“Instead of running away and hiding.”
“Indeed,” the elf agreed. “We could do that. We have found our kin, the Doc’alfar, and they have extended their hand to us. We could allow Andur’Blough Inninness to fade from our memories, and find a new way and a new life far removed from Aydrian and Jilseponie and all other humans.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because he’s knowing that yer Aydrian, this thing yer Aydrian has become, was partly the doing o’ him and his kin,” Bradwarden reasoned.
Pony regarded the centaur, then slowly turned back to regard the diminutive figure sitting across the fire.
“He speaks the truth, my friend,” Juraviel answered her unspoken question. “We of the Touel’alfar bear great responsibility for King Aydrian and the monster he has become. And so I come to you, out of mutual need, and offer to you my services.”
“The armies of humans are vast,” Pony reasoned. “And if Aydrian is as powerful with the gemstones as we believe, he would seem unstoppable.” She gave a little shrug. “My people will survive the tempest that is Aydrian. The human lands will go on long after he is dead, long after we are all dead. Your own numbers, though, are diminished, by your own admission. Go and hide, Juraviel—I tell you that as your friend. Go and hide your people away. Your warriors are magnificent, I agree, but you do not number enough to offer any true advantage to our cause. We will win or we will lose, and not a hundred elves could possibly tilt the balance.”
“I do not intend to throw my warriors in battle before your Aydrian ever again,” the elf agreed. “We cannot afford to lose many more, else we will cease to exist altogether!”
“Then what’re ye to offer?” asked Bradwarden.
Juraviel again held aloft the emerald. “You have allies,” he explained. “There lives in To-gai, south of the mountains, a ranger trained by me, the warrior woman named Brynn Dharielle, who has risen to lead the To-gai-ru to freedom from their Behrenese oppressors. Even now, Aydrian has reached southward to Behren, and even now, my couriers are advising Brynn to oppose him.”
“There’s the first glimmer I heared in a bit,” Bradwarden said hopefully, and he nudged Pony.
“With this gemstone, I can travel great distances in a short time,” Juraviel explained, holding forth the emerald once more. “I can take few others with me, and so I will be of little help in moving armies or the like. But in securing a line of communication between those who would oppose Aydrian, and in scouting the movements of Aydrian’s forces, we Touel’alfar are without equal.”
Pony stared at him while she digested the information, and while the potential gain to her cause began to blossom in her thoughts. She had understood the desperation of her situation in coming to Vanguard in search of Prince Midalis. She knew that it was likely that Aydrian had already grown too strong to be supplanted by Midalis, even with her support.
But now this. Now the possibility of finding all the loose threads opposing Aydrian and weaving them into a single force …
“I accept your apology, Belli’mar Juraviel,” the woman remarked quietly. “Help me. Help me make the world as it was.”
“And help you to defeat your son?” the elf reasoned.
Those words stung Pony’s sensibilities despite her logical agreement, and she knew not from where her response came, “Help me to save my son.”
She saw the look of concern shared by Juraviel and Bradwarden at that curious reply, and she understood that look better than she understood her own reasoning.
Still, the woman did not back down from her impetuous statement.
For if she surrendered hope itself, there would remain nothing else.
Chapter 31
Lining Up
AIDED BY AYDRIAN’S USE OF THE GEMSTONES, THEIR JOURNEY HAD BEEN SWIFT, even against the cold winds of winter. Despite that, the returning soldiers and the king who led them were all relieved to see again the walls of Palmaris that cold and wintry day near the end of the second month of God’s Year 847.
Riding before the column, the first thing Aydrian noticed was that the wall was manned by Ursal soldiers, his loyal Kingsmen. “Marcalo has held Palmaris strong, it would seem,” the young king remarked to Sadye, who rode at his side.
“Could we have expected any less of him?” Sadye asked.
Aydrian slowed his mount and turned a suspicious glance at her.
“What?” Sadye prompted.
“You still love him.”
Sadye looked back to Palmaris and gave a halfhearted shrug. “My respect for him has not diminished—should it have?”
Now it was Aydrian’s turn to look ahead to the city and shrug.
“You’ve placed Marcalo in a position of great importance to the security and expansion of your kingdom,” the woman went on. “Why?”
When Aydrian didn’t immediately answer, she did it for him. “Because you know of his value. You even got Abbot Olin out of the way, because you understand that having Marcalo De’Unnero as the Father Abbot of the Abellican Church will ensure the security of the throne. He is no less ambitious than you—it is just that his ambitions are now more tightly focused.”
“You still love him.”
“If I do, it is because I still respect him and his ambitions. And so do you.”
That last statement brought their gazes back together. “We have no room for jealousy here,” Sadye said quietly to him. “Not from you, and not from Marcalo. Though, of course, you will hold so many of his desires as a great sword over his head that he will have no choice but to hide away any jealousy he might hold.”
“If he has known Sadye as I have, he would have no greater desire than to hold her,” Aydrian said, lowering his gaze to the road ahead.
Sadye’s burst of laughter spun him about immediately.
“The words of a boy,” the bard explained, and she continued to chuckle. “Tell me, Aydrian Boudabras, who will rule all the world: Would you give it all up? Would you forsake your plans and abdicate your kingdom if I asked it of you? I could promise you in exchange all the love you desire and more.”
Aydrian just continued to stare at her, not sure how to react.
“Would you?” the woman demanded.
Again, when Aydrian didn’t respond, Sadye answered for him. “Of course you would not! There are different layers of desires. So many men become trapped in their immediate needs that they cannot look ahead to a greater future road. Neither you nor Marcalo De’Unnero is among that shortsighted breed. Yes, there will be anger between you two when Marcalo learns that I have moved from his side to yours, but that tension will not threaten the greater goals you both seek. At least, I hope it will not.”
Aydrian said nothing, but picked up the pace again, leading his force to the city’s western gate, bringing them under the comforting and distracting sound of the cheers of their comrades.
He was not the first of his people to walk among the To-gai-ru, but Lozan Duk felt the many stares upon him as he was escorted across the city of Dharyan-Dharielle to the palace of the Dragon of To-gai.
He walked into the grand structure, along hallways tastefully decorated, but not overdone with fineries, as was the reputed way of most human rulers. Tapestries lined the corridors, with statues and pedestals set before them. Golden bowls placed upon those pedestals were filled with the most precious commodity of this arid region, water, and from the splash marks and footprints, Lozan Duk could tell that visitors were welcomed to move up and refresh themselves. On both sides a long window, filled with multicolored glass, lined the top of the corridor’s walls, and sun rays streaming through splashed the light tiles of the floor with rose and blues and greens.
At the end of one long hall and through great double doors, Lozan Duk looked again on the strange woman who had accompanied the Tylwyn Tou traveler through Tymwyvenne years before. It struck him how greatly Brynn Dharielle had grown in those few years. Physically, she seemed much the same petite and beautiful young woman he had
known, but in her light brown eyes, Lozan Duk now saw the depth of wisdom and a simmer of determination where before he had seen only the sparkle of youthful innocence. He was glad to see that she was not prettily dressed, obscuring her natural grace and beauty beneath outrageous headdresses or voluminous and gaudy robes, as was the case with much of the human hierarchy.
Her smile, one of inviting warmth, would have seemed far less so under the weight of such a disguise.
“Greetings, Brynn Dharielle,” the elf said in his native tongue, one that was not far removed from the language Brynn had learned in her years with the Touel’alfar.
“It is good that you have come,” Brynn replied, the flow of her words a bit more stilted. “My heart is gladdened to see the face of an old friend.”
Lozan Duk waited a moment while Brynn turned to the middle-aged man standing beside her throne and whispered to him, apparently translating.
“I had thought your kingdom secured,” the elf said when she turned back to him. “Surprised I am to find an army sitting outside your walls.”
“It is a long and complicated story,” Brynn replied. “One that may concern you, or may not, depending on why you have journeyed so far.”
“To bring you tidings of the lands north of the mountains,” the elf explained. “Much has happened.”
Brynn translated quickly to Pagonel, then sat quiet and bade Lozan Duk to continue.
“Your friend Aydrian has assumed the throne of the northern kingdom,” Lozan Duk told her.
“That is already known to me. He reaches his arms out to our neighboring kingdom of Behren, as well, coming openly as a friend, but in reality, I fear, as a conqueror.”
“Know that your fears are justified,” the elf explained. “Aydrian marched his army west to the land of the Tylwyn Tou.”
Brynn’s eyes widened and she gasped.
“He defeated Lady Dasslerond herself; and in her death, she has sealed away her valley from all, even her own people. It was Belli’mar Juraviel who sent me to you to warn you of Aydrian’s imperialistic bent. Know beyond doubt, Brynn Dharielle, that your friend of old is now no friend to either Tylwyn Doc or Tylwyn Tou.”
“Then your people stand beside your cousins?” Brynn asked after translating the news to Pagonel.
“We are one people again, under the leadership of both King Eltiraaz and Belli’mar Juraviel.” He held forth his hand, palm up and showing a large blue sapphire. “The gemstone of my people, sister stone to the emerald that held within it the heart of Andur’Blough Inninness. King Eltiraaz and Lady Dasslerond united the stones once more, as they united our peoples. With this gem, Belli’mar Juraviel, who now wields the emerald, and I can find each other from across the known world.”
Brynn, somehow not overly surprised, accepted the words without question and turned to explain them to Pagonel, who did indeed seem more than a little curious and impressed.
“The Tylwyn people are on the run,” Lozan Duk told them, changing the subject as he stowed away his precious stone. “We are in hiding from Aydrian’s hunters, and while I was sent south to find you, Belli’mar Juraviel has gone north and east in search of Jilseponie, Aydrian’s mother. Many have been set about as scouts, for it is our hope that we will serve as the communication between those who must oppose King Aydrian.”
“But how long has passed since the fall of Lady Dasslerond?” Brynn asked. “Even if you and your cousins were to stretch your line from Dharyan-Dharielle all the way to the far north, the news will not travel quickly.”
“Lady Dasslerond fell just over two weeks ago,” Lozan Duk explained.
“Then how …”
“The emerald Belli’mar Juraviel holds facilitates his travel—and my own! I was on the southern edge of the Path of Starless Night when he found me from my call, only two days ago. I had come south to meet this dragon, Agradeleous; but alas, the great wurm was not in his lair.”
“He is here.”
That brought a smile to the pale face of the Doc’alfar. “Belli’mar Juraviel told me of the dire news in the north, and of the danger that is Aydrian, and bade me come here to find you and tell you that we will not forsake you and your people at this dark hour.”
“Two days ago?” Brynn asked. “The Path of Starless Night is a week’s march.”
“Belli’mar Juraviel took me with him through use of his magical gemstone,” Lozan Duk explained. “I would have arrived before dusk yesterday, but Belli’mar Juraviel put me down outside your city, neither of us knowing that an army had encircled the place. It took me all the night to weave my way through the human soldiers.”
Brynn translated it all to Pagonel, then sat back to digest the information. “It would seem that all of my worst fears of Aydrian are true,” she said to Pagonel.
“Abbot Olin seems more the emissary and less the rogue, then,” the mystic replied. He put a hand up to stroke Brynn’s black hair, prompting her to look directly at him.
“There is a great sadness in you,” Pagonel remarked.
“You did not know Andur’Blough Inninness,” Brynn explained, “and thus you cannot understand the significance of its passing. And you did not know Lady Dasslerond. In truth, she was more of a mother …”
Brynn’s voice broke apart, and she sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. She tried to steady herself, knowing that she had to be strong, that she would likely face some serious challenges even beyond the army that now laid siege to her city. But even as she tried to steel herself, Lozan Duk’s words began to sink in even deeper. Images of her youthful days beside Dasslerond and the elves came flooding back to her, and she had to bring one hand to her face to find enough focus so that she did not begin sobbing openly.
Finally, she caught enough of her breath to instruct her guards to show Lozan Duk to a comfortable room, then to explain to the Doc’alfar that she would call on him shortly.
“You wish to be alone?” Pagonel asked her quietly as the elf departed.
Brynn started to answer that she did, but she thought it over and realized otherwise. “Come with me,” she bade her dearest and most trusted friend and advisor. “Hold me when I need you to, and listen to my tales of Lady Dasslerond and Andur’Blough Inninness.”
Pagonel nodded and moved around the arm of the chair, taking Brynn’s hand and helping her to her feet.
Before they had even reached her private rooms, the Dragon of To-gai had already begun an animated telling of some of her fondest memories of her years among the elves.
They plodded through the deep snow uncomplaining, with Bradwarden leading the way and piping his songs, and Pony and Symphony following close behind.
Far ahead, Belli’mar Juraviel ran atop the snow with hardly an effort, and every so often he stopped and called back to them, correcting their course. He had already used his emerald to locate Prince Midalis and his entourage, and had meant to take Pony and the centaur to the prince through the same magical means. But to the relief of them all, Juraviel had found that Midalis was not so far away—less than a day’s march.
Pony’s delight at seeing her old friend was only heightened when she at last entered the small cottage he was using as his temporary quarters to find another old and dear friend standing beside him.
“All the grim tidings diminish against the splendor of your arrival, dear Jilseponie,” Prince Midalis said, and he sprang from his chair and swept around the desk, wrapping Pony in the tightest of hugs.
“You’ve heard of my son, then, and his march across the kingdom that should be your own,” Pony replied.
Prince Midalis pulled back from her and turned to the grinning man standing at the side of the room. “Good Captain Al’u’met took upon himself and his crew great risks to sail across the Gulf of Corona even as winter was settling in. A gale could have swamped them, but they pressed on anyway, in the knowledge that it was critical to deliver the tidings from Abbot Braumin of St. Precious.”
“Though I fear that good Braumin is no longe
r in that position,” Al’u’met put in. “The army of Aydrian approached Palmaris even as I sailed, and we have reason to believe that the city was overrun in short order.”
Pony nodded.
“Because the fleet of Ursal—a portion of it, at least—has sailed past the city and into the gulf.” Prince Midalis added. “A flight ship from Pireth Dancard arrived only three weeks ago, after having been pursued nearly halfway across the northern stretches of the gulf. Had not a storm arisen, she would have been caught by the pursuing warships—warships flying a pennant that showed both the bear rampant and the tiger rampant. Apparently, this perversion is the flag of Aydrian Boudabras.”
“Boudabras,” Pony whispered, the first time she had heard that name.
“An elvish word,” Bradwarden explained. “The word of a great storm, maelstrom.”
“How fitting,” Prince Midalis said dryly.
“We will have a difficult time of discerning exactly how much of the land, and sea, Aydrian has secured,” Pony reasoned. She looked all about, settling on a view outside the window, where the snow had begun to fall once more. “I know not this town. How far from Vanguard are we?”
“A week’s march,” Midalis explained. “The ground is defensible here, and here, we are already well on our way to Palmaris.”
“You expect to begin your counterattack there?”
“It seems the logical choice.”
“Logical and obvious, to young Aydrian as well, not for doubting,” Bradwarden interjected.
“I do not have a fleet that can match that of Ursal,” Prince Midalis retorted, and the desperation and frustration was clear in his voice. “The land route to my throne goes through Palmaris, and so through Palmaris I must go.”
The centaur gave a polite bow.
Pony glanced at the other three in the room in turn, settling on Bradwarden for a bit, silently asking him for agreement, and when he nodded his understanding, she turned directly to Midalis. “We found you with help from another friend,” she explained. “A powerful ally to our cause. You know of the Touel’alfar?”
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 218
