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

by R. A. Salvatore

  The Yatol started to answer, but just shook his head and spat upon the ground.

  Brynn couldn’t really fault him for his attitude; his capital city was in shambles. This catastrophe seemed to her the physical equivalent of the emotional destruction wrought by the deception of Yakim Douan. Brynn wasn’t proud of the role she had played in this—every body lying along the street brought her great pain. But neither did she regret her decision to strike and strike hard in response to Abbot Olin’s advances against Dharyan-Dharielle and against Behren itself.

  The many soldiers around Chom Deiru eyed Brynn’s group dangerously, but none made a move against her—since Agradeleous, in his still-imposing lizardman form, was walking beside the To-gai contingent.

  Chom Deiru had not escaped the warring unscathed, obviously. Though cleared of bodies, the great steps leading up between the pillars that flanked the front entrance had been stained a deep crimson, the great doors of the palace had been sundered; one was somewhat back in place, but tilting badly. The polished stone walls showed the scorch marks of Abellican magic, and an entire area to the left of the doors had been crumbled and broken. Many ballista bolts lay about the corners of the square before Chom Deiru, and the remnants of pitch missiles marred the blasted ground, as the Behrenese had obviously turned their city artillery upon the palace attackers. Brynn had heard the reports of the vicious fighting here, as many of the warriors from Honce-the-Bear had gone in to try to rescue Abbot Olin. Brynn could only imagine the fighting that had occurred right on these steps, Chezhou-Lei against Allheart Knight.

  Without slowing, the woman walked Runtly right up the steps and through the broken doorway into the palace’s grand foyer.

  “Direct me to Yatol Wadon,” she instructed one of the startled guards inside.

  “You cannot bring your horses in here!” the soldier cried, waving at all of them to turn about.

  Brynn walked past him, brushing him hard enough with Runtly to send him stumbling aside. There would be no sign of weakness, the victorious woman decided. She looked at another guard, a younger man, who was trembling so hard that he seemed in danger of knocking himself unconscious with the long handle of his halberd.

  “Yatol Wadon?” she asked.

  The man started down the hallway.

  Brynn did dismount before the threshold to Yatol Wadon’s audience chamber, and the guide moved to take Runtly’s reins.

  Brynn held him back at arm’s length. “If you touch my horse, my dragon back there is under explicit instructions to eat you,” she calmly explained.

  The man stuttered, blanched, wobbled as if he would simply faint away, and stumbled back with a shriek.

  “Brynn,” Pagonel said softly.

  “Now none of them will touch our horses,” she replied.

  “True enough,” the mystic admitted.

  It wasn’t hard for Brynn to sort out the gathering inside the audience hall. She knew Wadon and his advisors, of course, and Duke Bretherford. Several other men and women of Honce-the-Bear stood to the side with Bretherford, and one in particular seemed to stand above the others. Prince Midalis, Brynn guessed.

  As for the woman standing beside him, Brynn didn’t even have to guess. She knew Aydrian’s features, the eyes and those full lips, and so she knew at once that this was the famous Jilseponie, his mother, the wife of Nightbird, the wife of King Danube.

  Just behind Prince Midalis and Jilseponie stood a pair of huge men—Alpinadorans, obviously.

  Brynn stopped just inside the door and handed Runtly to one of her attendants, and then she, Pagonel, and Tanalk Grenk came forward. She started for Yatol Wadon, as protocol demanded, since he was host, but changed her mind and veered to the side, moving right up to Jilseponie, where she dipped a low and polite bow.

  “So much I have heard of you, Lady Jilseponie,” she said, and Pagonel moved right to her side and translated. And then he turned to the Alpinadorans and started to translate, as well, but they stopped him, assuring him that they understood the language of Honce-the-Bear.

  “Is there any language you do not speak?” Brynn asked the mystic.

  “Working on my elf,” Pagonel replied. “And my powrie is nowhere near as good as it should be.”

  That elicited a smirk.

  “Your own deeds are fast becoming legend throughout all the lands,” Pony replied, and Pagonel translated. Pony turned, then, and stepped aside, ushering one of the large Alpinadorans, a much older man, to move up and stand before Brynn.

  “With all my heart and all my soul, I offer you my sword, ranger of To-gai,” Andacanavar said in perfect elvish, and Brynn’s light brown eyes widened indeed!

  “Andacanavar of Alpinador?” the woman stammered.

  “I am indeed,” he answered. “And honored to be in your presence.” He bowed very low, taking her hand up and kissing the back of it before rising to his nearly seven-foot height once again.

  Brynn found that she could hardly catch her breath—and for the woman who had seen so much of the world, who had met a dragon and conquered a great enemy, it took a lot to shake her.

  Andacanavar was a lot.

  An obviously impatient Yatol Wadon cleared his throat then, turning them all to regard him. “May we dispense with the pleasantries?” he asked sharply, and the various translators went to work.

  “Unpleasantries?” Brynn asked. “Are we not among friends?”

  “I would have thought as much,” Wadon sharply retorted, “before your Jhesta Tu spy so deceived me!”

  Brynn looked to Pagonel, who merely bowed, seeing no need to cover his complicity.

  “I should have him killed here and now!” Wadon shouted, coming forward in his throne, and the soldiers lining the room stiffened and clutched their weapons more tightly.

  “I would get to you before your guards got near to us,” Brynn warned. “Though I believe that Pagonel would beat me to your throat.”

  Over by the door, Agradeleous snorted, sending forth a gout of flame that licked the tiles of the grand floor, and all the soldiers seemed to shrink quite a bit, from Brynn’s perspective.

  Yatol Wadon settled back in his chair.

  Brynn turned to the door and nodded, and one of her soldiers stepped back and pulled Yatol De Hamman into the room, shoving him forward. The Yatol straightened and brushed himself off in an attempt to regain some of his dignity, then moved forward to bow before Wadon.

  “If I believed for a moment that Yatol De Hamman had acted under orders of Yatol Wadon and not Abbot Olin when he attacked my city, the carnage in Jacintha would have only just begun,” Brynn assured Wadon. “I offer you the benefit of my suspicions here—take care how you abuse them.”

  Wadon seemed to retreat back even farther into his great throne. He trembled visibly, and seemed as if he was about to burst into a fit of wailing, but to his credit, he managed to get past it.

  “Abbot Olin is in chains,” he explained.

  Brynn nodded.

  “The Bearmen are of no consequence to Jacintha and Behren at this time,” Yatol Wadon went on, and he turned to Prince Midalis, who offered an assenting nod as his words were translated. “They will sail, posthaste.”

  “We have much to accomplish in our own land,” Midalis explained, turning to the Dragon of To-gai. “Your alliance would be most appreciated.”

  The words stung Brynn, and she turned to Pagonel, needing his support. In her heart, she recognized the danger that was Aydrian and knew that he had to be stopped. But what assistance might To-gai offer in a struggle north of the great mountains? She could ill afford to send her warriors away on such a crusade with Behren in such turmoil right below the plateau divide!

  “You will have my offer of friendship, Prince Midalis,” she stated. “And when you have recovered your throne, our people may know a time of great alliance and trade. But your war is not the concern of To-gai, though I will tell you that if your enemy, Aydrian, who is known to me, returns to Behren with hopes of conquest, my people
will battle him to the last.”

  Prince Midalis seemed more than a little disappointed as those words were relayed to him, but to his credit, he nodded and bowed in acceptance.

  “And I intend to travel with Yatol Wadon to Entel to meet with King Aydrian,” Brynn startled them all—particularly Mado Wadon!—by announcing. “I wish to see my old companion and let him know that I do not approve of his movements. Fear not, Prince Midalis, for there will be no alliances between us beyond an agreement that our kingdoms will not war.”

  “I have agreed to no such meeting!” Yatol Wadon protested. “You would ask me to leave Jacintha at this time?”

  “Send an emissary—Yatol De Hamman perhaps—if you must,” Brynn said to him. “We need to speak with this opportunistic young man. Pagonel will accompany me—I have room on Agradeleous’ neck for one more.”

  The mention of riding on the dragon had Mado Wadon sinking even deeper into his throne. “Yatol De Hamman, then,” he squeaked, and De Hamman swallowed hard.

  Brynn turned back to Midalis. “You will put back out to sea?”

  “As soon as we come to believe that Jacintha is secured, and free of Aydrian’s soldiers,” the prince confirmed. “Yatol Wadon has graciously allowed us to resupply in full. We arrived to right the wrongs of Aydrian in Behren, and nothing more.”

  Brynn knew that the man was speaking merely for diplomatic gain. Prince Midalis had wisely seized the opportunity of joining in the fight against his adversary’s weak point. She gave no outward indication, though, no grin or smirk. “Fare well, then, in all your endeavors,” she said, and she moved over and offered Midalis her hand, then shook Pony’s as well.

  She started to offer Andacanavar her hand as well, but the big man wrapped her in a sudden hug.

  “You know what Aydrian did to Lady Dasslerond and her people?” the barbarian ranger whispered as he held Brynn close.

  “I do.”

  “Take care how you deal with young Aydrian,” Andacanavar warned. “He is the most dangerous man in all the world.”

  Brynn didn’t doubt that for a minute.

  “I will return for you soon, within a week or two,” Brynn said to Yatol De Hamman. “After I have arranged our meeting with Aydrian.”

  She left with her entourage then, moving back out of Chom Deiru, then across the torn city. Not far outside of Jacintha’s gate, back near the foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle, they met up with Belli’mar Juraviel.

  “You will sail with Prince Midalis and Jilseponie?” the elf asked hopefully.

  “Our war with Aydrian has ended,” Brynn explained. “Unless he turns his eye to the south once more.”

  It was fairly obvious to all around that the surprising proclamation did not settle well on Juraviel’s delicate shoulders. The elf moved forward suddenly, hopping right before Brynn. “He will come south once more!” Juraviel cried. “If Aydrian wins out against Prince Midalis, he will march south with several times the forces he sent behind Abbot Olin. He means to conquer the world—can you not see that?”

  “His people will be a long way from home indeed if they mean to strike at To-gai,” Brynn answered. “Too long, I would guess, for even Aydrian properly to wage war.”

  “That is a dangerous gamble.”

  “No more dangerous than emptying my country of her warriors to chase Aydrian across his homeland,” Brynn replied. She started to look to Pagonel for support, but changed her mind and remained focused on Juraviel instead. She had already worked through her feelings in debate with the mystic; there was no reason for her to answer to anyone but herself now.

  “The Behrenese will likely splinter into their ancient tribes now, and many of those stalk about the desert below the To-gai plateau,” Brynn explained. “If they see the opportunity to raid into To-gai, they certainly shall. I’ll not give them that opportunity, nor will I offer Yatol Wadon the hope that he can reunite Behren yet again and successfully march against a scantily defended Dharyan-Dharielle!”

  “Without your help, it is unlikely that Prince Midalis will prevail,” Juraviel argued.

  Brynn didn’t answer.

  “Do you not care?” the elf accused, his voice as angry as Brynn had ever heard it. “Do you not care that Lady Dasslerond is dead by Aydrian’s deed? Do you not care that Andur’Blough Inninness is lost to the world?”

  The words stung Brynn to her heart. Never had she been so torn in her loyalties. Of course she cared, and deeply so! But this wasn’t about her, she knew, as Pagonel and her experiences here had taught her. Her decisions were not her own to make, based on her own desires, for if she did that, then she would be no better than Aydrian! She was the leader of the To-gai-ru; an entire nation of proud people depended upon her and trusted in her to make the best decisions for their benefit.

  She would not betray that trust. Brynn knew that to load her warriors on the boats and land them in Entel so that she could do battle with Aydrian would leave her country badly exposed to the immediate threats, and that, she could not do.

  “I want you to get word to Aydrian,” she said to the elf, “that I and an emissary from Yatol Mado Wadon, who leads Behren, wish to meet with him under a flag of truce in the city of Entel in three weeks’ time. Inform Aydrian that Abbot Olin has been repelled.”

  Belli’mar Juraviel stood very still, staring at her.

  “You can do this?” Brynn asked.

  The elf looked to Pagonel, then past him, to Tanalk Grenk, who stood scowling, his strong arms crossed over his chest.

  It was Brynn who answered his silent plea, though. “I cannot do what you wish of me, my friend,” she said calmly. “All the world will mourn the loss of Andur’Blough Inninness, but To-gai is not the answer. My people are not the retributive arm of Belli’mar Juraviel’s army.”

  Juraviel snapped his head about to stare at Brynn again, his face showing both anger and remorse. He started to remark that he never asked that of her, but Brynn cut him short when she asked, “Will you get word to Aydrian for me?”

  Juraviel visibly relaxed and even managed a friendly smile. He brought forth his emerald, offered a helpless shrug to Brynn, then stepped far, far away.

  “I know how difficult that was for you,” Pagonel said quietly, moving up right beside the To-gai leader. “You chose wisely, and generously for your people.”

  Brynn was glad to hear that affirmation, though Pagonel had counseled as much to her in their meetings before they ever had ridden against Abbot Olin. She wondered what her meeting with Aydrian might be like. She hadn’t seen him in over five years; he would be a man now, a king among men.

  And they would no longer be friends. Whatever Aydrian might say to her, whatever justification he might offer, to Brynn Dharielle, the ranger of To-gai, there could be no excuse for his actions.

  “We have placed the notices all about the city of Entel,” one of the Touel’alfar scouts informed Juraviel only a couple of days after Juraviel had arrived back in Honce-the-Bear to secretly spread the word that the leaders of both To-gai and Behren wished to parley with King Aydrian in the city.

  Soon after, Juraviel conferred with scouts outside of Ursal, where similar notices had been placed, and then outside of Palmaris. His contact in Palmaris added some other information, though, that had Juraviel more than a little unsettled.

  “We must go to him,” Juraviel replied to the disquieting news.

  The elven scout shook his head. “There is no way to get near to him. Even with the emerald of Andur’Blough Inninness, we would need to fight our way in to his side.”

  Juraviel closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He wanted to go anyway, but understood that this wasn’t about his desires. He couldn’t risk everything for the sake of this one man, friend though he might be. “Keep your eyes ever turned his way, then,” he bade his scout. “If an opening is to be found, let us find it.”

  The scout nodded, and Juraviel went on his way.

  His pass back through Yorkey County brought hi
m the welcome news that King Aydrian had posted a response indicating that he would agree to the meeting.

  The elf hurried back across the mountains to Jacintha, determined to catch up with Pony before Prince Midalis sailed. She would need to know.

  She walked her borrowed horse along the destroyed streets, past the crumbled houses, the barricaded doorways, and the bodies. So many bodies. Jacintha would be a long time in recovering from the battle and the rioting. Even now, more than a week after the expulsion of Abbot Olin, Pony could hear the cries of outrage and pain, as opportunistic gangs made their way across the chaotic city.

  Pony tried hard to ignore it all. The fate of Jacintha was beyond her control. Still, she winced whenever a scream echoed through the air.

  There were no stars out this night, as a blanket of heavy clouds had rolled in off the ocean. Pony hoped that it would rain, that God would wash away the pools of blood and gore.

  She was relieved when she passed out the city’s western gate a short while later. She could see the campfires of the To-gai-ru force up in the north, so she turned her horse and walked along.

  Within the hour, the cries of To-gai-ru sentries halted her. She offered no argument as they came out, surrounding her horse. She couldn’t understand their commands to her, but she did dismount, and even surrendered her sword, though she kept her pouch of magical gemstones and even managed to slip a graphite unnoticed into her palm. If she had to, she would send forth a burst of stunning energy.

  She was not mistreated, however, and was led straightaway to a centrally located grouping of tents, nestled on a sheltered plateau. There, Pony found Brynn and Pagonel, and they welcomed her warmly.

  “May we go off alone and talk?” Pony asked after some formal greetings.

  Brynn waved her guards away and led the pair to the southern lip of the plateau, away from the lights and bustle of the encampment. From that high vantage point, they could see the dark shapes of Jacintha far below, and beyond that, the campfires of a large group of soldiers and refugees who were returning to their homeland of Cosinnida with Yatol Paroud.