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

by R. A. Salvatore

  A ballista bolt shot past him, then a second, but the dragon pressed on, breathing forth his fire to light both catapult and crew.

  His wings brought him up high and he dove immediately, passing low over one group of Behrenese cavalry, unhorsing most as he sped past on his way to another catapult battery. Now the dragon swooped back around and up, hovering for a split second to line up his fiery breath.

  Just as one ballista crew had anticipated.

  The dragon fire came forth, then stopped abruptly as the huge spear smashed against his side, crushing bone at the base of his wing. With a shriek that deafened those nearby, Agradeleous rolled over in the air, then tumbled down into the sand.

  Immediately, the Behrenese soldiers swarmed over him, bows twanging, swords slashing, but the dragon went into a thrashing frenzy, his tail swiping out men by the dozen, claws digging and raking, his maw snapping to and fro, biting men in half.

  But the dragon was in trouble, and he knew the truth of it. Soon his scrambling had purpose, turning him about, then running him flat out for the wall of Dharyan. He neared and leaped, crashing over the wall and tumbling hard into the courtyard.

  Brynn was on that wall, urging him on, and as soon as the dragon passed over her, she and her batteries of archers drove back the Behrenese pursuit.

  “The west gate!” came a frantic cry, and Brynn spun about to hear the screams of anguish and anger, and she knew that the city would be lost, that if the Behrenese got through that western gate, their flood would sweep her and her army from the city.

  And she couldn’t get there in time.

  But down below, her greatest warrior was moving again, clawing and fighting his way along the streets, his blood drawing a red slick behind him.

  Agradeleous arrived in the western courtyard just as the gate began to crumble, and the To-gai-ru, seeing his approach, cleared the way.

  The gate fell in, and in charged the Behrenese.

  Or at least they started to, and then they were dead, melted in dragon fire. There Agradeleous stayed for the remainder of the attack, a living barricade.

  Behind him, on the walls, Brynn rushed from spot to spot, bolstering the defenses with her cries of victory and with her deadly sword and bow.

  Soon after, the Behrenese line retreated. Dharyan had held through the first day.

  There was little revelry within the city, though, for many To-gai-ru lay dead about the walls. Several thousand Behrenese had fallen to less than one thousand To-gai-ru, but in looking at her depleted resources, and in looking at the gravely injured dragon, Brynn could not claim victory that day. They had held, and that was something.

  But that was all.

  Thanks to the heroics of Agradeleous, the barrage from catapults would be less that night. But several huge fires did erupt, forcing the weary men and women to battle them—all with the knowledge that their enemies would come on again in the morning.

  Pagonel and Merwan Ma had little trouble getting into Jacintha, for the city was in seeming turmoil, with people rushing all about, selling and buying all sorts of staple goods. Soldiers marched about all the avenues, schooling hard the lessons they knew they would soon put into real combat.

  “It would seem that Brynn’s efforts have been felt far, and to the heart of Behren,” Pagonel remarked to Merwan Ma, the mystic still playing the part of the Shepherd’s slave.

  “Many of the brigades are from visiting districts,” Merwan Ma explained. “I have seen the pennant of Yatol De Hamman and Yatol Peridan, Yatol Shie-guvra and—”

  “Does that mean that the Yatols have assembled here?”

  Merwan Ma nodded. “That would be the usual reason for their garrisons to be about Jacintha,” he explained. “But who can say in these strange times?”

  “Can you find out?”

  The Shepherd nodded and moved across the crowded square, to a merchant selling baskets of dates. He bent in and whispered to the man, then nodded, reached into his pouch, and produced a few coins—which Pagonel had given to him out of the loot from one of the conquered cities.

  The smiling merchant took the bribe and bent in, whispering to Merwan Ma for a long, long time.

  “The Yatols are in Jacintha,” the Shepherd reported to Pagonel a few minutes later. “And they are not pleased by the continuing war. Brynn’s efforts in hiring the mercenaries and pirates have played into the ancient rivalries between some of the Yatols, particularly those trading rivals along the coastline. Now the Yatols are angry that so many soldiers have been pulled from the disputed zones in the east and sent along to the west to join in Yatol Bardoh’s pursuit of Brynn.”

  Pagonel nodded, considering the words. He wished he had known of this internal strife before, long before, when there might have been some opportunity to exploit it further.

  “There is word from the west,” Merwan Ma went on, his voice going suddenly grim. “Brynn has conquered Dharyan once more.”

  Pagonel nodded, knowing what was coming next.

  “Yatol Bardoh is even now moving to encircle her and destroy her there,” the Shepherd went on. “Likely the fighting has already begun.”

  Pagonel took a long moment to digest the information, then took a deep and steadying breath and stared hard at his companion. “It is irrelevant to our present course.” As he finished, the mystic looked across the way, to a large structure, the largest in the city, set upon a hill lined with beautiful gardens and fountains.

  “Chom Deiru,” Merwan Ma explained, following that stare. “It will be heavily guarded—it is always heavily guarded, and even more so now, I would guess, with the tension so high.”

  “But you can get me in,” the mystic reasoned.

  “To what end?”

  “To reveal the truth.”

  “It is a truth that will get us both killed.” Merwan Ma stopped short, seeing the unblinking stare coming back at him, a reminder to him of all that he had learned of late.

  “I will get you in,” he said to Pagonel, his voice steady. “Or I will try.”

  The mystic nodded, and Merwan Ma led the way across the city, to the base of the hill of Chom Deiru and the first guard house they would have to pass.

  They did so, quite easily, for Merwan Ma knew all the passwords through these preliminary checkpoints. Soon enough the pair were up the hill and moving up the steps of the temple proper, through the great arching doors of Chom Deiru.

  A pair of guards inside crossed their spears before the entryway, commanding them to halt.

  “I have come from the west,” Merwan Ma said to them, then spoke the usual passwords, “The setting sun cannot elude the Chezru’s eyes.”

  It was the proper phrase for any returning scout to use, but Merwan Ma noted that one of the guards betrayed his stoic expression for just an instance, as if in a flicker of recognition.

  “What is your name?” the man asked.

  “I am …” the Shepherd paused, feeling suddenly that something was very wrong. He didn’t really recognize the guard, but he had the feeling that this one had known him from his time as Douan’s assistant.

  “My pardon, Governor Pestle,” Pagonel said behind him, and he began bowing repeatedly. “I should have been more prompt in arranging for your formal announcement.”

  The two guards looked to each other, and then one retreated behind the door.

  A long moment passed, the silence growing more and more uncomfortable. Finally, the door cracked open and the guard poked his head out, whispering to his companion.

  “Welcome to Chom Deiru, Governor Carwan Pestle,” the other guard said as his companion disappeared behind the door once more. “You will be announced to the Chezru Chieftain at your convenience.” As he finished, he stepped aside and pulled open the door, motioning for the two men to enter.

  Merwan Ma should have been dead the moment he stepped through, and would have been, had not Pagonel’s finely honed reflexes launched the mystic at the back of Merwan Ma’s legs, laying him low, and making the s
tab of the other guard’s long spear miss the mark.

  Pagonel was up in an instant, spinning to face the spearman. He dropped his shoulder and leaped ahead, spinning diagonally down low. Then, as he came around and set his feet, he leaped up high, over the poor attempt to reorient the unwieldy weapon. He snapped his foot into the guard’s face.

  The man fell away with a grunt.

  Pagonel landed lightly, turning sharply about to see the guard from outside charging in at Merwan Ma’s back, and with the stunned Shepherd only then even pulling himself from the floor, facing away from the thrusting spear.

  Out went the spear tip, but in the flash of the mystic’s well-aimed, stiffened hand, the weapon was no more, chopped in half.

  Pagonel grabbed the broken shaft of the weapon in his left hand, stepped in against it, and swung around backward, his right elbow lifting high to smash the man in the face. The guard dropped like a stone, but stubbornly tried to rise.

  Pagonel’s stiffened fingers smashed his throat, and he went down and stayed down.

  The mystic was moving even as the man hit the ground, running past Merwan Ma and sweeping him up in his wake. Noise echoed from both side corridors, likely other guards rushing to see what the commotion was all about.

  “Where do we run?” the mystic asked.

  Merwan Ma’s horrified expression told him much. “I must get to the Room of Forever,” the Shepherd explained. “But the way is long and the shouts of the pursuit will bring many guards out before us!”

  The mystic stopped and looked all around at the great corridors and huge pillars. “Which way to the Room of Forever?”

  Merwan Ma looked across the anteroom and through the large hall behind it, motioning toward some distant stairs. “Up there, and along many hallways.”

  Pagonel retrieved the remaining spear from the fallen guard, and smashed the man again as he began to stir once more. “Go. I will keep the guards occupied.”

  Merwan Ma spent a long moment studying the mystic, then put his hand on Pagonel’s shoulder. “There is much I wish to say to you,” he began tentatively.

  Pagonel stopped him with an upraised hand. “We will find the time to talk,” he said with a smile, though neither he nor Merwan Ma expected that they would ever speak again.

  The mystic ran off then, into the larger hall and to the right, and when a guard yelled out upon sighting him, he launched the spear, far and true, into the man’s chest.

  Merwan Ma faded back against the wall behind a pillar as the commotion grew, as more and more guards and servants rushed all about. The whole commotion moved down to his right and the shepherd started off to the left, hugging the wall of the larger room until he made the stairs. Then he fell back into the shadows again, as a group of guards, including a Chezhou-Lei warrior, rushed down the stairs and right past him, giving chase to the now distant shouts of an intruder.

  Up went the Shepherd, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he crossed out of the stairway and into the hallways of the palace’s second floor. He ran along, then down corridors so familiar and yet strangely out of place, past rooms that had once been his home, but now seemed foreign and uncomfortable.

  Pagonel ran on, one step ahead of his pursuit—and well aware that the pursuit was growing with each passing corridor. He turned down one arched corridor, rushing right past a pair of surprised guards.

  They yelled and took up the chase, but Pagonel surprised them again by stopping short and spinning about, leaping their leading spears and double-kicking, left and right, laying them both low.

  Another guard came in right behind, swinging a huge curved sword. The mystic caught his wrist and pulled it aside, stepped in close, and hit him with three short but devastating chops to the chest. The man gasped repeatedly and started to fall, but Pagonel grabbed him by the tunic and pulled him back up, then threw him hard to the ground, right before a pair of charging soldiers. They didn’t trip, but the tumbling man held them up and stole their attention.

  Long enough for the mystic to come in high and hard, above their swords, kicking and punching.

  As they fell away, Pagonel didn’t move in, but turned and ran along the grand-arched corridor. A large group was close to him, he realized, and when he turned back to note them, he picked out a Chezhou-Lei warrior among their ranks. The mystic put his head down and ran on, knowing that he couldn’t turn and confront this group. A Chezhou-Lei was enough of a problem all by himself, but with several guards on his side, the fight would not fall the mystic’s way!

  The hallway bent in a wide arc, and the mystic came to guess that he was circling a large room. The pursuit remained dogged, and close, and now others were coming out from side corridors off to Pagonel’s left as he continued to circle around to the right. He was running out of room, and he knew it. The only corridors down which he could turn were to the left, and those seemed full of enemies.

  Pagonel stopped and turned to face the wall, putting his fingers against it, feeling the grains within the stone. Then he fell within himself, ignoring the shouts closing in behind, and more shouts coming from the left. The mystic found his Chi and lifted it high, and then ran along with it, spider-crawling up the wall. As he neared the top, with some oblivious guards running past beneath him, the mystic heard much arguing and talking from within the huge circular room.

  Before he could even consider that, though, a cry from below told him that he had been spotted. He moved along more quickly, now thirty feet from the floor.

  An arrow skipped past him.

  “More bows!” came the shout from the Chezhou-Lei. “Shoot the pest from the wall.”

  Pagonel glanced down, and considered dropping upon them, perhaps killing the Chezhou-Lei, at least, before they slaughtered him. But to what end? he realized. Was he going to kill for spite, or out of anger?

  That was not the way of the Jhesta Tu. Truly there was nothing for Pagonel to gain by dropping on the Behrenese at that point, not for him and not for Merwan Ma, and not for the cause of Brynn Dharielle and To-gai.

  “Your Chezru Chieftain is a fraud,” he yelled down. “He possesses an Abellican soul stone, and uses it!”

  His answer came in the form of an arrow, driving deep into his calf and nearly dislodging him.

  With a grunt, the mystic climbed higher, nearing the ceiling, and only then did he realize that the wall upon which he was perched was not solid, floor to ceiling, but had an alcove at the top. And in the rear of that ledge area, the mystic found a grate, overlooking a wide circular chamber, full of rows of seats, and full of arguing Yatols!

  His respite there wouldn’t last long, he knew, for the alcove wasn’t deep, and all the archers had to do was step back across the hall to spot him.

  Dismissing the unsettling thought out of hand, Pagonel gripped the bars of the grate and focused his life energy into his hands. His palms grew hot—hotter than they had when he had used his healing techniques on Brynn and Merwan Ma.

  He dove deeper into the energy, forcing it to his fingers, heating them even more. He didn’t contain the energy there, though—to do so would have melted his hands!—but rather, let it flow out of his digits and into the metal of the bars, heating them and softening them.

  Ignoring the uncomfortable heat, Pagonel began to pull with all his strength.

  An arrow soared into the alcove, deflecting off the ceiling to bounce hard against the mystic. But it didn’t disrupt Pagonel’s concentration. With the metal practically glowing under his mystical touch, the man pulled the two bars of the grate apart, bit by bit, until they were wide enough for him to slip through.

  He squirmed onto the ledge in the huge audience hall, then moved to the lip, marking the gathering below him, figuring out at once that it was Yakim Douan himself who was addressing the Yatols from a dais across the way, in front of a long and sweeping, ascending stairway. The chairs were all before him, set in a semicircular pattern: a thousand chairs, though only those at the very front were occupied.

 
Pagonel studied the room for a moment, but knew he didn’t have much time, for below, the Chezhou-Lei was yelling for the guards to enter the audience hall and protect the Chezru Chieftain.

  Pagonel rolled to the lip and leaped off, dropping the thirty feet to the floor and landing easily in a shock-absorbing roll. All heads turned his way, and a group of guards, standing behind the dais that held Yakim Douan, rushed to the front of their beloved Chezru Chieftain, forming a line before him.

  “Jhesta Tu!” one of the nearby Yatols yelled, and all of the others began to shrink away from Pagonel, whispering excitedly.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” Yakim Douan yelled. “Who are you to violate this sacred place?”

  “I am Pagonel of the Walk of Clouds, Chezru Chieftain Douan,” the mystic answered with a bow. “I am he who knows the truth of Yakim Douan! I am he who knows the truth of Transcendence!”

  No one in the place missed the wide-eyed look of surprise and horror that came over Yakim Douan at that moment, but before anyone could begin to question it, the great doors of the audience chamber burst open and a group of soldiers charged into the chamber, bearing down immediately on Pagonel.

  “I have seen you at use with your soul stone, Yakim Douan!” the mystic cried.

  “He is a fool and a liar!” yelled the Chezru Chieftain. “Kill him at once!”

  Pagonel dodged a thrown spear, then another, then fell into a roll to move to the side of a trio of warriors charging in at him. He came up and kicked back the other way, tripping one up, but had to fall back farther and couldn’t finish the move as the other two bore in. The mystic ran behind the chairs and leaped atop the back of one, then ran along, chair back to chair back, so balanced that none even began to tip.

  He ducked instinctively; an arrow cut the air above him. He ducked again, and then again, altering his run as the guards began to herd him, always seeming to be between him and the Chezru Chieftain. He knew that it couldn’t last for long, and knew that he couldn’t get anywhere near the man, so he stopped suddenly, still standing atop one chair-back, and yelled out, “You have spirit-walked, Yakim Douan. That is how you found the Dragon of To-gai! Each night you go out and seek her—and you cannot go out without a gem—”