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

by R. A. Salvatore

  The man blanched and fell back a step, and Merwan Ma, scowling with every stride, led Pagonel by the group and across the oasis, heading out again down the eastern road toward Jacintha.

  All that day, they passed columns of soldiers, marching to partake of the end of the Dragon of To-gai.

  “You took a great chance for me this day,” Pagonel remarked to Merwan Ma when they were alone that night.

  “I took no chance for you,” the Shepherd declared.

  “You could have turned me in to them and been done with me then and there,” the mystic reasoned. “And you might even have redeemed yourself in the eyes of the Chezru Chieftain if you had.”

  “Redeemed myself?” the man echoed with a snort. “I am not even sure where such redemption should come from anymore. We decided upon the plan to walk through Dahdah, and I gave to you my word.”

  “To many men, their salvation is worth the price of that word, particularly to an enemy who holds them captive.”

  “Is that what you are?”

  The mystic shrugged.

  “If I chose to walk away from you now, would you stop me?” Merwan Ma asked.

  “No.”

  Point made, the Shepherd rested back.

  “But you will not walk away, Merwan Ma,” Pagonel went on. “You have come to see the truth of this, and this journey to Jacintha is as much your quest as it is mine.”

  “More,” the Shepherd said, his voice as grim and determined as Pagonel had ever heard, indeed, as grim and determined as it had ever been. “You speak of salvation, and that was the promise of Yatol. But what is that promise if all else is a lie?”

  “You do not know that all else is a lie.”

  “I know that Transcendence is the miracle that binds the Chezru religion,” the Shepherd explained. “Those who witness the miracle of the fully conscious and knowing child are forever affected. They go to their graves happy, because they know that Yatol is all-powerful and looking over them.”

  Pagonel noted a bit of a tremor growing in the man’s voice as he continued.

  “But if the Chezru Chieftain himself, the God-Voice of Yatol, cannot trust in that, then how can we? And without that miracle, then where is the binding force of Yatol?”

  Pagonel had no answers, no words at all to comfort the man. For if their guess was correct, if the Chezru Chieftain now was merely the same spirit, taking the corporeal forms of unborn children down through the centuries, then what argument was to be made?

  “When we are done with this, come to the Walk of Clouds, my friend,” he did offer. “There you will learn the truth of who you are. There you will come to understand the fleeting nature of the body and the eternal energy of the soul.”

  Merwan Ma did smile, but he snorted again, as well. “We will not be done with this, my friend,” he said, and it was the first time he had addressed Pagonel in that manner. “We will walk into the fortress that is Chom Deiru. We will not walk back out.”

  Again, the mystic found that he could offer little argument against that logical statement.

  “Then we will break through their pitiful lines!” declared Tanalk Grenk with his typically imposing tones.

  “To be slowed, stung, and pursued,” another remarked, and so it went, all about the campfire where Brynn and her commanders had gathered. The reports from the scouts had come in for the last three days, making it apparent that the Behrenese knew exactly where Brynn’s force was, and where they were heading. Now the Behrenese seemed to be forcing a fight, breaking their great army into three groups, the smallest to the east—though reports told of another great force marching down the road from Jacintha—the largest to the south and moving swiftly, trying to keep pace with Brynn, and one to the west, setting defensive positions along the base of the plateau divide and blocking all known passes.

  “We can run straight west and use the dragon to get onto the steppes,” one of the woman leaders remarked.

  “But many would be caught before the dragon could lift them,” argued Grenk, who was obviously itching for a major fight. “The enemy is too close and too determined.”

  “Most would get away,” the woman commander countered. “The others, myself among them, would turn and fight the Behrenese to the last!”

  Many nods accompanied those strong and determined words, but Brynn’s was not among them. She had spent another night arguing with Agradeleous, with the wurm growing more agitated by the day, as eager as was Tanalk Grenk to do battle, but for very different reasons, obviously. Agradeleous had long ago grown tired of this retreating action, and Brynn doubted that he would cooperate in a maneuver designed solely to run away. More likely, they would run to the base of the plateau divide and Agradeleous would force them to turn and fight the pursuing Behrenese, then and there, whatever the outcome.

  “To the steppes, and then where?” the ranger asked them all. “Even if we dodge them this time, to what gain?”

  “Then fight them!” Tanalk Grenk growled. “Here and now!”

  “Or from a defensible position, where we at least will have a chance to inflict tremendous damage upon them,” Brynn reasoned.

  “I will send scouts at once to find such an area!” the excited man replied.

  “I already know of one,” said the ranger, and all eyes turned her way and all held quiet, waiting for her to explain.

  She looked to the southwest, her expression grim. “We could fight them from behind the wall of Dharielle.”

  “You mean Dharyan.”

  “No,” said Brynn, her gaze locked, her face tight, her voice perfectly even and steady. “I mean Dharielle.”

  The very next day, the city was in sight and the To-gai-ru formed their ranks on the high ground just to the east and north of the place.

  “The Dragon has returned,” said Pauche, the new garrison commander of Dharyan, as he and Governor Carwan Pestle stood on the wall, looking up to the northeast, where the line of enemy soldiers could be seen.

  “Where is Yatol Bardoh?” Pestle replied. “Where is Chezhou-Lei Shauntil?”

  “Several days away,” Pauche answered. “We will hold until they arrive!”

  “We will be overrun in a single day,” Carwan Pestle remarked with all certainty. “The Dragon of To-gai will visit us this very night, do not doubt, raining fire and death, and in the morning, we will have little resistance against the charge of the horde.” Carwan Pestle closed his eyes and recalled the first defeat of Dharyan, remembering how easily the Dragon of To-gai had overrun the place once the Jacintha twenty squares had been lured out to their deaths. With soldiers pulled to block the western passes into To-gai, Pestle’s garrison now was not even as strong as it had been then! And all reports indicated that the Dragon of To-gai’s army was twice the size of the one that had overrun Dharyan.

  “Prepare a horse for me,” Pestle ordered.

  Pauche did not move, just stood staring curiously at the man.

  “Now,” Pestle prompted. “A swift horse and a flag of truce.”

  “You will go and bargain with her?”

  “I will go and try to save us all.”

  Still the man did not move, and his stare shifted from curiosity to a simmering anger.

  “Now!” Pestle ordered. “I am the governor of Dharyan. The decision of how to conduct this is mine alone. Now, fetch me a horse and a flag of truce, or I will have you relieved!”

  “Governor Shepherd Pestle,” Pauche said, dipping a tight bow. “We can fight them. We can hold the walls until Yatol Bardoh arrives with his legions.”

  “You do not understand the power of the Dragon. The beast will set Dharyan ablaze in a single night, and destroy our defenses. And then we will die. All of us.” As he finished, he couldn’t help but remember the image of Yatol Grysh, hanging below the eastern gate, and he imagined himself in the man’s place, as surely he would be.

  He rode through that gate soon after, galloping his horse hard to the distant line of enemies.

  “I would spea
k with the Dragon of To-gai,” Carwan Pestle addressed them with as much courage and strength as he could muster.

  A small woman stepped her muscled brown-and-white pinto pony out from the line, walking it to stand before Pestle’s taller horse. “We meet again,” said Brynn. “You were the attendant of Yatol Grysh, were you not?”

  Carwan Pestle sucked in his breath. “I am Shepherd Carwan Pestle, now governor of Dharyan.”

  “Dharielle,” Brynn corrected. “And I have appointed no governor.”

  Pestle felt the sweat beading on his forehead. He knew he was trembling, and knew that it would show in his voice. He took a deep breath and tried to hold his response as steady as possible. “Chezru Chieftain Douan has reclaimed the city. It was he who appointed me as governor.”

  “After the unfortunate death of Merwan Ma, no doubt,” said the woman, and Pestle’s eyes widened.

  How could she have known that?

  “So, you claim the city for your Chezru Chieftain,” Brynn went on a moment later. “And will you deny me entrance in his name?”

  “I have come to negotiate a compromise.”

  “A surrender, you mean?”

  Carwan Pestle shifted uncomfortably on his horse. “I request some conditions.”

  “Concerning your neck?”

  Pestle paused and took another deep and steadying breath, and then another. “I—we—do not wish to battle you again,” he said.

  “Then surrender,” came Brynn’s uncompromising response.

  “I will have guarantees for the safety of my people,” said Carwan Pestle, and he felt stronger suddenly, recognizing that he really had nothing to lose there, that he had, in effect, lost everything already.

  Behind Brynn, the To-gai-ru warriors began many conversations, with many voices raised in anger. The woman held up her hand and soon enough all chatter stopped.

  “And if I allow you and your warriors to walk free, then you will no doubt turn around and wage battle back against me, once your friends have arrived,” Brynn reasoned. “Is that not so?”

  “We will not.”

  That proclamation brought a renewal of the doubting and cynical discussions, but Brynn cut them short once again, lifting her hand.

  “I cannot trust in that,” she said. “All of your old and young may leave, and if we are allowed to occupy Dharielle unopposed, then you and your warriors will be considered as prisoners, and treated humanely. My city has a jail, does it not?”

  “A large one,” said Pestle. “Enough to hold the two hundred garrison of the city.”

  “Then ride back and throw wide your gates,” said Brynn. “And be warned, Pestle, if this is a trick, I will slaughter every man, woman, and child in Dharielle, and will let your body dangle as did the body of Yatol Grysh!”

  The man bowed his head, then turned his mount and rode back to the city. Soon after, a line of refugees began to wind their way out of the city.

  Brynn led her force into the place, declaring it as Dharielle once more. The eight thousand warriors she brought in went to work immediately, separating potential combatants from obvious civilians among the remaining captives, imprisoning the former and escorting the latter through the eastern gate. Then they began defensive preparations: repairing catapults and ballistae; bringing oil to the wall, to be heated and dropped on attackers; and setting up caches of many, many arrows.

  Brynn and Agradeleous watched it all with grim determination.

  “Fight as long as you desire, then fly to your mountain home,” the woman told the dragon.

  “You promised me bards with many tales, and a line of treasure,” the dragon reminded.

  “And I shall fulfill that promise, if I am able.”

  Agradeleous snorted, little puffs of flame escaping his nostrils.

  “You can leave now, if you prefer,” said Brynn.

  “I could have left whenever I chose. But I chose to stay, and so I choose to stay now. This promises to be the grandest fight of all, the one of which the bards will long sing. Better that I am a part of it, to make the songs more enjoyable to those who will hear them centuries hence!”

  The dragon’s sudden enthusiasm brought a smile to Brynn’s face. “I will not command you in the battle,” she said. “I trust that you will find the best spots in the enemy line to attack.”

  Agradeleous growled and grinned, seeming quite pleased.

  Four days later, all the horizon about Dharielle darkened with the march of the legions of Yatol Bardoh and Shauntil.

  “They outnumber us nearly four to one,” one commander observed, as the To-gai-ru leaders assembled at the main gate tower to survey the oncoming storm.

  Brynn’s answer was direct and to the point. “Then kill five.”

  The bombardment of Dharielle began that very night, with lines of catapults launching balls of burning pitch through the night sky, to splatter within the city, lighting ablaze everything nearby. The To-gai-ru responded with their own shots, but the steppe nomads were not trained with such weapons and their target was much less substantial, and so they did little damage in return.

  Agradeleous did fly out and attack, but then he returned, stuck with a thousand arrows, it seemed.

  Brynn watched it all with deep trepidation. The Behrenese were ready for her this time. She could not shape the battlefield.

  Her dream would end there, and it would take To-gai many years to recover from the loss of so many.

  But so be it, she decided, remembering the words of Pagonel. The legend of this fight would live on, to feed the seeds of resistance sometime in the future. For now, Brynn meant to make this battle a costly one for the Behrenese.

  She worked right alongside her warriors, battling the fires and trying to keep them all prepared for the charge that would likely come soon after the next dawn.

  Chapter 37

  To the Bitter End

  THE WESTERN SIDE OF DHARYAN WAS STILL IN PREDAWN DARKNESS WHEN THE charge began, the great ring of Behrenese closing as one on the city. The To-gai-ru responded with typical ferocity and bravery, manning the walls, great bows in hand, showering their attackers with a killing rain. But the Behrenese came on, too many to be denied, rank upon rank throwing themselves wildly against the deadly volleys in the name of Yatol and their beloved Chezru Chieftain.

  Rushing through the courtyard to bolster the southern wall, Brynn found Agradeleous, standing in his lizardman form, growling angrily as he looked all about. “Is this the end?” the dragon asked.

  “I know not,” Brynn admitted.

  “You will die here?”

  “If that is my fate. But I will do so with my blade stained with Behrenese blood!” She started away, but the dragon grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “And is that enough for you, human? To die here is acceptable because you know that you are right?”

  “I’d rather live,” Brynn replied with a grin. “And I pray that we win out, or hold out.”

  “But if you do not?”

  Brynn had no answer, but neither did the possibility shrink her proud shoulders at all.

  “I hope you live,” Agradeleous said to her, and he let her go, and Brynn stood there for a long while, staring at him, until the cries from the wall told her that a breach was imminent.

  She ran off to a ladder, scrambling up to the parapet, to find as many Behrenese in that area as To-gai-ru, and with more enemies scrambling over the wall with each passing moment. Brynn’s sword came to fiery life. “To-gai!” she cried, and pushed past her fellow defenders, driving hard into the forming Behrenese line. Those invaders gave way a bit before that blazing sword, and that single waver was enough for Brynn to gain a breach in the line.

  Spearheading a wedge, she pushed through, shouldering one man off the parapet, stabbing a second man in the belly. She retracted the blade and fell forward to her knees, spinning about, an errant Behrenese sword swishing harmlessly over her head.

  Flamedancer took that man out
at the knees, and then Brynn was at the ladders, and a thrust to a face had another enemy tumbling back out. That falling man clipped the one behind him on the ladder as he tumbled, and as that second man struggled to hold his balance, the drifting ladder moved out from the wall.

  Brynn leaped atop that wall and kicked hard, dislodging the ladder altogether.

  A line of arrows came at her from below, but she turned quickly and got her pulsating powrie shield up to deflect most of them. One did clip her across the calf, a burning wound.

  She shrugged it off and leaped away, driving back another disintegrating line of enemies.

  The breach was closed.

  Agradeleous watched it all with sincere admiration, understanding more clearly Belli’mar Juraviel’s words to him concerning the value of humans.

  “I hope you live,” he whispered to Brynn, though she certainly could not hear, and then the dragon fell within himself, bringing forth the transformation into his more natural, huge and terrible form.

  Over the eastern gate he flew, above the line of ducking and scrambling Behrenese. Only a few got their bows up to offer meager shots.

  Gaining speed with every passing foot, the dragon rammed hard into a catapult, scattering the crew and destroying the war engine. His head swung about and his fiery breath immolated a handful of fleeing soldiers.

  Then the arrows began, but Agradeleous ignored them and attacked the next catapult, and then the next. He saw one man rushing to organize the defense—a man wearing the armor of a Chezhou-Lei. Off the dragon swooped, crashing amidst the leader and those about him, accepting the heavy blow from the man’s sword and returning it tenfold with a savage claw rake that nearly took the man in half.

  Several others fell and Agradeleous leaped back up into the air, his great wings bringing him higher. His attack had stopped the entire charge at that eastern wall, had allowed the defenders within the city to peel away and reinforce other vulnerable areas, for the Behrenese were turning back upon the wurm, with cries naming the dragon as their primary target. Now the volleys of arrows showering Agradeleous increased, but the dragon roared through it and charged on, destroying another catapult.