Pagonel caught the hapless sailor by the wrist and easily halted his progress. “Be at ease,” he said again, and he gave a slight and deft twist, turning the man’s hand down over his wrist and taking the knife from him so smoothly that it would have seemed to an onlooker to have been willingly given over. “I am no enemy, but a man come to speak with Duke Bretherford.”
Other sailors were there, then, circling cautiously.
Pagonel handed the knife back to the stunned and overwhelmed watchman and moved a step to the side, showing his empty hands. “This is no attack, but a conversation long overdue,” he explained to them all. “Pray tell your Duke Bretherford that Pagonel, emissary of the Dragon of To-gai, has come to speak with him. He will understand.”
The men glanced all around at each other nervously, seeming unsure of how to react. They all held bows ready, and Pagonel was well aware that they could cut him down where he stood.
“If you shoot me, and I am sincere in my words, then your duke will not be pleased,” he told them. “If you rouse him, and he sees me as an enemy, you have lost nothing and have cost yourselves no more than the anger of a man awakened in the night. Less anger, I would think, than that of a man who has learned that a valuable friend had been killed by his frightened underlings.”
A nod from one of the archers had another of them running off to fetch Duke Bretherford.
A few minutes later, Pagonel stood in the duke’s private room, alone with the short, stout man.
Bretherford sipped rum and stared out the window, taken aback, but surely not surprised, by the mystic’s reports that Jilseponie and Midalis were in the north, gathering strength to oppose King Aydrian.
“How do you know such things?” Bretherford did question. “Vanguard is a long way from Behren, and a longer way from To-gai.”
“The opposition to the recent events of Honce-the-Bear’s throne is more widespread and coordinated than you might believe,” Pagonel replied. “And surely, being of a kingdom that is rife with gemstone magic, you understand that distance is not always the truest measure of closeness.”
Bretherford turned to face him. “And perhaps you do not understand the power of King Aydrian, nor the loyalty of many of those who support him.”
“Many of those?” Pagonel echoed. “Would that include Duke Bretherford? You were once a friend to King Danube, I was told. And to his brother, perhaps?”
“You know nothing of what you speak, Jhesta Tu,” Bretherford spat back. “Do not presume—”
“I know that I am alive, and was granted a private audience with you,” Pagonel interrupted. “I would believe that you know enough of the Jhesta Tu to understand that I could have come in here and killed you quickly, yet you chose to meet with me.”
“To gather information for Abbot Olin and King Aydrian, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Pagonel agreed with a bow.
Bretherford swallowed the last of the rum, then tossed his glass aside to clunk on the wooden floor. “What would you have me do?” he asked with helpless frustration.
“I would have you keep hope, wherever that hope might lead you,” Pagonel replied. “I would have you pay keen attention to the events that will shape the world. I would have you, in the end, choose with conscience and courage, and not cowardice. No more can ever be asked of any man.”
With that, Pagonel bowed again, and walked out the cabin door. He passed the many soldiers who had gathered on deck and walked to the bow, where Juraviel met him with an extended hand. Before the soldiers curiously following Pagonel ever got near enough to see, he and Juraviel took a giant, magical step back to the rocky shoreline north of the city of Jacintha.
“An ally?” Juraviel asked.
“I know not,” Pagonel admitted. “But continuing information may well lead him in that direction.” He looked at the elf directly. “This stone you carry, combined with the powers of the gemstone of the Doc’alfar, will prove to be our greatest advantage, perhaps. I beseech Belli’mar Juraviel to lead his people and his pale-skinned cousins more deeply into this conflict.”
“We are small in number, and no match for Aydrian and his charges.”
“But you are our eyes and ears and mouths,” Pagonel explained. “When Brynn Dharielle freed To-gai from Behren, she did so because she knew more of her enemy than they could understand of her. Mobility and cunning strikes won the day for To-gai.”
“That was a war for freedom,” Juraviel countered. “This is a struggle against the homeland of King Aydrian. Eventually, whatever we might, we will have to do battle with him and his great armies directly. No treaty and no minor victories will grant us what we desire. Not in Honce-the-Bear, at least, though there remains more hope for the kingdoms south of the mountains.”
“Minor victories might bring hope to potential allies, and lead them to join our cause,” the mystic replied. “What role will Belli’mar Juraviel and his people play?”
“It was Lady Dasslerond’s step into the affairs of humans that led to the catastrophe that is Aydrian,” said the elf.
“Then it is Belli’mar Juraviel’s responsibility to help put things aright.”
Juraviel mulled those words over for a long while.
Chapter 34
Help from Beyond
THERE WAS NO PAIN. THERE WAS NO COLD. THERE WAS NO PHYSICAL SENSATION AT all. Time and space seemed to have no meaning to her.
It took Pony a long time to recognize that she had entered the spirit realm, the same one in which she walked out of body. No, it was more complete than that, obviously, for she saw no sign of the true physical world about her, and no apparent portal back to that world of substance and color. This was more akin to the place she had gone to battle the spirit of Father Abbot Markwart that long-ago day in Chasewind Manor, the only other time she had ventured so far into the nether realm. That memory of a specific real-world event sparked other thoughts in Pony, but only gradually did the specifics of the fight at Pireth Dancard begin to come back to her. Only after a long while did she remember her desperate flight, and getting shot with the arrow, and then the ocean taking her in its grasp and pulling her back.
Am I dead?
She didn’t voice the question, for she had no physical voice at that time. Nor, as she continued to glance around at the seemingly endless plain of gray swirling mists, did she require an answer. She was not a part of her corporeal body, she realized, and to her understanding, that could only mean one thing.
It occurred to her then that she might soon become a shadow in an Oracle mirror—in her son’s perhaps. Maybe this was the answer; maybe in death, Pony could reach misguided Aydrian in ways that never manifested to her in life.
Is this it? her thoughts cried out again. Am I dead? Elbryan!
Go back, came an answer in the woman’s thoughts, and though it was not the sound of physical words, it was a “voice” that Pony recognized.
It was Elbryan! She knew that it had to be Elbryan!
And then she saw him, or rather, felt his presence, and though there was no physicality to any of this, she knew that he was there, not far from her, standing, or hovering, before her.
Elbryan, her thoughts reached out to him. Oh, my love! I am so weary. Pony willed her spirit forward, looking to embrace him, soul to soul. But as she approached, he retreated.
Go back! came the plaintive cry in her head. You cannot be here. Not now! You cannot forsake our son when his hour of need approaches!
Pony halted her movement, and she knew that if she possessed a physical jaw at that moment, it surely would have been hanging open.
Go back!
Elbryan, do not chase me away!
Go back!
Aydrian is beyond me, beyond all the world. There is nothing—
Go back! Elbryan’s call seemed even more insistent to her, and every time she tried to counter, to tell him that she was weary, that she had rightly passed and that she was content, that she was ready, he simply answered, Go back!
&n
bsp; Pony turned herself about to see that region whence she had apparently come. There was just the mist for a long, long while, but gradually, the woman began to make out a circular, darker area, like the entrance to a tunnel.
Go back! Elbryan implored her. Quickly! Time is running out!
The woman moved toward the darkness and saw that it was indeed a tunnel, and as soon as she entered, she saw a distant speck of light, a long, long way from her.
Quickly! Oh, fly, my love! came Elbryan’s call, and Pony, despite her feelings and her weariness, flew off as fast as she could, trusting in Elbryan above all else. The light grew and grew until it stung her spiritual eyes, and still she flew on toward it. She heard one last, fleeting call as she burst from the darkness of the tunnel altogether, again Elbryan’s voice, saying, Two shadows live in Aydrian’s mirror!
Bradwarden, Prince Midalis, and Captain Al’u’met watched the listing ship slowly turning in the water and gradually dipping lower. The last of the raiders were off her, as well as all the supplies they had time to scavenge. Of the twelve ships moored in the waters off Dancard, eight were still afloat, not counting the one now spinning down to its death. Even more promising, six of those eight were completely undamaged, and the other two seemed seaworthy and in need of only minor repairs. Midalis and his raiders had lost one to the shore batteries, and a second had been scuttled in the harbor, since there had been too many Ursal soldiers aboard to steal her away easily. During that struggle, several lightning bolts had reached out from shore, lighting fires, dropping combatants to the planking and scorching the deck. A third ship had escaped back toward the shore; but reports said that it, like those in dock, had gone up in flames. Despite the losses, the raiders had gotten away with nine ships, having only thirteen people missing and a few others slightly injured. By any standards, the raid had been a tremendous success.
Except …
Where was Pony? She was their greatest ally, the most potent weapon in Midalis’ arsenal, and the symbol of hope that bound them all. She had not come out from Pireth Dancard that dark night. Al’u’met had kept the signal fires burning on all the ships throughout the night, but she had not returned to them, amber in hand.
“She might be imprisoned in that tower,” Prince Midalis muttered, turning from the spectacle of the sinking ship, its long mast leaning out at nearly a forty-five-degree angle, to the distant speck of Pireth Dancard on the northeastern horizon. “And I’d not trade her for all the Ursal fleet. Not for my kingdom complete!”
Bradwarden patted the prince on the shoulder. “Might be time to sail back to the island and get our girl back, then,” he reasoned, and that brought a hopeful smile to Midalis’ face.
“And in so doing, destroy the integrity of Jilseponie’s death, if dead she is,” came a voice from behind, and the trio turned to see huge Andacanavar approaching. “You’ve got a score of Alpinadoran longboats, this fine boat here, and eight Ursal warships; but every one of them is carrying only a skeleton crew, and few warriors armed to do battle ashore. If we go charging in, we’re to lose a few boats to the catapults, and then we’ll find a pitched battle on the docks. Are you so willing to risk everything for one heroic woman? Because if you lose here, my friend, you’ve nothing left with which to oppose Aydrian.”
“And if I am willing to take that chance?” Prince Midalis replied. “Will Andacanavar and Bruinhelde and his warriors stand beside me?”
“I’m not for saying,” replied the ranger. “But I’d not expect it. Bruinhelde will ask my advice, and that advice will be to sail back to Pireth Vanguard.”
Al’u’met seemed quite surprised, and Midalis openly angry, but Bradwarden nodded and tightened his grip on the prince’s shoulder. The centaur understood Andacanavar, and his motives and thinking. Andacanavar was a ranger, as Elbryan had been, as they both considered Pony to be. Rangers understood the ultimate sacrifice.
Rangers also understood that it was insulting to one who had so sacrificed himself—or herself, in this case—then to choose a course that minimized the victory brought about by that sacrifice.
“I’ll not throw away all the gains made here last night,” the ranger explained.
“Or do you fear to lose Alpinadorans for the sake of a Honce-the-Bear woman?” Prince Midalis accused.
Andacanavar’s expression was locked somewhere between pity and disillusionment. “I accept your words as the frustrated cries of a man wounded,” he said. “But they are not the words of a man who would be king. I advise both Bruinhelde and you to refrain from a foolish attack, for the sake of my kinsmen, yes, but also for the sake of Prince Midalis and his hopes for his kingdom. They have Abellican monks ashore and your best counter to the gemstone magic is missing. Take your fleet beside Bruinhelde’s and sail fast back to Vanguard, before a winter storm catches you and scuttles every ship.”
“You would just leave her?” Midalis asked.
“I would not, nor, do I suppose, would Bradwarden or good Captain Al’u’met here,” the ranger answered. “You go, and if Captain Al’u’met agrees, then let Saudi Jacintha patrol the area near to Pireth Dancard to try to find out what happened to our lost friend. With her sails full of wind, Captain Al’u’met’s fine ship will outrun anything you have at your disposal. Let us all hope that we beat you back to Pireth Vanguard, and with Pony aboard beside us!”
That had the other three looking at each other, and gradually coming to agreeing nods.
“And if she is a prisoner?” Prince Midalis asked.
“Then me and the ranger here’ll go ashore and tear down that tower and everyone in it,” Bradwarden proclaimed, and so cold and even was his voice that no one even began to question his proclamation.
Prince Midalis stepped past the others, moving back to the rail, and cast a forlorn glance at the distant island. “It pains me to leave her.”
“It’s what you must do,” Andacanavar said. “For Pony’s sake, most of all—especially if she is imprisoned or …”
Prince Midalis swung about to stare at him, the look in the man’s eyes stealing the barbarian’s words.
“We will find her,” Andacanavar said.
A bright morning sun forced Pony to open her eyes.
She lay on her back in the cold sand, staring up at the bluest of skies, and only a single grayish cloud began to creep into her field of view.
No, it wasn’t a cloud, she suddenly understood, and with great effort, she managed to turn her head a bit to the side. And then she remembered.
She realized then that she was lying on a seaweed-strewn beach on Pireth Dancard, her feet just above the roiling tide line. To her right ran a rocky jetty, far out into the sea, and beyond that rose a light gray smoke—the dying fires from the three burning ships, she assumed.
Startled and suddenly afraid, Pony moved to sit up—or tried to, for a pain more ferocious than anything she had ever known assailed her, sending waves of agony, burning and nauseating, rolling through her prone form. The woman gasped, unable to catch her breath, unable to lift her chest to draw in any air. She started to move her left arm, and hit resistance, and desperately looked down.
Pony saw the tail end of the arrow protruding from her ribs, and in looking at how little was showing, she realized just how much had sunk into her. With sudden panic, she felt the sting across the way, where the arrowhead had ended against the inside of an opposite rib!
She knew at once that she should be dead, and knew at once that she soon enough would be. Instinctively, she started to move her right hand, and only then did she realize that she held a pair of gemstones in it. Without even bringing the hand up to ensure that she held the right stone, Pony fell into the waiting magic. She sensed the amber, and reasoned that even in her semiconscious state, she must have used it to keep herself above the tide. Then she felt the powers of the hematite, and went into it with all of her meager remaining strength.
She gasped in some air, then a second breath, and the moment of panic abated just a bit. Bu
t how could she hope actually to defeat this terrible wound? she wondered. She could keep herself functioning only through the gemstone, but her energy here was not limitless.
She told herself that she had to push the arrow through and so she stubbornly angled her right arm, placing her palm against the base of the shaft. She closed her eyes, fell into the soul stone more deeply, and steeled her resolve. She sucked in as deep a breath as she could manage, and started to push.
The wave of agony ended that, stealing all of her strength before she could budge the arrow at all.
Pony fell back in dismay. There was no way she could remove the arrow, no way she could possibly muster the strength needed to break it through.
She fell into the soul stone yet again, and took another deep breath, and, somehow, managed to sit up.
In looking at the beach before her, the woman could hardly believe that she had not been smashed to bits on the multitude of sharp, barnacle-covered rocks. Every incoming wave buffeted them, sending a high spray of white foam into the air.
Elbryan had been with her, she understood, for there was no other explanation. Elbryan’s spirit had come to her in her moment of desperation, had helped guide her to this spot, had helped to keep her focused, even in her semiconscious state, on utilizing the soul stone to get through the night. There was no other explanation. Pony had been touched, literally, by a guardian spirit!
She should be dead. For the second time.
That thought alone nearly dropped her back to the sand; but she remembered, too, what Elbryan’s spirit had told her in her visit to the nether realm. She was not done here, and could not surrender to her wounds. Somehow, beyond her own understanding, she walked into the ocean, not only keeping the soul stone working enough so that her body did not succumb to the grievous wound, but activating the amber, as well.
She moved out from the beach, out into the open ocean. Soon after she cleared the jetty, she heard cries behind her—from the wharves, she realized.
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 223
