Brynn’s expression tightened; it went against all of her To-gai-ru instincts to attack a stable. The nomadic people loved and appreciated their horses above all else.
“Not far from there lies a warehouse of pitch,” Juraviel went on, sliding his finger more toward the center of the city.
“You can identify these structures from the air, in the dark of night?” Pagonel asked, and the elf nodded.
Both went quiet then, and stepped back from Brynn. She felt their eyes upon her, and knew that her tearing emotions were playing out clearly on her face.
“I hate this,” she remarked.
“But you hate the alternative even more,” Pagonel reminded.
Brynn looked up from the map to regard her trusted advisor. In her mind, she could hear the screams of men and women, and the shrieks of terrified horses. In her mind, she could see the flames leaping high above Jacintha. The orange flames, the purest of destructive forces.
“Aydrian plans to conquer the whole of the world,” she heard Juraviel remark.
“Aydrian destroyed Lady Dasslerond, and meant to bring complete ruin to Andur’Blough Inninness,” the elf added a moment later.
Brynn didn’t disagree with the reasoning, nor with the point that her former companion had to be stopped. But it wounded her to her soul to know that she would have to go through the bodies of innocents to get near to him.
“Let us light the way for our allies,” the woman said.
Two hours before the dawn, Brynn, Pagonel, and Juraviel climbed onto the shoulders of mighty Agradeleous. From on high at the southeastern peaks of the mountain range, the dragon leaped out and spread his wings wide, catching the updrafts rising up the cliff facings from the warm ocean water. Agradeleous went very low, under the fog that clung to the sea, and soared out across the dark waters, gradually turning to the south, then all the way back around to the northeast. He came over Jacintha’s docks in a sudden rush, eliciting cries of terror from those few people awake and about. That call did not rally the soldiers along the city wall facing the docks nearly quickly enough, though, and so barely a bow was lifted against the passing dragon as he rushed overhead.
Juraviel pointed out the pitch warehouse first, and though the building was constructed mostly of stone, Agradeleous’ fiery breath found its way in through the cracks and ignited many of the piled kegs.
The next target loomed before them as they continued their flight back toward the black silhouettes of the mountains in the north, and this time the strafing run showed more dramatic and immediate effects. Mounds of dry hay exploded to fiery life in Agradeleous’ wake.
Brynn didn’t, couldn’t, look back, but the screams caught up to her almost immediately.
The dragon, obviously enjoying the destructive spectacle, banked as if to turn back, but Pagonel yelled to him to hold fast his course, reminding him that the weapons and the Abellicans were no doubt already being raised against him.
Among the rocks of the mountains a short while later, Brynn Dharielle did step forward and look down upon the spectacle of Jacintha and the huge fire leaping into the predawn air along the city’s northern wall. All the horizon glowed orange from the flames and a cloud of the blackest smoke lifted into the air and spread wide, blocking out the stars.
Brynn put the implications firmly out of her mind. “We approach at first light,” she informed her companions. “We must keep their attention to the west.”
The soldiers on Jacintha’s western wall, their ranks thinned by the many pulled to fight the raging fires, were greeted at the dawn’s light by the horsed ranks of the Dragon of To-gai. Astride their pinto ponies, short bows in hand, the To-gai-ru warriors stretched that line long and thin, just out of reach of the Jacintha archers.
Not so the catapults, though, and one by one, they sent great missiles arcing toward the To-gai-ru.
But the riders were too mobile to fall victim to such an attack and they dodged the missiles with impunity, all the while hurling taunts and insults back at the city.
“It is a common Ru ruse,” Yatol Wadon said to Abbot Olin. “They try to goad us out from behind our walls that they can slaughter us on the sands.”
“Horsed demons,” Abbot Olin growled. “They strike in the dark of night and flee. Cowards one and all!”
“Cowards who win when they should not, time and time again,” Yatol Wadon warned.
“Against the Behrenese,” Abbot Olin snapped back contemptuously. “They do not appreciate the might of the Bearmen.”
“With their bows and astride their fine ponies, they are unmatched.”
“And how will their feeble bows fare against Bearman armor?” the abbot fumed. “Or against Abellican magic?”
The Yatol merely shrugged.
“I will be done with this troublesome wench here and now,” Abbot Olin declared. “And she is all the more troublesome because your people fear her! It was fear alone that shattered the ranks on the field outside of Dharyan. Had Yatol De Hamman re-formed his forces, he could have won a great victory.”
“We have been given good reason to fear her,” the Yatol put in.
“Then let us reverse that, here and now. If Brynn Dharielle will stand against the might of Honce-the-Bear, then I will slaughter her people wholesale. If she turns and flees, as she must, then let your soldiers witness the rout and know that the reality of the Dragon of To-gai does not match the legend!”
“I fear such a course.”
“You fear everything,” Abbot Olin retorted. He stormed out of the room, calling to his commanders to organize a charge.
“You have securely removed the dragon?” Pagonel asked Brynn, as he stood with Belli’mar Juraviel near the center of the To-gai-ru line beside Runtly and the woman.
“I sent him to Dharyan-Dharielle to deliver news of the battle,” Brynn explained. “He will return along a course south of the city and will seek us out, wherever we are.”
Pagonel patted her leg and nodded his agreement. It was vital to keep the bloodthirsty dragon out of the battle at this time.
“This will work,” Brynn said determinedly.
“And if it does not?”
“Then I will ride across the desert sands to Alzuth and sack the city,” the woman answered. “And to every town between Alzuth and Dharyan-Dharielle. And the mercy I have extended to those fleeing Behrenese soldiers will be no more.”
Again the mystic nodded.
“But this will work,” Brynn added.
Pagonel recognized it to be a question and a desperate plea, more than a statement. “Even Yatol De Hamman has come to agree,” he assured her.
Only a few moments later, the great gates of Jacintha burst open and the Bearman army flowed forth.
“Shoot well and shoot high,” Pagonel said to Brynn, and he offered his hand to Juraviel.
In an instant and with the green flash of an emerald, the two were gone.
The soldiers of Honce-the-Bear formed their ranks and began their charge, centered by a line of heavy cavalry that shook the ground.
With precision unmatched in all the world, the To-gai-ru waited until the last possible moment, until lightning bolts began to reach out and even take some down, then turned and rode off. As one, it seemed, they lifted legs over saddles and turned about, standing straight in one stirrup and facing backward, bows coming to the ready.
Their first volleys flew away, perfectly aimed.
Not a Honce-the-Bear soldier, nor a Honce-the-Bear mount, was struck.
Having Pagonel, Brynn Dharielle’s closest advisor, stride from the shadows at the side of his audience chamber, was not something that Yatol Wadon could have expected at that moment.
The Yatols at Wadon’s side gave a communal shriek and the guards charged forward to their leader’s defense.
But Pagonel stopped far short of the throne and held up his hands in a sign of unthreatening greeting.
Old Yatol Wadon leaped up from his chair and ordered his guards to stop, but the
n turned an angry eye upon the mystic.
“The fires rage in Jacintha,” Yatol Wadon stated. “This is hardly the time for parley.”
“If I were still allied with Brynn Dharielle, I would agree with you,” the mystic replied. “But I have abandoned her cause, as I scorn the cause of Jacintha.”
That curious statement had Yatol Wadon squinting and shaking his head.
“Those causes are one and the same,” Pagonel insisted.
“Brynn attacked Jacintha last night,” Yatol Wadon argued.
“And brilliantly so,” the mystic replied, “following the specific instructions of Abbot Olin.”
Yatol Wadon fell back in his seat and those around him gasped and looked to each other in confusion. “You lie,” the old man said.
Pagonel dipped a low bow. “Only of late has Brynn Dharielle discovered that this was all a ruse,” the mystic explained. “And by that point, her land was too threatened for her to deny the call of Abbot Olin and King Aydrian, who was once her friend.
“Honce-the-Bear will have Behren, without opposition, when this is ended,” the mystic went on. “The reign of the Yatols and Chezru will be ended, buried beneath a version of the Abellican Church that will satisfy the needs of the desperate people. Abbot Olin of Behren will sign a treaty with To-gai, granting the To-gai-ru their sovereignty—though in truth, they will be subjugated under the will of King Aydrian.”
“This is impossible!” one of the other Yatols cried out.
“The Bearman army are being welcomed back into the city?” Pagonel asked.
“Yes, triumphantly so, after chasing the devil Rus away!” the Yatol answered.
“And in their charge out from Jacintha, how many were slain?”
That brought a curious look upon the face of the man, and several others. “Their fine armor …” the man began tentatively.
“Then how many horses were shot out from under them?” Pagonel asked, and the man went silent. The mystic turned to Yatol Wadon. “Have you ever known the To-gai-ru to shoot so poorly?”
Yatol Wadon considered it all for a moment, then stubbornly shook his head. “This is impossible!” he roared. “What you speak of is—”
“Even now a great fleet of Honce-the-Bear approaches your docks,” the mystic interrupted, and he motioned toward the room’s eastern-facing window.
Men bristled and turned about, several running over to view the harbor. Their cries of dismay were all the confirmation Yatol Wadon needed.
As luck would have it, Abbot Olin and Master Mackaront stormed into the room at that moment, followed by one of the guards who had slipped out at the appearance of Pagonel.
“What is the meaning of this?” the old abbot demanded.
Yatol Wadon, his eyes burning with fires of outrage, looked at Pagonel, then back to Olin. He motioned to his guards. “Arrest him!” he commanded.
Abbot Olin’s face twisted in confusion. “Are you mad?”
“If you mean angry, then know that I have never been so mad in all my life,” the Yatol replied, and his soldiers surrounded the pair and roughly grabbed them.
Abbot Olin cried out and his own soldiers charged into the room then, and Yatol Wadon’s remaining guards leaped upon them. As did Pagonel, the mystic flowing through the ranks, taking down soldier after soldier with devastating blows.
Soon enough, the room was secured for Yatol Wadon.
“Take that lying fool away,” Yatol Wadon instructed the men holding Olin. He turned to Master Mackaront. “Release him,” he instructed, and he walked forward to look the man in the eye even as the screaming and protesting Olin was dragged from the room.
“I will have your head on a stake!” the abbot shouted, the last words he said before the butt of a spear smashed him in the face, silencing him.
“Your plans are known to me,” Yatol Wadon said to Mackaront. “And they have failed.”
The man started to respond, but Wadon slapped him across the face. “You would sacrifice all of Behren in the name of your King Aydrian,” Yatol Wadon spat.
Mackaront glared at him.
“Go back to your foul king,” Yatol Wadon told him. “Turn your fleet aside.”
“My fleet?” Mackaront asked, and Yatol Wadon slapped him across the face again.
“Begone from Jacintha with all of those who would follow you!” Yatol Wadon yelled at him. “There is no room in Behren for your King Aydrian!”
Master Mackaront stiffened and continued to glare, but he said nothing. He gave the slightest of bows and turned away.
Word spread quickly from Chom Deiru, and fighting erupted throughout the city, Bearman against Behrenese and Behrenese against Behrenese. From the audience chamber, Pagonel and several of the Behrenese leaders watched it all. Yatol Wadon was there, as well, and in great distress.
At one point, as the great fleet neared the docks, Yatol Wadon turned to his advisors and ordered them to secure against the invasion.
But Pagonel stopped him, pointing excitedly out the window. “They fly the flag of Ursal!” he cried, pointing out toward the armada. “And the Alpinadorans are beside them!”
Yatol Wadon stared at him incredulously.
“Prince Midalis has won out at sea!” the mystic cried, and he clapped the old Yatol on the shoulders—a movement that nearly incited the nearby guards to violence. “That was my one fleeting hope!”
Wadon’s expression became even more incredulous, like a man caught in a whirlpool that was beyond his comprehension.
“Do you not understand?” the mystic asked, becoming far more animated than usual—and in that arm-waving, he flashed a subtle and predetermined signal to Belli’mar Juraviel, who was still hiding in the shadows at the far end of the hall, to go out to Prince Midalis with news of the turn of events. “These are not enemies who sail into Jacintha, but allies!”
“How much of a fool do you take me to be?” Yatol Wadon demanded.
“Prince Midalis himself, the rightful king of Honce-the-Bear and the sworn enemy of Aydrian and Abbot Olin is on those ships, I do not doubt. The rescue of your city is at hand, Yatol Wadon, and by an outside force that will not remain to question your rule.”
So flabbergasted was Yatol Wadon that his knees buckled beneath him and he would have fallen to the floor had not Pagonel caught him by the arm. So many thoughts rushed through his mind. He knew that he had been badly deceived, but he wasn’t sure whether that deception had come from Abbot Olin or Pagonel!
He thought of retrieving Olin at that time, but he knew that it had already gone past that point. When the vicious man had claimed that he would see Yatol Wadon’s head on a stake, he had meant it.
“Chezru, what are we to do?” asked one of the confused Yatols at Wadon’s side.
Yatol Wadon looked down at the tumult that was sweeping across Jacintha. He had no idea.
Chapter 40
The Unselfish Choice
BRYNN WALKED RUNTLY THROUGH THE BATTERED JACINTHA STREETS. FIRES burned in many places throughout the city, though the main conflagration at the stables and stockpiles was out now, burned down to a blackened and smoldering field of debris. There was still fighting in the city, though the sun was setting and every street was littered with dead. No one really knew who was fighting whom anymore, and even in flying over the breadth of the place on Agradeleous, Brynn had discovered no pattern to the small and vicious battles. All that she knew was that Jacintha was shocked and shattered, a place of complete chaos. Prince Midalis and his fleet had landed at the docks with little opposition, and now held that region secure. The formal Jacintha guard had set up a perimeter around Chom Deiru. And a contingent of the Bearman force had broken out of the city soon after returning from their futile chase of Brynn. They had marched into the foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle and showed no signs of planning to return.
Belli’mar Juraviel had assured Brynn that Lozan Duk and the other alfar would watch them all the way back to Entel.
The Bearman force that ha
d escaped was not nearly as large as the one that had first marched to Jacintha, though. Perhaps a third of the warriors were running home, but that left somewhere around seven thousand remaining in the city.
In moving through now, winding Runtly around lines of heavily armored corpses, Brynn understood that most of them were dead. At one point, Brynn’s troupe passed a spot where five men hung by the neck from high windows, and four of them wore the brown robes of Abellican monks.
“You played on the city’s every fear,” Brynn remarked to Pagonel, who rode beside her.
“Yatol Wadon still has no idea what to believe,” the mystic agreed. “He suspects that I lied to him, I think, but his hatred of Abbot Olin made him an easy target for my words.”
“Did it not pain you to so deceive the man?” demanded Yatol De Hamman, who rode behind the pair, sandwiched by To-gai-ru guards, including Tanalk Grenk.
“All of this pains me,” Pagonel replied. “As your force pained me when you attacked Dharyan-Dharielle without provocation.”
That shrank the imperious Yatol back in his saddle. “What good can come from this?” he did manage to ask. “Jacintha is laid to waste. Without the calming strength of the city, rogue warlords of like mind to my old nemesis Peridan will tear Behren apart!”
“Two things will result,” Brynn answered, and she looked to Pagonel.
“Behren, whatever form the country takes, will again be for and of the Behrenese,” the mystic said.
“And Behren will threaten To-gai no longer,” Brynn added. “Whatever happens within your country, Yatol, you and your peers will never convince your people to ride against me again—especially after I sign a treaty with Prince Midalis of Honce-the-Bear and the leaders of the Alpinadorans who have so unexpectedly come to Jacintha.”
“Honce-the-Bear is ruled by another,” Yatol De Hamman reminded.
“And if he returns with designs of conquest upon Behren, then know that To-gai will stand beside you to expel him.”
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 232
