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

by R. A. Salvatore

  “The monastery is already isolated from him, my King,” Duke Kalas said, his shoulders going back, chest puffing out as he reported the good news. “St.-Mere-Abelle’s docks are in ruin and any ships coming in will be under constant barrage from the cliffs, north and south. Our Palmaris warships huddle beneath the shadows of those batteries. Any attempt by Prince Midalis to come in will prove costly to him, I promise you.”

  “We have softened the defenses of the abbey, as well,” De’Unnero added, and from the look Kalas shot him, Aydrian understood that the monk was speaking up to make sure that he was included in the dispensing of glory. “The brothers within have been awakened every morning by the thunder of boulders and the smell of burning pitch.”

  Aydrian nodded, pleased by it all. He had little doubt that his army could overrun the abbey, especially with him there, neutralizing the magical response from the Abellicans and mounting more devastating attacks, as well. But he understood, too, that the defenses of St.-Mere-Abelle were as much underground as above, a network of tunnels and fortified subchambers. Aydrian believed that he could get through the gates easily enough—hadn’t he done just that against Palmaris? But he understood that the struggle to secure control of the monastery could be long and troublesome.

  The young king had been stung quite a bit of late and wanted to proceed with all caution in this most important of all battles. Abbot Olin had failed him and Prince Midalis had surprised him repeatedly.

  He could not let that happen again.

  Late that day, while De’Unnero, Kalas, and the other commanders began their planning and preparation for the assault on the monastery, Aydrian retired to a darkened tent. He set up his Oracle mirror and sat across from it, staring into its depths, asking himself the many questions concerning the prince’s uncanny ability to strike just beyond his reach and to join in wherever he was most needed.

  For a long time, nothing really sparked in Aydrian’s mind. He kept imagining his mother’s spirit, flying across the lands, gathering information for the prince. But how had she known to go to Brynn? And how had she contacted Brynn completely enough to coordinate any action, as surely seemed the case, since all reports had the To-gai-ru and the prince’s fleet arriving at precisely the right times to unhinge Jacintha.

  A memory flashed in Aydrian’s mind, a recollection of his first real battle with Lady Dasslerond. She had used her magical emerald that day to distort the ground beneath them, to pull him back to the edge of Andur’Blough Inninness.

  The emerald.

  It all made sense, then. The scattered Touel’alfar were not in hiding, but had joined in the cause against him!

  Aydrian’s eyes popped open. Could it be true?

  The young king fished about immediately for his soul stone and soared out from his tent in spirit form. If he was correct, then surely he could find some evidence near the primary points of importance, St. Gwendolyn and Pireth Tulme.

  Near St.-Mere-Abelle.

  It took Aydrian a long time that night to locate the spy. He followed the sensations of life offered by the stone, those same sensations that invited an out-of-body spirit to attempt possession of any living, reasoning being it passed near.

  And then he found her, To’el Dallia, not far from St.-Mere-Abelle’s northern wall, studying the artillery Duke Kalas had put in place to cover the coastal approach.

  Without going near to the elf, Aydrian soared back to his body and again popped open his eyes wide.

  The Touel’alfar were spying for Prince Midalis. Those wretched little elves were working toward Aydrian’s demise!

  But now he recognized that, and now, perhaps, there might be a way when he could use those spies against the prince. A swirl of possibilities filtered through his thoughts, and he knew that he would have to spend some time in planning this carefully.

  How could he end this war, here and now?

  Aydrian wasn’t quite sure of the particulars, of course, but he was determined to see it through. He wanted to be done with St.-Mere-Abelle and put De’Unnero firmly in place. He wanted to be done with Prince Midalis and get on with solidifying his kingdom so that he could again turn his attention to the southland. He wanted most of all to be done with his troublesome mother. He had sent her away and had wanted her to just go find a place to hide, that she might wither in misery. Her resilience had surprised him, but more than that, it had angered him.

  He wanted to make her pay.

  He went back out in spirit form almost immediately, flying fast to the northwest, back to a place he knew in the region of the small town of Dundalis.

  Soon, he was looking down upon a pair of rock-piled cairns, one for his great-uncle Mather and one for his dead father.

  The spirit of Aydrian called out to the nether realm.

  Even as Aydrian’s spirit reentered his corporeal body, a rock on that Timberland grave shifted and rolled away, and then another.

  Chapter 43

  Positioning

  AYDRIAN DIDN’T EXPLAIN HIS PLAN TO DUKE KALAS, FIGURING THE MAN, WHO knew little outside the domain of Ursal’s noble court, simply would not understand the nuances of it. He did tell De’Unnero, though, and the monk smiled wickedly.

  “It is no wonder then that Prince Midalis knows exactly where to strike,” De’Unnero said. “I have never been fond of those troublesome winged creatures!”

  “Believe me when I tell you that your animus toward them is far less than my own,” Aydrian dryly replied.

  “You will possess them?”

  “I … we, will deceive them,” Aydrian explained. “And I will ensure that the deception is not discovered until it is too late for Midalis.”

  “You bring all of your enemies together,” the monk mused. “Is that wise?”

  “Do you believe that St.-Mere-Abelle can stand against us?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And do you believe that Prince Midalis and his pitiful few thousand will truly trouble Duke Kalas and his skilled warriors?”

  The monk pondered that one a bit longer. “Do not underestimate the Alpinadorans,” he warned. “And there is the not-so-little matter of …”

  “My mother,” Aydrian finished. “Yes, I know. And have faith that I understand how to take that one from the battlefield—heart, soul, and body.”

  “You have underestimated her before.”

  “True enough,” Aydrian admitted. “I should have followed your advice and done away with her back in Ursal. She is more resilient than I believed.”

  “Perhaps that is where her son inherited such admirable traits,” De’Unnero replied, and Aydrian rocked back on his heels at that. Had the monk just complimented him? Truly? Things had been so icy between them since Aydrian had announced his intentions toward Sadye that Aydrian had wondered if the rift ever would mend.

  But now he saw the truth of it, and upon reflection, he found that he was not surprised. De’Unnero had loved Sadye—likely he still did—but he loved power more. Aydrian, and not Sadye, was the promise of that power.

  “Abbot Olin is held prisoner by the Yatols of Jacintha, or by Brynn Dharielle of To-gai,” he said. “I expect that he will be returned to us as soon as our business with Prince Midalis is completed.”

  “Do you ask what I wish done with him?”

  “You are the Father Abbot of the Church of Honce-the-Bear,” Aydrian stated flatly. “Once St.-Mere-Abelle is ours—within the week, I would expect—there will be no opposition to your rule. I will defer to your judgment concerning old Abbot Olin, though I am far from pleased with him at this time.”

  “What would you advise?”

  “Give him Behren once it is taken and secured,” Aydrian replied. “He loves the southland and, as you taught me, it is always best to place your resources in those areas of their greatest desire.”

  The double meaning of that turned phrase was not lost on De’Unnero, obviously. He quieted and settled back, staring hard at Aydrian.

  Aydrian thought to push th
e point, but changed his mind. There would be no resolution here, the young king understood. Marcalo De’Unnero had gotten past the outrage concerning Aydrian’s affair with Sadye, but the simmering anger remained.

  Obviously so. Aydrian knew then to keep the monk’s focus on the goal at hand, St.-Mere-Abelle, and to keep Sadye and De’Unnero as far apart as possible. In that light alone, the two could continue to work together effectively.

  “Construct the house on the northwestern end of the encampment,” Aydrian explained. “Tell the workers the importance of the structure they build, that it will be the command post for all of our operations in the region.”

  “Place the bait,” De’Unnero agreed, and he went out and started the work immediately.

  Aydrian went back to his own tent, then, where Sadye waited. She started to ask him about his conversation with Marcalo, but he didn’t really want to talk about that at that time. He didn’t want to talk about anything; he just wanted to enjoy the woman, whom he considered among the greatest gains he had made.

  Later on, with construction on the house under way, Aydrian went out with his soul stone and scoured the area, locating To’el Dallia once again and taking heart that she was already looking toward the work area.

  Aydrian went out in a wider arc, then, ensuring that no other Touel’alfar were about. Then he flew far out to the west, halfway back to Palmaris, and scoured that area, as well. For this would be the march and turn of Duke Kalas, the ruse, and prying eyes might ruin everything. He did indeed find an elf, resting in the low boughs of an evergreen tree.

  One more stooge.

  The fleet sat quiet, bobbing slightly on the tiny swells of the Mirianic, the tall trees of the coastline just west of the tip of the Broken Coast barely visible in the south. Fresh from their victory over Pireth Tulme, Midalis’ men were itching to go ashore once more. But no new reports had come in from Belli’mar Juraviel, and Midalis would not go in blindly.

  He stood on Saudi Jacintha’s deck that summer morning, leaning on the rail. Liam O’Blythe, his dear old friend, was there with him, offering silent support.

  Midalis greatly appreciated the man, and all the others who were so willingly following him along this desperate course. And it was indeed desperate, he knew. Even with the allies he had found, even with the victories he had stolen, the specter of Aydrian seemed far beyond him. Juraviel’s assessment of Aydrian’s armies named them as perhaps the greatest the world had ever known. How could Midalis hope to counter that?

  The song of Bradwarden filtered past him then, calming his nerves and reminding him even more vividly of the extraordinary friends he had found. The centaur stood on deck amidships, Pony and the captain beside him, taking in the warm air and the brief respite; and his song only added to that sense of calm, and seemed as if it softened the waters below, as well.

  So much starker then came the call of the lookouts, one ship after another, sighting a great winged form gliding in over the water.

  “Brynn and the dragon,” Pony said, rushing up beside the prince and Liam.

  “And Roger, too, let us hope,” Midalis replied.

  The great wurm soared past the ships, banking and running the line of them—and more than a few lifted bows or spears its way!

  Sighting Midalis and the others, Brynn and Pagonel brought Agradeleous down low beside Saudi Jacintha. The dragon hooked the rail with his great claws and held aloft there, beating his wings, as his two riders leaped down upon the deck.

  “Where is Roger?” Pony asked before they could even exchange formal greetings.

  Brynn looked to Pagonel.

  “Your son would not deal for Abbot Olin,” the mystic explained. “Roger remains his captive in the city of Palmaris.”

  “I must go there,” Pony said, and she turned to Bradwarden and Prince Midalis, pleading with them. “As soon as Juraviel returns to us, I will have him usher me away to Roger’s side.”

  “Roger won’t be liking that,” Bradwarden dared to reply. “If ye bring the elf and yerself into danger, ye might be costing us more than ye know. He got caught freeing Braumin, yes? And I’m thinking that yerself and Juraviel are more important to the cause than our friend the bishop.”

  Pony had no answer, other than to glare at the centaur.

  “To-gai and Behren are at peace with Honce-the-Bear?” Prince Midalis inquired of Pagonel.

  “The treaty has been signed by all parties,” the mystic replied. “Though we fear that if Aydrian proves victorious up here, he will again turn his eyes our way.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Brynn has ceded the throne of To-gai,” the mystic went on, and that brought surprised expressions from all the onlookers. “Her calling is to avenge Lady Dasslerond and Andur’Blough Inninness, and she cannot involve her people in such a desperate struggle. To-gai is at peace with Honce-the-Bear, but the former leader of To-gai most certainly is not at peace with King Aydrian.”

  “You have come to join in our cause?” Midalis asked, and there was no hiding the hopefulness in his tone.

  “If you will have us,” the mystic answered.

  Prince Midalis looked all around at the nodding heads and the widening smiles. Fine allies, indeed! “Brynn will fight against Aydrian, to punish him for his actions,” the prince reasoned. “Why will Pagonel fight?”

  “I fight for my friend, Brynn Dharielle.”

  “And why him?” the prince asked, motioning with his chin toward Agradeleous, who had dropped off the ship and was sitting in the water, seeming like some great lizard-headed gull.

  Pagonel gave a little laugh as he regarded the wurm. “Agradeleous just likes to fight,” he admitted.

  Prince Midalis thought on that for just a moment, then realized that if such was the case, better that the formidable dragon was fighting for him!

  The direct line took the undead creature right through Dundalis, and so through Dundalis it walked, that dark night. A handful of men out enjoying some drink and the comfortable summer air saw it coming down the road from the north, and hailed it, thinking it a traveler.

  It didn’t answer—it couldn’t, of course—but just kept walking, northwest to southeast, along the road when the road happened to be under its stiff-legged stride, across undergrowth and farms when it was not.

  The men hailed it again and moved to intercept.

  “Hey there, ye can’no just be walking into town unannounced and all!” one warned.

  The undead creature’s pace was not swift, and so the men easily moved before it.

  It didn’t slow, didn’t even seem to notice them.

  One held out his arm to block, ordering the intruder to stop again.

  He got slapped aside, knocked fully ten feet through the air by a single swipe of the powerful creature’s arm.

  The others moved to attack, but then the creature moved before the light coming from the hearth of one house, and they got a better look at it.

  As one, they fell back in terror, crying out in shock and surprise. There wasn’t a religious man among the group, but more than half made the sign of the Abellican evergreen in that moment of horrible revelation, and every one called out for help from God.

  But the zombie wasn’t interested in them. It just kept walking, northwest to southeast, the direct line to the call of its master.

  “This is outrageous!” Duke Kalas roared, and he slammed his fist on the table. “Our greatest enemy stands before us, and you would send me and my legions away? What foolishness is this?”

  Aydrian stood across the table from Kalas, his chin in one hand. He fought hard to keep the grin off his face, for Kalas was unwittingly playing his part perfectly for the elven audience Aydrian knew lurked just outside the house. He had watched To’el Dallia, his former instructor in Andur’Blough Inninness, very carefully over the last few days, waiting for her to drift toward the new structure near the Kingsmen line, the house that he had obviously constructed as his field throne room, his command center.


  Aydrian had also tried his best to monitor the movements of Prince Midalis after the second fall of Pireth Tulme, and he was reasonably certain now that the prince and his fleet were sailing the waters much closer to St.-Mere-Abelle.

  In perfect position for the timing of this deception.

  “I will not need your thirty thousand to sack St.-Mere-Abelle,” Aydrian replied to the duke. “With my five thousand and the war engines, the abbey will quickly fall. That frees you up to begin the great march, to Palmaris and then to the north and east, to Vanguard itself. Prince Midalis cannot hope to oppose you, wherever he might land.”

  “You take too great a risk,” Duke Kalas warned. “St.-Mere-Abelle is formidable beyond your expectations! Never has the abbey fallen in all its long history, and greater forces than yours have arrayed against it.”

  “But never a force led by one as potent as I in the use of the gemstones,” Aydrian explained. “Nor as proficient in defeating the monks’ use of the stones. There are no more than seven hundred monks inside of St.-Mere-Abelle at this time.”

  “And a like number of peasants, if not more,” Duke Kalas added, and Aydrian shrugged as if that hardly mattered.

  “If I can minimize the monks’ gemstone use, we will get through the door, and once that has happened, the monastery will quickly fall,” Aydrian reasoned.

  “The monks are well trained in conventional battle,” Kalas warned.

  “Some are fine fighters,” De’Unnero agreed. “But most are nominal, at best. King Aydrian and I will find the leadership of St.-Mere-Abelle and decapitate the abbey. Many of the lesser monks will then likely come to see the truth of the new king and the new Church. To do otherwise would be disastrous for them, would it not?”

  Duke Kalas continued to shake his head. “Let us overrun the monastery together, in the morning,” he offered. “Once that is done, we can better plan the downfall of Prince Midalis.”