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

by R. A. Salvatore

  The woman felt a slight pang of guilt in so deceiving Pechter Dan Turk, though, but she could not put her trust completely in the man who was already working as a double agent. He had gone to De Hamman ostensibly to report on her and the defenses of the city, but had instead returned in a polar opposite manner.

  Her words stirred several private whispered conversations, mostly among the ferocious To-gai-ru leaders who believed in their hearts that they could overrun the Behrenese all the way to Jacintha and the coast.

  “Yatol De Hamman’s retreat will not suffice,” Brynn said, her tone and volume silencing all other conversations in the audience room. “If you would have us break out of Dharyan-Dharielle and ride to the support of Yatol Mado Wadon, then you must convince Yatol De Hamman that we are weaker than we appear, and that he must send more of his forces away, and farther away. Only then will we come forth.”

  Pechter Dan Turk stiffened and bristled at the blunt request, but it was not an unexpected reaction. Brynn had just asked him to place his country’s main army into near helplessness, after all!

  “If you can do that, then I will rout De Hamman and scatter the army of Behren,” Brynn went on, honestly and bluntly. “You will precede our ride to Jacintha, where you will place all of the blame for this disaster squarely on the shoulders of imperialistic Abbot Olin. You will assure Yatol Wadon that if Abbot Olin is expelled in full, To-gai will not work against Yatol Wadon’s efforts to hold his kingdom united.”

  “Unless I am hanged by the neck for deceiving Yatol De Hamman,” the man said.

  Brynn had no answer for that. If Abbot Olin was firmly in control, which they all prayed was not the case, then Pechter Dan Turk’s fears were indeed justified and his execution would be a likely consequence.

  “Great men are made through great risk,” Pagonel said at her side.

  “You must do that which is in your heart, Pechter Dan Turk,” Brynn added. “We have agreed that Behren is not in Behrenese hands at this time, and that Aydrian, and not Brynn, is the threat to your homeland. I offer you a partnership in fixing that problem, but I do not diminish the pain that I know you are feeling in your heart. I say to you that Abbot Olin must be disgraced, and that such an event can only be brought about with Behrenese blood.”

  “You ask me to lay open the defenses of my country,” Pechter Dan Turk replied. “You ask me to sacrifice Behrenese warriors.”

  Brynn’s answer straightened the man again, mostly, she knew, because Pechter Dan Turk understood that she was correct.

  “I do.”

  Long streaks of blue-white lightning split the nighttime sky, outlining the roiling and rising tower of dark clouds. Waves lashed the sandy beach to the west of Pireth Tulme, tossing about the Alpinadoran longboats and tilting the Honce-the-Bear warships so violently back and forth that their mast tips drew semicircles against the backdrop of the sheet of rain.

  Pony and Prince Midalis pulled their cloaks tight against that rain, though Andacanavar seemed perfectly unbothered by it and Bradwarden merely paused in his piping every so often and shook his bushy head vigorously.

  “It feels strange to me to come ashore here,” Prince Midalis remarked. “Do I arrive as a conquering foreigner to this land that should be my own to rule?”

  “With the help of the Touel’alfar, we will put things aright,” Pony promised.

  “If the storm doesn’t sink the lot o’ our ships,” Bradwarden said with a great belly laugh—one that was not shared as three other sets of eyes glanced back at the rain, the wave-lashed beach, and the rocking ships. They had come in before the start of the storm and were relatively confident that their anchors would hold, but still, any losses incurred by this armada could prove devastating to the cause of the already outnumbered minions of Prince Midalis.

  The good sign, though, was that the storm had come in around the tip of the mainland, out from the wider Mirianic beyond Pireth Tulme. While the winds were blowing from the northeast, wrapping around the great vortex of the storm, those winds had carried up warmer southern air. For those who understood the seasons of Honce-the-Bear along the Gulf of Corona, as did Captain Al’u’met and Prince Midalis, the storm seemed a herald for the onset of spring, and a promise for better sailing weather beyond its windy borders.

  Pony squinted against the rain and wind and made out the firelight of a farmhouse in the distance. She pointed it out to her companions and started off toward it, and soon after, the friends moved into the dry and dark comfort of the farm’s barn. Bradwarden stayed by the door and continued his piping, the call to Belli’mar Juraviel. For Pony had seen Juraviel in one of her soul stone scouting journeys, and the elf had sensed her spiritual presence and had bidden her to come ashore, in this region. Now they could only hope that Juraviel would hear the song of Bradwarden.

  “We should set off before the dawn,” Prince Midalis remarked, and he shrugged off his soaked cloak. “And use this opportunity, since we are ashore anyway, to retake Pireth Tulme.”

  “You’ll not hold it,” Andacanavar reminded. “Those armies that took it for King Aydrian are not far.”

  “Let us take it and leave it deserted,” the prince explained.

  “A signal to Aydrian that you have not forsaken the kingdom,” Pony reasoned. She similarly pulled off her cloak and shook out her dripping hair, running her fingers through it to push it back from her face.

  “Aye, and a signal to the folk of the kingdom that they may find an alternative to this usurper,” Prince Midalis explained. “We will attack and overwhelm Pireth Tulme, putting King Aydrian’s puppets onto the open road with news of the defeat. Let Aydrian retake it without a fight—the embarrassment of the defeat will sting at this proud young man.”

  Pony smiled, finding herself in complete agreement. This was just the sort of opportunity that they had to seize at every opening, just the sort of necessary unraveling of the tapestry that Aydrian was laying across the land. What effect might the loss of Pireth Tulme have on those men serving the usurper king? Pony knew from her own scouting that the fortress had been taken by force, that the Coastpoint Guards who had held Pireth Tulme had resisted Aydrian, much as those people out on Pireth Dancard had opposed the assault of Earl DePaunch.

  Before they could continue the conversation, Bradwarden stopped his piping and gave a great bellow of greeting to a diminutive figure that moved into the open doorway of the barn. Belli’mar Juraviel seemed as if the rain hadn’t even touched him, as if he had somehow wandered through the gale without getting wet.

  Pony wasn’t surprised.

  The elf came forward, smiling warmly, and Bradwarden pulled the door closed. Immediately, Pony used her ruby to ignite the small pile of wood they had gathered.

  “It is good to be back, my friends,” Juraviel said, squeezing the hands of Andacanavar, Bradwarden, and Midalis, then exchanging a warm hug with Pony. “I bring you tidings from the land south of the mountains, as well as from your own kingdom.”

  “Brynn Dharielle met our hopes for a distant alliance with acceptance?” Prince Midalis asked.

  “Brynn fears Aydrian and the Abellicans,” Juraviel replied. “They overstepped themselves, I believe, for she was attacked in her city. Even now, she is preparing to break out and march to Jacintha. Her goal is to expel Abbot Olin from Behren, and nothing less.”

  The elf paused, but they all held silent, their unasked question evident enough.

  “Brynn will welcome the support of Prince Midalis,” Juraviel confirmed. “Her role beyond Jacintha and Behren will no doubt be limited, but if she can aid in expelling Abbot Olin and handing Aydrian a sound defeat down there, that will be no small thing.”

  Pony sighed, for she had been hoping for more, had been hoping that Juraviel would offer news of To-gai’s willingness to sail north to Entel and fight for the cause of Prince Midalis. But in truth, she realized the improbability of that.

  “No small thing indeed!” Prince Midalis echoed, apparently more than satisfied.
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  “My path here was not direct,” Juraviel went on, “for my people are scattered about Honce-the-Bear, gathering information as they go.” He reached under his traveling cloak and brought forth a rough map of Honce-the-Bear, spreading it carefully on the ground before the fire. “King Aydrian marches east from Entel to Ursal and is even now crossing Yorkey County,” the elf explained, pointing it out on the map. “He has sent the bulk of his force north to sweep opposition from the lands between Pireth Tulme and Palmaris, and the various bands of soldiers seem to be congregating just south of St.-Mere-Abelle Abbey.”

  “The grandest prize of all,” Prince Midalis remarked.

  “They have done well in keeping their line strong at most points, particularly those that might be struck by sea,” Juraviel explained. “But there are some notable weaknesses.”

  The others looked about and smiled. “What gains we shall find with the help of the Touel’alfar,” declared Pony.

  “We can strike where he is most weak,” Prince Midalis agreed. “And be gone before he can retaliate.”

  “Thus was how Brynn Dharielle defeated Behren,” said the elf. “And then, after years of teasing victories, she held them off from behind the walls of a city, making the war too costly for the Behrenese to continue.”

  “But we will not defeat Aydrian in such a manner,” said Midalis. “He will not relent. Eventually, we will have to face him and defeat him.”

  “True enough,” Bradwarden agreed, “but I’m thinking that ye should be taking what ye can find until the time’s come to fight Aydrian directly.”

  “Of course,” said the prince, and he and the others turned to Juraviel.

  “St. Gwendolyn is undefended,” Juraviel explained. “It is practically deserted, for though Marcalo De’Unnero is working hard to fill the void of Abellican monks, most of whom will not go over to Aydrian’s side, he has few at his disposal, and most of those travel with the armies, training in the gemstone magic as they go.”

  “Why would any go over with the dog De’Unnero?” Pony asked, her voice gravelly and angry at the mere mention of the man.

  “Aydrian’s soldiers have set the appearance of defense along the coastal regions about St. Gwendolyn,” Juraviel went on. “But the appearance only, for the fortifications are truly undefended. Also, they have altered the two guiding light towers along the rocks near to the abbey, hoping to scuttle any approaching ships on the rocks, no doubt. But some of my people will be there with torches, to guide your landing correctly.”

  “Your value to my cause cannot be overestimated, good Juraviel,” Prince Midalis remarked. “This information and guidance gives me hope.”

  “Retake St. Gwendolyn in five days’ time, and we will meet again there,” the elf finished. “I hope then to have news of Brynn’s breakout from Dharyan-Dharielle and her march to Jacintha, and we can coordinate the next movement.”

  “First Pireth Tulme will fall,” said Prince Midalis. “But St. Gwendolyn it will be, in five days.”

  Juraviel rose immediately and bowed. “I am off, then, back to Brynn Dharielle,” he explained. “Go with speed and go with strength, Prince Midalis. The hopes of more than your people rest upon your able shoulders.” With another bow, the elf lifted his hand, the shining emerald in his palm, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.

  Pony felt the sudden tension within Prince Midalis, an eagerness to be done with all of this. She put her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Patience,” she counseled. “Patience.”

  “Your agent is quite effective,” Lozan Duk told Brynn. “Whatever Pechter Dan Turk has said to Yatol De Hamman has had an immediate effect. Those who already departed the Behrenese force have moved farther back—beyond half a day’s march already. And more have left the Behrenese line, moving to the original position taken by those first departed.”

  “What of the Abellicans?” Brynn asked. “And the dragon-hunter ballistae?”

  “Still in position, except that the leader of the Abellican contingent has long flown—for Jacintha, I would guess.”

  Brynn mulled over the report. She knew exactly what Pechter Dan Turk had done, for she had coached him in full before sending him out of Dharyan-Dharielle. The agent had told De Hamman that the To-gai-ru would not relax their guard with those supposedly departed warriors close enough to return quickly. He had told De Hamman that if the defenders of Dharyan-Dharielle came to fear that the Behrenese were merely buying time to reinforce their lines, they would come forth with all their strength. In effect, Pechter Dan Turk had merely told Yatol De Hamman the truth, but he had done so with the misleading representation that the To-gai-ru fears could be minimized to the point of inaction.

  So Yatol De Hamman had stretched his line, but he had erred, Brynn believed, for he had moved a significant part of his force beyond the range of immediate reinforcement. Whereas before, the Behrenese could have held strong against the attempted breakout from Dharyan-Dharielle with the comfort of knowing that support was well on the way, now those still encircling the city would understand that they would have to win out against the fury of Brynn unleashed.

  But she would have to strike fast, Brynn knew, to take advantage fully of the situation, and so she was quite relieved later that same day when Belli’mar Juraviel returned from Honce-the-Bear, bearing with him the good news that her allies opposing Aydrian in the north were making some gains and bearing, too, the emerald that would allow her attack to become more swift and more deadly.

  That same night, the sun barely gone behind the plateau divide, the first stars coming to life above, Belli’mar Juraviel began the magical transport. He took Pagonel out first, depositing the mystic alongside a group of Doc’alfar behind the lines of De Hamman’s main force and near to the tents that housed the Abellican monks. Next came Agradeleous, to join Pagonel and the Doc’alfar infiltrators.

  Juraviel made three dozen trips, before sheer exhaustion from magic use forced him to relent. He did manage to join up with Pagonel, the dragon, and his Doc’alfar kin, though, wanting to be in on the most important assault of the night. He remained with the mystic and the dragon while the Doc’alfar set off, quieting the various sentries scattered about the encampment.

  Just before dawn, the southern and eastern gates of Dharyan-Dharielle flew wide, and out came the charge of the To-gai-ru, led by Brynn on the east and Tanalk Grenk on the south. At that same moment, Pagonel, Juraviel, and several of Cazzira’s kin burst into a tent of Abellicans, cutting them down even as they tried to scramble out of their beds. It pained Pagonel to be a part of that type of assault, for they were in no position to take prisoners. He tried to hold back his strikes so that they would incapacitate rather than kill, but still, before the group rushed back out, four of the five monks were dead, and the other’s hold on life was tenuous at best.

  In the tent to the side, Agradeleous was even less discriminating. The dragon tossed aside the lone guard at the tent flap, hurling the poor man a full thirty feet. Then the dragon tore through and leaped upon the startled, and still half-asleep, Abellicans. Agradeleous wasn’t in his great dragon form, but even in his humanoid, lizardman form, his power proved overwhelming. A single swipe of his arm across one monk shattered half the bones in the man’s chest, a kick with one scaly leg disemboweled a second.

  The dragon emerged even as Pagonel, Juraviel, and the others were coming forth, to the sound of blowing horns and the mad scramble of the encampment coming to life and running to defensive positions.

  Pagonel surveyed the scene and noted the efficiency of the more professional soldiers, particularly the men of Honce-the-Bear. But this force was as much comprised of impressed peasants as trained soldiers, and those frightened peasants surely got in the way of the preparations.

  And the two fierce regiments of To-gai-ru came on straight and fast.

  “I take to the air!” Agradeleous declared, and there came the popping of bone and the ripping of scaly skin as the dragon reshaped into its natural, beastly
form.

  Only then, with the spectacle of the dragon rising behind them, did the Behrenese seem to realize that they had been infiltrated from behind. Screams and shouts went all through the ranks, many calling for the turning of the ballistae. Desperate pleas to destroy the dragon echoed through the still-dim morning.

  But those ballistae crews did not respond, for the Doc’alfar had slipped in among them, working with deadly precision. Wooden staves and spears made whistling sounds as they whipped through the air, before landing hard upon defenseless artillerymen, laying them low.

  The To-gai riders crashed through the forward lines with little resistance, cutting down with impunity the Behrenese, most of whom seemed more concerned with fleeing than with fighting. Brynn’s group did come to a stall, though, as they were met by two squares of Bearmen, shields locked and spears leveled.

  But then Agradeleous flew past, fiery breath strafing the confused Bearmen, immolating the central ranks and defeating the integrity of the formation.

  Still the ballistae didn’t let fly at the great wurm, despite the cries and despite the attempts at reinforcing the crews.

  For the Doc’alfar were still there, hiding, slipping out and killing any who neared the devastating war engines.

  Agradeleous flew without fear, brushing aside the few arrows that reached up for him and returning every shot with a gout of flame or a slashing claw as he flew past.