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

by R. A. Salvatore

  Another man came in fast for Pony’s side, but she turned in time to parry.

  He never got that close, though, stopping suddenly and grasping at the small arrow that found his throat.

  Pony glanced back over her shoulder and then up, to see Juraviel perched atop one of the huge open doors, bow in hand. The elf offered a wink and a nod.

  Even as Pony lowered her gaze somewhat, she saw another man fall away, creased by Andacanavar’s slashing sword; then another fell to the great ranger as he came out of the slash and right into a devastating long thrust.

  The four could stand there and defeat any who came against them, Pony understood. But that was hardly the point, and killing soldiers unwittingly serving Aydrian brought her no joy, and no hope.

  Glancing across the courtyard, she saw a robed figure rise up in a great leap, as if magically, along the wall of the great keep, and she knew beyond any doubt that it could be only one man.

  “Get me there!” the woman cried to Bradwarden and Andacanavar, and when they looked her way, she indicated the base of the wall across the way.

  “Elf!” Bradwarden called, but when he looked at the open door, Juraviel was not to be found. “The hard way then!” the centaur roared, and he and Andacanavar flanked Pony and started across. Few of the soldiers wanted to face them, obviously, but in the chaos that was the courtyard of St.-Mere-Abelle, some did indeed find themselves caught before the charge of the trio.

  Bradwarden simply ran one down, trampling him to the ground.

  Andacanavar leaped past the centaur and felled two others with a great sidelong slash.

  And Pony fell in behind the centaur, intercepting the thrusting sword of a man thinking to stab at the creature’s exposed flank. The woman rolled her sword over the attacker’s, then drove it down. Sensing a second attacker coming in at her back, she turned and stepped forward, releasing the sword and snapping her pommel up into the first man’s face, staggering him. Then she called for Bradwarden, and the centaur glanced back, shifted his weight to his front hooves, and double-kicked with his rear legs just as the second man went rushing by.

  By the time the centaur’s back legs touched down, Pony had finished the stunned man off and was already moving past him.

  Their swath of devastation got them to the wall in short order.

  “Help me,” the woman bade them, motioning to the second-story window—

  the same window through which she had seen Marcalo De’Unnero disappear.

  Andacanavar hoisted her atop Bradwarden’s back, then spun about to join battle with stubborn pursuers.

  “Ye ready?” the centaur asked.

  “Go!” came the reply, Pony fishing in her pouch for her gemstones. Bradwarden’s buck lifted her into the air, and she caught herself with the magic of the malachite, activating its levitation so that she continued up, up until she had gained the ledge.

  She went inside as Juraviel reappeared, fluttering to the ledge to replace her. The elf started to follow her in, but then stopped and turned his attention back to the scene below, where a host of enemies had come suddenly against Bradwarden and Andacanavar.

  “Good to have ye back, elf!” the centaur cried as one man, against whom the already-engaged Bradwarden could offer no defense, staggered backward instead of charging in, an arrow sticking out from his forehead.

  “Someone has to keep you out of trouble, fool centaur!” Juraviel called back.

  “How dare you desecrate this holy place!” Fio Bou-raiy screamed at Aydrian, and the Father Abbot came out of his throne to boldly face the approaching young king even as his fellow Abellicans fell back before the spectacle of the magnificent man.

  “Desecrate?” Aydrian echoed. “I am returning St.-Mere-Abelle to its former glory!” He hadn’t even drawn Tempest from its sheath, but had slipped a lodestone into one hand. Rather than targeting any metal on Bou-raiy directly, Aydrian focused instead on a plate set at the top of the throne behind the man.

  “How dare you?” Bou-raiy yelled again, and he lifted his hand toward Aydrian, revealing his own lodestone.

  Sadye cried out, but she needn’t have worried, for both men let fly their magical stones at the same time.

  Despite his anger, which led him to throw more energy into the stone than he had ever before managed, Bou-raiy’s missile clanged against Aydrian’s brilliant breastplate, making little more than a loud ring.

  Aydrian’s stone, though, smashed through Bou-raiy’s extended hand, shattering bones and even removing two of his fingers. Then it, too, rang loudly as it smacked against the metal plate on the chair—after blowing a hole through the Father Abbot’s head.

  “You cannot defeat me, you cannot deny me,” Aydrian told the stunned masters as Fio Bou-raiy’s lifeless body dropped to the floor.

  “Then we shall die, but die in the hopes of salvation!” one of the men cried, and he lifted a stone Aydrian’s way.

  “And damnation to you and to the cursed De’Unnero!” another yelled.

  “Indeed!” came a shout from the balcony overlooking the room, and all turned to see Marcalo De’Unnero, standing at the rail and smiling widely.

  Sadye took up a song to the glory of King Aydrian. De’Unnero started along the rail for the stairs.

  And Aydrian snapped Tempest from its sheath, and melted one of the masters with a lightning bolt that shook the ground and stunned them all.

  Crouched in the shadows behind one of the statues along the backside of the balcony, Braumin Herde, dagger in hand, came out fast right behind the distracted De’Unnero.

  Even as he went to strike, even as Aydrian moved to destroy another of the masters and even as that man and his fellows moved to return the attack upon Aydrian, the great circular window, the image of St. Avelyn’s arm, exploded inward. Black metal twisted and folded, and shards of multicolored glass showered the room, and the image of the upraised arm was replaced by that of a great dragon, wings outstretched!

  Despite the explosion and the appearance of the beast, Braumin held his concentration and followed through with his attack, for to him there was no greater monster in all the world than Marcalo De’Unnero. He thought he had his opening, thought he had his kill, the blade stabbing fast for the fierce monk’s kidney, but then De’Unnero’s hand snapped around so suddenly! The superb warrior caught Braumin’s thrusting arm by the wrist and stopped the attack as surely as would a stone wall.

  Braumin Herde cried out but pressed on, diving above that block and aiming his free hand for De’Unnero’s head.

  But De’Unnero’s free hand came about as the fierce monk pivoted to face Braumin squarely, and he easily turned the punch aside.

  Braumin’s thoughts were whirling, for he knew that he was badly overmatched here. Before he could even recognize what was happening, he found himself free of the clench and the press, as De’Unnero fell back.

  His first instinct told him to pursue, but Braumin caught himself and tried to retreat instead.

  But too late, for De’Unnero had pulled back only that he could set and leap into a spinning circle kick. His tiger’s foot came around behind Braumin’s upraised, blocking arms, and caught the bishop across the face, knocking out more than a few teeth and sending Braumin flying to the side, to crash hard against the wall.

  Dazed and stumbling, Braumin would have fallen to the floor, but De’Unnero caught him and held him there with a series of vicious and devastating blows that shattered his ribs and cracked his cheekbone.

  All the world rushed away from the bishop as blackness leaped up to swallow him.

  A scream from a voice that he knew so well tore De’Unnero from his murderous frenzy. There ran Sadye, up the stairs, bleeding from many cuts, her face locked in an expression of terror.

  She cried out for help.

  She cried out for Aydrian to save her.

  She did not call out for De’Unnero, and that realization froze the monk in place. He watched as a lithe, black-haired woman dropped down from the drag
on, followed by a man whom De’Unnero recognized as Prince Midalis himself! Neither paid much heed to Sadye, though, as they charged down the debris-covered stairs.

  A third figure remained on the great wurm, holding the beast steady—until there came an explosion that eclipsed even the thunder of the dragon’s unexpected arrival. A bolt of the purest white light reached up at the beast, blinding everyone in the room. Arcs of energy crackled all about the dragon, and the force of the blast blew dragon and rider right back out the shattered window.

  De’Unnero recovered his sensibilities and glanced back to ensure that Braumin wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon. He understood that Aydrian was facing formidable enemies, but still, he would have gone to Sadye and not Aydrian.

  If only she had been calling his name!

  The monk growled and ran to the railing, taking in the scene. He moved to leap right over, to drop the thirty feet to the floor and rush to Aydrian’s side, but again he was stopped, by yet another familiar voice.

  “Brighter would all the world be if Marcalo De’Unnero had died that day in Palmaris,” said Pony.

  De’Unnero fell back behind the railing and slowly turned to face his most-hated adversary.

  Agradeleous fell from the monastery, twirling weirdly as one wing or another unfolded and caught the updrafts rising along the steep cliff face.

  “Agradeleous!” Pagonel screamed in the dragon’s ear. “I need you!”

  The dark stones of the cliff rushed past; the dark waters of All Saints Bay reached up at them.

  “Awaken!” the mystic ordered. “I need you! The whole world needs you!”

  Too many rocks loomed below them, Pagonel knew, and he had no hope that either he or Agradeleous would survive the fall. That was to say if the dragon wasn’t already dead. For the blast of lightning from young Aydrian had been the greatest show of magic, the greatest show of sheer power, Pagonel had ever witnessed.

  “Agradeleous!” he cried one last time before they both would have smashed into the surf and the rocks.

  The dragon’s leathery wings extended suddenly and the beast arched its back, changing the angle. Pagonel nearly fell as the creature’s plummet became a sudden swoop, Agradeleous soaring out fast across the waters.

  “I need you!” Pagonel cried into the wind, but Agradeleous seemed not to hear him.

  “My mortal enemy!” the dragon roared. “From time uncounted! The demon awakens!”

  Those words surely put the mystic back in his seat. “What do you mean?” he shouted.

  “As it was eons ago, when dragon and demon shared the world!” the dragon roared on, still seeming not to hear him.

  Pagonel continued to scream at him, and finally, the dragon took note and stopped his bellowing long enough to listen.

  “What do you mean?” the mystic demanded. “This young King Aydrian, trained by the Touel’alfar, the human son of Elbryan and Jilseponie—”

  “Is more than that!” the dragon interrupted. “He is not man, this young King Aydrian! Not wholly so. It is the beast, the mortal bane of dragonkind!”

  Pagonel nearly swooned. He remembered the encounter at the Entel house, when Aydrian and Agradeleous had first seen each other, when both had launched into a primal fury at the mere sight of the other! Could it be true?

  “Then back to wage battle!” Pagonel cried.

  The dragon roared in protest and replied, “Not I!”

  “This beast must be defeated!” the mystic argued.

  “I cannot help you,” the dragon admitted. “He is beyond me. He will dominate my thoughts and turn me against you! I cannot resist him!”

  Pagonel absorbed the words and tried to find some answer. He heard the continuing battle up and behind him, within the monastery’s wall and without. Men were dying by the dozen, by the score. “Then we must trust in our friends, great Agradeleous,” he finally decided. “Then we find our place in saving the lives of men! Take me now, I beg you, to the north and the battle joined! I need your voice, great wurm!”

  The dragon banked hard to the left, soaring around back toward shore, aiming for the sounds of battle echoing along the northern stretches of the great and ancient abbey.

  The glass seemed not to have touched Aydrian, as if he were somehow proof against it. Brynn and Prince Midalis sprinted down the stairs to stand before their nemesis, while those few remaining masters cowered and crawled away, bleeding and terrified.

  “So much for the word of Brynn Dharielle,” Aydrian said dryly in the elven tongue. “To-gai will not go to war against me?”

  “To-gai does not, and will not,” Brynn stated.

  “Says their leader as she stands before me, sword drawn!”

  “I do not lead To-gai any longer. I have come here in response to your attacks on my other homeland, Aydrian.”

  The young king laughed at her. “Do not be a fool,” he said. “Dasslerond is gone, and good riddance to the witch! The world is ours, yours and mine, to rule as we see fit. You would surrender all of that?”

  Brynn leveled Flamedancer his way, and, seeing the motion, Prince Midalis drew out his sword as well. “I will stop you,” Brynn promised.

  “Yield now and be spared!” Prince Midalis demanded, and Aydrian laughed at him.

  Brynn started it with a sudden thrust, stepping forward with all the speed and balance of bi’nelle dasada, her sword going for Aydrian’s armored belly. His parry was easy enough, but Brynn had expected that, and so she retracted and came ahead aggressively yet again, this time stabbing for his face, and this time setting her magical blade aflame.

  But Aydrian was thinking far ahead as well, and he ducked and back-stepped, slapping her blade out to the side. He left an apparent opening on his left, one that he knew Midalis would waste no time in exploiting.

  But the prince did not understand the enchantment of the lodestones set in Aydrian’s shining breastplate. His sword slashed in for Aydrian’s shoulder, but a wave of magnetism turned it and Midalis hit nothing but air.

  Aydrian’s sword arm snapped across, cutting at the prince’s forearm, and only Midalis’ fine training allowed him to keep his moving arm far enough ahead of that blade to prevent a deep and debilitating cut.

  Aydrian didn’t follow through anyway, for Brynn remained on the offensive. The young king started bringing his sword back to face her, but turned it tip down and fired off a lightning bolt into the floor that staggered them all for a second and allowed him a breather.

  Only then did Aydrian realize how greatly his attack on the dragon had taxed him. He had thrown every bit of himself into that lightning bolt, even beyond a rational level. His hatred of the beast had come from somewhere deeper, somewhere more primal.

  He was not too concerned, though, for he knew that his magical energy would soon return, and he held all confidence that he could defeat these two even without the aid of the gemstones.

  He parried Brynn’s next attack, rolling his blade over hers expertly, and was about to counter when he sensed that stubborn Midalis coming in again at his side.

  A quick turn and a riposte had the prince staggering backward.

  Aydrian couldn’t suppress a smile, for he could already feel his magical energies replenishing, could already feel the tug of the graphite and the ruby set in Tempest’s hilt.

  Time worked on his side.

  Men screamed and died all about it, but the creature didn’t notice. Singular in purpose, it walked across the field outside of St.-Mere-Abelle, oblivious to the vicious battle raging, oblivious to the war cries and charge of the Alpinadorans, stubbornly pushing back Duke Kalas’ flank. Oblivious to the charge of the Allheart Brigade, which cut prince Midalis’ force into two separate groups.

  The zombie moved to the gates, to the call of its master.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Not the arguing below, nor the first sounds of battle, not even the arrival and ejection of the great dragon, could turn Pony’s attention from this man standing before her,
this man who had killed her beloved Elbryan, this man who had ever been her most hated enemy. She could see De’Unnero’s arm transforming into a tiger’s paw as he calmly stalked toward her, seeming as focused as she in their mutual hatred.

  She lifted her left hand. “Go sleep with the demons,” she said.

  De’Unnero didn’t leap aside, didn’t turn away, didn’t move to respond.

  Pony hit him with a blast of magical lightning, one that burned a hole in his robe and staggered him back several steps. But on he came again, stubbornly, too full of hatred even to care.

  She hit him with another blast, but a lesser one, and then they were into it, claw against sword, bi’nelle dasada against the man’s years of training in the Abellican fighting arts. He was quicker than she, and stronger than she, but the woman managed to keep him at bay with her longer weapon.

  She saw an opening and stabbed ahead, but De’Unnero was gone. Simply gone, propelled away by a twitch of his powerful feline legs.

  Pony spun and slashed, and when her sword again hit nothing, she sent out a stunning wave of lightning magic, emanating in all directions from her form. She heard a gasp and whirled about, meeting De’Unnero’s charge with a slash of her sword that scored a hit on his forearm even as his claw painfully tore at her wrist above the pommel.

  The monk retreated, as did Pony, and then De’Unnero leaped ahead suddenly.

  Pony fended with a series of sudden and vicious cuts, but again she was forced to retreat, and then again as De’Unnero stubbornly rushed right back at her.

  He wasn’t trying to score a hit on that next attack, she understood, but rather, was backing her up dangerously close to the wide stairway. Mobility was her advantage against the ferocity of the monk, and he was trying to take that away.

  Pony hit him with another lightning bolt, and this one seemed to catch him off guard and stagger him just a bit.

  But as much as she wanted to, Pony couldn’t exploit that moment of opportunity, for another form appeared at her side, rushing up the stairs and brandishing a sword that she knew all too well.