“In Behren’s war with To-gai, concessions were made,” Master Mackaront explained. “The city of Dharyan was given over to Brynn Dharielle and the To-gai-ru, and we have found a difficult time in … in getting it back.”
Aydrian paused for a moment, then laughed aloud. “Abbot Olin has done battle with Brynn?”
“Through his emissary, Yatol De Hamman, yes.”
Aydrian laughed again.
“Yatol De Hamman’s march through the kingdom was a complete success,” the stammering Mackaront added, obviously confused by the laughter. “Every city fell to Jacintha. Concerning the new incarnation of Behren, your dreams have been all but realized, and will be soon, I do not doubt, as Abbot Olin increases his hold over the populace. But the army is weary of battle, and has great fear of Brynn Dharielle, the Dragon of To-gai. Thus, I was sent back to Entel, to find audience with you and bid you to spare more soldiers for Abbot Olin.”
“The force I have already given to him is considerable,” Aydrian countered.
“But much of it involves the fleet, and that will be of little use inland against Dharyan-Dharielle,” Master Mackaront explained. “Abbot Olin believes that with another five thousand Kingsmen, he can seize Dharyan-Dharielle within three weeks and complete the reunification of Behren.”
“And then press on?” Aydrian asked.
“If Dharyan is recovered, the To-gai-ru will have little resistance to offer,” Master Mackaront said hopefully. “If you were to send ten thousand instead of five, Abbot Olin could sweep all resistance from the steppes before the turn of the year! Such a victory, led by men of Honce-the-Bear, would also strengthen Abbot Olin’s position in Jacintha. He could quickly make Yatol Mado Wadon fully irrelevant, and all the lands south of the Belt-and-Buckle would be yours.”
“Hmm,” the young king mused, dropping his chin into his hand. “There remains only one problem then.”
“My King?”
“The fact that I specifically instructed Abbot Olin not to go against Brynn Dharielle,” said Aydrian, his voice suddenly turning angry.
“The battle was inadvertent,” Master Mackaront backpedaled. “An error in judgment by Yatol De Hamman, whose head was doubtlessly filled with images of greater glory. But now that the fight has begun …”
“Abbot Olin will stop it, and with his sincere apologies,” Aydrian told him.
“We can defeat her, my King,” Master Mackaront assured.
“Is there something deficient in your hearing, master?” De’Unnero sternly interjected.
Aydrian waved the fiery monk off. “Please speak openly, master,” he bade.
Master Mackaront cleared his throat again. “The city nearly fell to De Hamman, and that despite the surprise return of the dragon and a second horde of To-gai-ru warriors,” he explained. “They are besieged within the city now, with nowhere to run. Never will we see so great an opportunity as this one at hand. On the open desert or open steppes, the Dragon of To-gai is a far more formidable foe.”
“Is this Dragon of To-gai a woman, or is it a beast?” De’Unnero asked.
“It is both,” Mackaront explained. “The woman, Brynn Dharielle, is called the Dragon of To-gai because of the great beast she controls.”
“A dragon?” Sadye put in. “A real dragon?”
“Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not disagree with your obvious doubt,” Master Mackaront replied. “A real dragon indeed, huge and terrible. But the warriors of Behren have done battle with it for years now, and they know how to beat it. Aided by the magic of the Abellican brothers, they will bring the beast down.”
“There remains only one problem then,” Aydrian reiterated, his voice thick with sarcasm.
“Yes, my King,” the master of St. Bondabruce agreed, and he lowered his eyes.
“Abbot Olin is not to battle Brynn,” Aydrian declared. “Not now. Not if all the southland was handed to me in a victory chalice. I do not wish to war with Brynn. I have other plans for her.”
That brought curious stares from the others in the room, Aydrian noted, particularly from Sadye, who seemed less than pleased. She was particularly irked by his familiar tone regarding Brynn, he realized, and he had to fight hard to keep his grin hidden.
“Abbot Olin has all the forces that can be spared at this time,” Aydrian said flatly to Master Mackaront. “The season grows warmer and our dangerous foe to the north will likely march. And there remains the issue of St.-Mere-Abelle—you and your abbot do remember that place, do you not?” Aydrian looked at De’Unnero as he finished, though, and not at Mackaront, and he was pleased to see the eager glow in the monk’s eyes—and in those of Duke Kalas, as well.
“Yes, my King.”
“Would you have me lessen my pressure upon the perverted Abellican Order and delay my conquest of the mother abbey so that your abbot can collect miles of windblown sand for my coffers?”
“No, of course not, my King.”
“Then go quickly and tell Abbot Olin to surrender his visions of To-gai and use the forces I have given to him to strengthen his hold on Behren. When I am finished here, I will join him in Jacintha, with all the strength of Honce-the-Bear behind me. Brynn Dharielle will be brought into my fold, one way or another. Now be gone.”
“Yes, my King.” With that, Mackaront bowed and exited the room, and headed straight out the front door of St. Bondabruce.
“I am surprised that Abbot Olin did not come to meet with you personally,” Marcalo De’Unnero observed.
“Nor Duke Bretherford,” added Kalas. “Perhaps the abbot’s hold on the southland is not as strong as he believes.”
“Let us hope that it is,” Aydrian replied. “Because he must hold with those forces I have entrusted to him. I’ll not turn my eyes from the north now, not with St.-Mere-Abelle unconquered and Prince Midalis not yet discovered. Have we word from Earl DePaunch?”
“None since the runner ship arrived in Palmaris from Pireth Dancard announcing that the fortress had been taken,” Duke Kalas admitted.
“The weather has turned fair enough for DePaunch to risk a journey southward by a courier ship, surely,” said De’Unnero.
“Perhaps one has landed in Palmaris during our march,” the duke replied. “We cannot know.”
De’Unnero started to respond, his voice rising with agitation.
“It is not a matter of concern to us at this time,” Aydrian interrupted. “Set your sights on Pireth Tulme—I wish to have it secured in short order. And set your sights upon St.-Mere-Abelle. If Prince Midalis makes an appearance, we will destroy him. If not, then let us secure the whole of the southland, the mother abbey included. Our position will only be greater in that event should the prince come south.”
“And what of the eager DePaunch?” De’Unnero asked, doing nothing at all to hide his continuing contempt for the young upstart.
“I will see to him,” said Aydrian. “Along with his victory in the gulf, when Pireth Tulme is ours, St.-Mere-Abelle will be completely isolated. As will Prince Midalis. Time works against the prince, not for him. Even those peasants who might have supported him have warmed to the thought of King Aydrian, no doubt.”
“They are a fickle lot,” Duke Kalas agreed with a derisive chortle, a sentiment that was shared by everyone in the room.
The now-formidable armada of Prince Midalis swept out of Vanguard harbor, sails full of wind. Sleek Saudi Jacintha centered the fleet, her prow smoothly cutting the dark waters while the heavier, stolen Honce-the-Bear warships bounced and splashed along beside her.
The spirit of Aydrian, hovering over the gulf waters, wasn’t nearly as surprised that the efficient prince had so quickly turned the ships back out as he was to discover the trailing fleet of Alpinadoran longboats.
So, Midalis had made some allies in Vanguard.
Any thoughts that Aydrian had harbored of sending the rest of his fleet out from Palmaris to confront the prince flew away now, in light of the size and strength of this armada. When the
young king’s spirit had flown past Pireth Dancard, to see the charred skeletons of three warships and the tip of the mast of a fourth one, sunken in the bay, he had easily deduced the source of that disaster. His subsequent scouting of the island, to see that Earl DePaunch and the rest of his soldiers were still ashore, had made it fairly clear to Aydrian that the rest of the missing fleet had likely been stolen.
And here they were, sailing south from Vanguard, stacked with enemies of his crown.
In a way, Aydrian was glad to see the force moving against him—finally he knew the intentions of Prince Midalis. And given the size of the fleet, he knew, too, the general size of Midalis’ force. Fifty boats, most of them longboats and only nine heavier warships.
Not more than five thousand warriors.
The young king wished that he could become a more substantial physical force at that moment, a great gale to circle behind the armada and fill their sails even more. Not to sink them, but to urge them on, to push Midalis more swiftly to the coast of southern Honce-the-Bear.
Then it would be over and he would be unopposed.
His pleasant musing was sharply interrupted, though, as a wave of energy overcame him. Suddenly, Aydrian’s corporeal form seemed so much farther away, almost unattainably so! Panic welling, the young man soared back to his body in Entel, and rushed into it, coming awake and gasping repeatedly.
Gradually, he calmed and realized what had happened, and he forgave himself his moment of panic and misunderstanding.
He wasn’t used to losing.
He recognized that sunstone antimagic had defeated him. Certainly it was easier to put up a sunstone antimagic wave than to utilize the spirit-walking ability of the soul stone. Even a much weaker gemstone-wielder could defeat the latter with the former.
Still, someone had noted his intrusion, it seemed, and he had been nowhere near to the fleet of Prince Midalis. Someone on the decks of one of those ships was apparently quite familiar, and proficient, with gemstone magic.
“Mother?” Aydrian asked slyly into his empty room.
At the front rail on the prow of Saudi Jacintha, Pony looked out at the dark waters and let the salty breeze blow through her hair. She had come up here alone to meditate on all the circumstances surrounding her, to consider the course of Dasslerond more completely, and now the attempts by Juraviel to help her put things aright.
To consider the man standing on the deck behind her, Prince Midalis, and the desperate gamble they were all now taking to try to find some weakness in the growing strength of Aydrian.
To consider Aydrian, her son, so lost and wayward, so wrongly guided. And to consider Elbryan. Had it been a dream, a delusion wrought by weakness and agony? Had she really descended into the realm of death when she had been shot by that arrow along the waters offshore of Pireth Dancard? By all common sense, she knew it had to be a delusion; but if so how had she maintained enough of a connection to her soul stone to prevent that surely mortal wound from finishing her off?
Had it really been the spirit of Elbryan guiding her, holding her hand and holding her heart through the gemstone?
Pony didn’t know, and that only made the spirit’s last words to her even more confusing.
“We make fine progress, but Captain Al’u’met fears that the strong tail wind portends a brewing late-season storm,” said Midalis, coming up beside her.
“No storm,” Pony assured him, for she had scouted far out to the west the previous night. She knew that they would be well beyond Pireth Dancard, at least, before any storm could catch up to them, and knew, too, that if they got around the northeastern tip of the mainland, beyond Pireth Tulme, then the sailing should be smoother and much safer.
“Captain Al’u’met explained that running the eastern coast in the spring and summer is quite safe,” Midalis remarked, echoing her thoughts exactly.
“The farther south we sail, the safer the waters in this season,” she replied. The two stood in silence for some time, then, just looking out at the shining dark waters and the occasional white-tipped breaks. Directly below them, the water splashed and flew as Saudi Jacintha swept on.
“I never would have found the courage for so bold a move without you,” Prince Midalis said quietly a short time later.
Pony turned and regarded him curiously.
“The strike against Dancard, and now this,” Midalis explained. “You have brought more with you than you understand in your journey to join me.”
“More a flight from Aydrian than that,” Pony admitted.
Prince Midalis offered a smile and a nod. “Do you really believe that Duke Bretherford will be swayed?”
“The Duke Bretherford that I knew was loyal to your brother.”
“As was Duke Kalas,” Midalis reminded.
“But unlike Kalas, Bretherford was never blinded by ambition,” Pony explained. “It is surprising that Duke Kalas threw in so readily with Aydrian—unless you consider how profoundly the man despises me.”
“Then he is a fool,” Midalis said to her, and he reached over and dared to stroke her blond hair.
Pony just kept looking back out at the water, accepting the comforting pat.
“Then Duke Bretherford never despised Queen Jilseponie,” Midalis reasoned.
“I would not have called us friends, but neither were we enemies. I have always been fond of Duke Bretherford, and he was quite blunt and honest with me—perhaps the only one in your brother’s court to act so.”
Midalis came to the rail beside her and leaned out on crossed arms. “It is such a desperate plan, isn’t it?”
“Less so than our strike at Pireth Dancard a few weeks ago when the seas were far more dangerous, I would guess,” Pony replied. “Duke Bretherford’s fleet outside of Jacintha is not so formidable, from what I have gathered from Belli’mar Juraviel. If the duke turns on us, we should defeat him.”
“I mean all of it,” Prince Midalis clarified. “This whole attempt to unseat your son, whose army, by all accounts, is …” He stopped and looked hard at Pony, who had suddenly turned away, glancing all about and wearing an expression of suspicion.
“What is it?”
Pony held up her hand to cut short the inquisition and just went on glancing about. “How could I have been so foolish?” she asked, and her hand went to the pouch on her hip.
“What is it?” Midalis demanded.
“It is Aydrian, I believe,” the woman answered, and she drew forth her hand and sorted through the stones until she held a sunstone alone. Pony fell into that stone and called forth its antimagic energies, then threw them out wide to the waves. Sometime later, the woman gave a sigh and considered her friend.
“Aydrian sought us out spiritually,” she explained. “I think it was he, or one of his lackeys.”
“Perhaps it was one of the brothers within St.-Mere-Abelle.”
“Let us hope,” said Pony.
“You dismissed the magic with the sunstone?”
“It is not so difficult a feat,” she explained. “The sunstone is an easy defense against such intrusions, for the first hint of its power forces a spirit to flee back to its dispossessed body.”
“Could you not have gone out with the soul stone instead?” the prince asked. “To determine the source of that … feeling?”
Pony thought on it, then just shook her head. The prince had a point, she knew, but she knew, too, without a doubt, that she simply did not wish to meet Aydrian in any form at that time.
“I will be more vigilant,” she promised.
“If he knows …”
“Then he knows only that we have sailed out of Vanguard, nothing more. Our destination could be Palmaris. Or St.-Mere-Abelle. Or Pireth Tulme. He cannot know. And we have a significant part of his fleet, even should he guess our course. What might he throw against us that we cannot defeat out here on the seas?”
It was true enough, she knew, and she joined Prince Midalis in looking around at that time, at the great warships sailing off t
o either side of Saudi Jacintha’s wake and the multitude of Alpinadoran vessels keeping pace all about them. It was a comforting sight indeed, for there was truth in Pony’s statement, and it seemed possible at that time that Prince Midalis might seize complete control of the seas in short order. Taking the land might not prove so easy.
Playing on that thought, Pony turned to the man. “Pireth Dancard,” she said.
Midalis looked at her curiously.
“Perhaps we should visit the island fortress once more, on our way through the gulf,” Pony explained. “They, resident and invader alike, have been trapped there for weeks now. Perhaps the sight of Prince Midalis will offer hope to your loyalists and make Aydrian’s supporters reconsider their course.”
“You would have us slow our run to the south?”
“Nay,” the woman answered, a grin growing on her face. “Let the fleet sail on, with only Saudi Jacintha lagging behind. Or better still, let us bid Captain Al’u’met to open wide his sails and outdistance the fleet to Dancard, where we can wait. You and I can go out from her—I will get you to Dancard with the gemstones.”
“And then what?” the prince asked incredulously. “We, two, do battle with an Ursal legion?”
“We two learn what we might learn, and strike wherever we might,” Pony said, and now her grin spread wide across her face.
Prince Midalis looked at her for a long while before a similar grin began to widen on his handsome face. “You are a gambler, aren’t you?”
“Not when I see a more reasonable course,” Pony admitted. “You know of one?”
The prince only laughed.
They came ashore in the dark of night, stepping from the lapping waves onto the surf-rounded rocks not far from the spot where Pony once lay wounded. Behind them, a mile out to sea, Saudi Jacintha sat at anchor, while the rest of the fleet sailed on from the north, trying to catch up to the swift ship.
As they moved up the beach to higher ground, they saw the lights of the tower fortress off to the left and the darkened shapes of the buildings of Dancard town along the rocky slopes to the right. One place within that quiet community seemed to be bustling, though, and the pair let it be their beacon as they made their way.
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 226
