“That has been our error all along,” Aydrian replied. “We have kept our forces too bunched. That is why Midalis has been able to find places at which to strike around our edges. No, it is time to sort our armies into mighty parts. And I am not ready to go against St.-Mere-Abelle quite yet. Even now, I am quietly spying on the brothers within, to learn how best I can exploit their weaknesses. I will destroy the remnants of Fio Bou-raiy’s Abellican Church in one week, I expect, but by then, I would have you storming north of Palmaris with twenty thousand warriors. Your other ten thousand are to be dispatched south and east, with three thousand strengthening the garrison of Entel and the other force to patrol the Mantis Arm and the Broken Coast. I doubt that Midalis will land again in the southland when he learns of your march to crush his home, but if he does, we will be ready to meet him quickly and decisively.”
“My King …” Duke Kalas began to argue, but Aydrian was hearing none of it.
“That is my decision,” he said, ending the debate. “I and my five thousand will be rid of the brothers within St.-Mere-Abelle. Then I will instate Marcalo De’Unnero as the Father Abbot of all the Abellican Church and reposition my warriors as I see fit. I hope to join you in Vanguard, my friend, that I can share in our most glorious victory, but I bid you not to wait for me. Let us be done with this, all of it.”
“Yes, my King,” Duke Kalas replied.
Aydrian nodded and offered a smile, but mostly, he was smiling because he knew that To’el Dallia was likely already on her way to report the momentous happenings.
And the apparent hole in his defenses.
“Your son has erred, and greatly, it would seem,” Prince Midalis said to Pony and the others when Juraviel delivered the startling news of Aydrian’s redeployment the very next day.
“I have heard the details of the way he overran Palmaris,” Captain Al’u’met offered. “I doubt St.-Mere-Abelle will stand against him for long, even with his reduced force.”
“But he has exposed himself, and he alone is the source of opposition to my rule,” Prince Midalis explained.
“Five thousand,” Andacanavar said. “His force is still more than equal to that which you hold at your disposal, and it is headed by the powerful young king.”
“True enough,” said Midalis. “But we have a pair of rangers of our own.” He looked from Andacanavar to Brynn Dharielle. “To say nothing of Jilseponie and the dragon!”
“Forget not the Jhesta Tu who walks beside you, good Prince Midalis,” Brynn added after the mystic had translated the prince’s words to her.
Pagonel bowed to her before relaying her words to Prince Midalis.
“If we sail quickly and land ashore directly opposite the peninsula from St.-Mere-Abelle, we will arrive on the field before Aydrian’s attack,” Prince Midalis reasoned. “How much will our arrival bolster the confidence and effectiveness of Father Abbot Bou-raiy and his minions as they ward the assaults of the warrior king?”
“And if we fail, then all is lost,” Pony pointed out.
“And if we do not take this opportunity, will we ever again be presented with a chance as great?” Prince Midalis replied. “Duke Kalas marches with an army that is far beyond us. If we retreat now and continue to strike at lesser targets, then St.-Mere-Abelle will fall, as will Vanguard. What is then left to us? Are we to sail forever about the coastline, stinging the king? Certainly, he will build another fleet in time, and likely a stronger one; then even the waters of the Mirianic will no longer be a haven.”
The man paused and took a deep breath, then moved right before Pony, placing his hands on her shoulders and locking her gaze with his own. “He has erred,” the prince explained. “He underestimates us and our information gathering. He has left himself vulnerable before the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle. Let us strike at him even as he tries to topple the Abellican Church. If we can defeat him and ki …” He paused again and sighed.
“And kill him,” Pony finished.
“Or capture him,” Prince Midalis added. “Then will Duke Kalas continue to support him? Will any of the nobles? And more importantly, will the people of Honce-the-Bear be so eager to rush to his cause? We have already discussed at length that Aydrian’s greatest advantage in this has been his proximity to Ursal, while I was far away in distant Vanguard. The people didn’t oppose him because they saw no alternative to King Aydrian, and had no way to believe that they could do battle against Duke Kalas and his Allheart Knights. Without Aydrian, his entire false ‘kingdom’ crumbles. I will be accepted as the rightful king of Honce-the-Bear—even Duke Kalas will have no choice but to admit the truth of it.”
“With that many soldiers in his ranks, he might be thinking to make a try for the throne himself,” Bradwarden remarked.
Midalis turned to the centaur, shaking his head. “That is not in the character of Duke Kalas,” he explained. “He is an Allheart Knight, first and foremost. If we defeat Aydrian here and now, the war will be over and the kingdom will be returned to the line of Ursal.”
He stopped and looked around, his expression asking them all for opinions.
“We’ll not find a better chance, then,” Andacanavar said.
“Let us be done with this,” Pony added, eerily echoing the words her son had spoken only the day before.
With Pony’s support, not a word of argument came from any of those present.
Within the hour, the fleet of Prince Midalis was on the move once more, sailing west around the tip of the peninsula that held St.-Mere-Abelle along its eastern arm.
At that same time, Duke Kalas and his army of twenty thousand were fast-marching toward Palmaris. By then, however, Aydrian had let Kalas in on his little secret concerning the Touel’alfar spying.
The duke would move west for three days, then pivot back to the northwest.
For by then, Aydrian would know Prince Midalis’ intent and landing point.
Duke Kalas would close the vise.
Aydrian spent the next days preparing his force for the attack on the abbey. In the nights, however, the young king went out spiritually to check on the movements.
He didn’t bother scouting to the east and south, for the redeployment of the ten thousand to those locations was an honest one, and any spies reporting in would only confirm what To’el Dallia had no doubt relayed to Prince Midalis.
Mostly, the young king scouted about the coast near to St.-Mere-Abelle, and when he found sunstone resistance to his spirit-walking presence in some areas, he had a fair idea of where the prince was heading.
The young king wasted no time in relaying the information to Marcalo De’Unnero, who, in weretiger form, had little trouble in catching up to Duke Kalas’ army with the news.
De’Unnero walked into Kalas’ tent the evening of the second day after Kalas’ departure from Aydrian’s ranks.
Before the break of the next dawn, the duke split his ranks and sent a group to the north, marching them fast for the coast, toward the region where Aydrian was now certain Midalis would land.
Midalis would beat Kalas’ expeditionary force to that spot, but that was the plan. Let the prince and his forces charge across the peninsula to do battle with Aydrian, while Duke Kalas quietly pursued him from behind.
Aydrian knew it, De’Unnero knew it, and Duke Kalas knew it. Once Prince Midalis came ashore and marched away from his boats, he had nowhere left to run and nowhere left to hide.
The great river hardly slowed the progress of the undead creature. Moving unerringly to Aydrian’s call, the zombie walked right into the Masur Delaval. It drew no breath, and so had no air within its form and was not lifted by the water. The currents did drag on it, but they were no match for the strength of the zombie.
Straight was its march.
Straight to Aydrian, its master, who ruled Honce-the-Bear and who ruled the netherworld.
Chapter 44
Maelstrom
SOMETHING FELT WRONG TO PONY AS SHE CAME ASHORE THAT MIDSUMMER DAY. All of this desperate
plan didn’t seem to fit well in her designs for the kingdom of Honce-the-Bear. She had gone out spiritually with the soul stone even as Saudi Jacintha had rounded the peninsula’s tip, and everything she had been able to discern had seemed confirmation of the conclusions of Juraviel’s scouts.
And yet, something just didn’t feel right to her. It was more than her remorse at not being able to run right off to free Roger Lockless, she knew, and she was not the only one feeling this unease. Even Symphony, freed at last from his confinement aboard Saudi Jacintha, snorted and shook his head nervously, and seemed to jump at every touch.
“The great stallion fears this move,” Pony remarked to Bradwarden. “I feel it as well, a sense of dread.”
“I’m not for arguin’ with ye, girl,” the centaur replied. “But I’d be thinkin’ ye were daft if ye weren’t feeling that way. We’re taking a mighty gamble here and puttin’ all our money on the table.”
Pony listened and absorbed the truth of his words. This sortie was different, and more dangerous than anything they had previously attempted. When they had struck at Pireth Tulme and at St. Gwendolyn, even when they had gone to Jacintha to oppose Abbot Olin, they had never moved inland more than a couple of hours’ march from their ships and the safety of the Mirianic. Now, though, they were soon to be hard-marching away from the coast for three long days, opening more than fifty miles of ground between themselves and their boats.
“And now we’re to face him,” Bradwarden remarked a moment later, drawing the woman from her thoughts. “Yer son. Ye’re to go against him directly for the first time since he chased ye from Ursal. That’s got ye afraid, and rightly so.”
“So you believe that we must simply trust in Juraviel’s scouts?” Pony asked.
“I’m thinking that if they’re right, we’ve got ourselfs a better chance now than we might ever be seein’ again. If yer son’s grown too confident and has made a mistake, then we’d be fools not to charge in now.” The centaur gave a little chuckle, looking down at her from his full height, and finished, “How dark’s the world to be if St.-Mere-Abelle falls to him and to De’Unnero?”
His words were true enough, Pony knew, so she simply nodded and swallowed her uneasiness.
Soon after, she was right beside Prince Midalis, Bruinhelde, and Andacanavar, leading the march across the peninsula.
They charged up the coast with a single purpose: to find the place where Prince Midalis had come ashore. Led by Sir Blaxson of the Allhearts, this splinter group of three thousand warriors knew that they would not be a part of the glorious battle that would soon occur at St.-Mere-Abelle. But they knew, too, and to a man, that their mission here was vital to their king’s success. There must be no escape!
Sir Blaxson understood the great risks involved—his force was in many ways in more peril than Aydrian’s own army. Duke Kalas has explained the plans to him, and Sir Blaxson was a seasoned enough warrior to understand that in good part the strategy pivoted on timing and a guess.
Would Prince Midalis really take the bait King Aydrian had offered?
Would the prince come ashore as predicted, and in the time period predicted? For if that was not the case, Sir Blaxson and his soldiers might find themselves face-to-face with Midalis himself, along with an army larger than Blaxson’s own, and one that included Jilseponie Wyndon!
Sir Blaxson had warned his men of the potential battle they faced, and his pride had only multiplied ten times over and more when the warriors under his command had taken up the call of King Aydrian and had pressed on more urgently, double-timing their march throughout the day, from long before the dawn until long after the sunset.
They found their reward on the second day after they had splintered from Duke Kalas, their fifth day away from St.-Mere-Abelle. In a sheltered cove only a short distance up the western shore of the All Saints Peninsula, they found the fleet of Prince Midalis.
Alpinadoran longboats had been drawn up onto the shore, while the greater sailing vessels sat at anchor in the distance.
Nearly three hundred men, hardy Alpinadoran warriors all, guarded the beached boats.
When his scouts returned to report the sighting, Sir Blaxson didn’t hesitate, forming his line.
“Our duty is here and now before us,” he told his men, riding his To-gai pony up and down the length of that line. “The former prince has brought an invader to our fair shores: an Alpinadoran foreigner. A barbaric invader! These northmen know no quarter, no mercy, and no decency. They will kill our people indiscriminately; they will take our women back to their cold wasteland to serve as bed warmers!
“We must turn them now!” Sir Blaxson cried. “We must kill the barbarians and destroy their vessels. Damnation awaits Prince Midalis for bringing these murderers to the fair shores of Honce-the-Bear! And King Aydrian will deliver him to that damnation, alongside all the traitorous rabble who have joined him!”
The warriors cheered his every word, their excitement building, the sense of righteousness overflowing.
“Death to the barbarians who dare come south to spoil our lands, our women, our children!” Sir Blaxson cried, and he turned his pony to the north, drew forth his sword, and pointed the way.
The charge of three thousand warriors flowed over the high bluffs just south of the sheltered cove, descending fast upon the surprised Alpinadoran guards. Kingsmen archers filled the air with deadly missiles. Sir Blaxson sent his infantry down first, the soldiers breaking left and right as they neared the barbarian line, for through the center came the cavalry charge.
To their credit, the Alpinadorans did not break ranks and flee. In concert with their proud heritage, in agreement with the tenets that guided their warrior existence, they took up their weapons and joined in a song to Dane Thorrson, their god of battle. Side by side, they met the attack with a wave of thrown hammers, then with their own muscle.
Against the infantry, the great warriors of the northern lands killed two Bearmen for their every loss, but strong as they were, the Alpinadorans had no answer for the heavy Kingsman and Allheart cavalry. Even to the sides of the devastating cavalry charge, the Alpinadorans were swarmed and brought down, for the army of Sir Blaxson outnumbered them ten to one.
Few of the Alpinadorans fell wounded, for they fought until all life had left their tall, muscular frames. Those wounded few were shown no mercy by Sir Blaxson, nor did a single Alpinadoran ask for such.
They were put to the sword, joining the dead on the blood-soaked beach.
The task was not finished, however, and Sir Blaxson ordered his men to destroy half of the forty longboats. The other half were dragged back into the surf, manned by Bearmen warriors.
Out they went for the anchored, and barely crewed, warships.
A couple, including Saudi Jacintha, raised their sails and headed out. One even managed to begin firing its catapult at the approaching armada, though to no effect.
One by one, the great ships of Honce-the-Bear were reclaimed in the name of King Aydrian.
Watching from the beach, Sir Blaxson puffed his old chest out in pride every time the flag of Ursal was brought down and the bear and tiger of King Aydrian was run up. Those two or three that managed to get away would be of no consequence, he understood. He had served his king and his duke to perfection.
Now Prince Midalis had no retreat.
“Just as Juraviel informed us,” Prince Midalis remarked to the others when they came in sight of the high ground north of St.-Mere-Abelle. There in the distance loomed the unmistakable forms of catapults, and even as they watched, the massive war engines were being turned about.
“It would seem that they have noted our approach,” Pony said.
“They’ll not turn them in time,” Prince Midalis assured her, and he lifted his arm into the air. “Ride on and run on, my warriors!” he cried. “Now is the hour of my ascent!”
Beside him, Bradwarden took up a rousing tune on his pipes. Behind him, Bruinhelde and Andacanavar led the Alpinadorans in a song to
Dane Thorrson.
But then they all paused in awe, for before them, a great winged shape loomed up over the distant cliffs and rushed at the artillery emplacement. Bearing Brynn and Pagonel, the dragon soared past the terrified Bearmen, his fiery breath igniting one catapult, his great claws overturning a second.
Bradwarden resumed his song; Bruinhelde began to sing.
On came the prince’s charge.
Few of Aydrian’s men remained to oppose them, with most fleeing to the south and west. A second pass by Agradeleous set yet another catapult ablaze, and this time, with the prince’s army closing fast, Brynn and Pagonel leaped down amidst the terrified and scattering soldiers.
Symphony and Pony were the first to join them, the erstwhile queen wasting no time in flashing off a devastating lightning stroke that splintered the wood of the one remaining catapult. The concussion of the blast dropped a dozen men to the ground; and as one, as they recovered their wits, they threw aside their weapons and begged for mercy.
Pony linked with Brynn and Pagonel, and Agradeleous set down beside them. The devastating group overwhelmed another pocket of defense.
And then Midalis and the hordes were there, tearing through the meager force. The high ground was theirs!
From that vantage point, they could clearly see the northern walls of St.-Mere-Abelle. From that vantage point, they could see the dark swarm of Aydrian’s army, west of the main, western gate. The path to Aydrian was at hand.
But then a very shaken Belli’mar Juraviel stepped as if from nowhere into the midst of the leaders, wagging his head in distress. “We have been deceived,” the elf wailed. “Duke Kalas has turned!”
All heads swung farther to the west, and soon enough they saw the cloud of dust rising into the air, the approach of a great army.
“How is this possible?” Prince Midalis asked the elf. “Why did your scouts not detect …”
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 237
