero, as if that alone showed that Aydrian was not as unconcerned as he appeared. “Why not send the entire fleet, after all, and truly overwhelm the small fortress?”

  “The others will be needed to continue to patrol the river and to ferry our soldiers to the eastern banks.”

  “Prince Midalis has ships,” De’Unnero reminded.

  “Which is why I wish to take Pireth Dancard before we begin the next maneuvers to secure the southland,” Aydrian explained. “With the island in our grasp, Midalis’ ships, or any potential informant vessels he might have scouting about our coasts, will have no place to resupply. Taking Pireth Dancard will help to blind him to our movements.” Aydrian paused and gave a wry little grin, then tossed a carrot out to the concerned monk. “And will seal off passage from St.-Mere-Abelle, for the brothers there have no ships capable of crossing the Gulf of Corona without stopping to resupply. We wouldn’t want Fio Bou-raiy and his cronies to rush to Midalis’ side, would we?”

  “Midalis may be sailing south already,” De’Unnero reasoned. “If he reaches Pireth Dancard before Earl DePaunch, the force you now send will not be sufficient to dislodge him.”

  “He is not,” Aydrian said with great conviction, with absolute certainty, and he flashed his soul stone for De’Unnero to see, knowing that the monk was well aware of spirit-walking and Aydrian’s power with the stones.

  “I have not been idle here,” Aydrian explained. “I do not send a third of my fleet into dangers without proper scouting. Prince Midalis’ ships are moored in Vanguard harbor, just as we would expect for this season.”

  “Prince Midalis has many experienced sailors in his fleet, who know well the cold waters of the gulf,” the monk retorted. “At anchor is a well-considered position for ships in this season.”

  Aydrian smiled at the unrelenting sarcasm. He was not growing tired of Marcalo De’Unnero questioning his every move. He understood the many frustrations, everything from Sadye to St.-Mere-Abelle, that were playing on the man’s emotions, and he was glad of the questioning in any case. The ever-doubting De’Unnero was keeping Aydrian from getting careless, was forcing Aydrian to find a solution to every possible danger before committing so much of his resources. That was a good thing.

  “It is not so far a journey,” Earl DePaunch interjected, turning to face Aydrian, though he was answering De’Unnero. “I will get there. I will secure the island and put the fleet into tight mooring about its sheltered bays whenever a gale threatens. You will lose no ships, my King, and few men—and fewer when the brothers you so magnificently train perfect the methods you show them!”

  Aydrian nodded his appreciation of the confidence, but he was watching De’Unnero more than DePaunch, and was quite amused by the monk’s mocking expression aimed at the upstart and eager young earl. De Paunch caught the look, too, obviously, and he bristled with the pride so prevalent in the Allheart Knights.

  “Brother De’Unnero fears any diversion from the goal he views as penultimate,” Aydrian explained to the earl. “To his thinking, there remains one prize above all others. Is that not true, brother?”

  De’Unnero returned the young king’s stare, but did not otherwise respond.

  “St.-Mere-Abelle looms as the crowning prize for our friend,” Aydrian went on. “And indeed, when Marcalo De’Unnero is in control of the Abellican Church, our desire to return the kingdom to its former glory, and even to expand that glory, will be much closer to realization.

  “Patience, my friend,” Aydrian went on, turning to De’Unnero with a slightly condescending tone. “Let us secure the gulf and isolate Midalis, and then we might turn our attention to St.-Mere-Abelle. The foolish brothers will have no support from without, and likely will face great dissent from within. You will have your deserved prize. You will sit as Father Abbot of the Abellican Church of Honce-the-Bear while your friend Abbot Olin sits as Father Abbot of the Abellican Church of Behren. And be assured that I am well aware of the value you two bring to my rule.”

  They were simple words, of course, and ones that Aydrian had uttered to De’Unnero many times previous. But issuing the timely reminder now in front of Earl DePaunch, who was surely a man well on the rise within Aydrian’s military hierarchy, created a calming effect on Marcalo De�
�Unnero. The monk looked at Aydrian long and hard, then merely nodded, his arguments defeated, and bowed and walked away.

  Earl DePaunch flashed Aydrian a look that seemed to mock the departing monk, a grin that conveyed his amusement at how easily Aydrian had deflected the argument.

  But Aydrian would have none of that. De’Unnero’s reputation among the Allhearts and with Aydrian’s court in general had been on the decline of late, as the monk’s reputation had elicited nothing but scorn from the populace of the towns falling under their control, particularly here in Palmaris.

  “That man is the greatest warrior in all the world,” Aydrian said, and DePaunch’s smile evaporated. “Besides myself, of course. He could defeat you or any of your Allheart brothers in single combat, one after another until the lot of you were dead.”

  DePaunch bristled again, his shoulders straightening, his expression tightening.

  “Take that as no insult, my good Earl,” Aydrian went on. “Even your Duke Kalas knows the truth of this. A man as proficient in the arts martial as Marcalo De’Unnero is a rare treasure indeed, the epitome of a generation of warriors. He is a man of honor and great fortitude against trials you cannot begin to understand or appreciate. Look upon him as a great ally, I beseech you, and know that when he sits in power of the Abellican Church, it will become again an institution allied with the throne in a manner beneficial to the nobility of Honce-the-Bear.”

  “Yes, my King,” DePaunch said obediently.

  “And do keep always in your mind, my good Earl, the certainty that if you mock Marcalo De’Unnero too greatly, he might just kill you.”

  So much for DePaunch’s proud posturing.

  “Enough of that,” Aydrian was quick to add, not wanting to deflate his naval leader too greatly. “Turn your attention from the detractors of this all-important mission. That is an issue with which I must deal. Your duty now is clear before you. Prepare this fleet to sail, and these men to execute their tasks to perfection. I send you in all confidence—I listen not at all to those who doubt the wisdom of this expedition to Pireth Dancard because I hold absolute faith that you will secure the fortress in the name of King Aydrian. Once we have that island, the key to the Gulf of Corona is in our hands, and our enemies from the north will have far fewer options open to them concerning their route of attack.