DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (194 page)

It didn’t seem aimed at the opposing To-gai-ru forces, didn’t really seem aimed at anything. It just arced slowly, high above the city, rolling out on driving winds to the east.

Pagonel watched it with dismay, for he knew it for what it was, even before Wan Atenn grinned at him and said, “We are not surprised. If the Jhesta Tu have chosen to side with the To-gai-ru, then the Jhesta Tu have chosen wrongly. Watch, mystic, if you live long enough, as the jaws of doom close over Ashwarawu and his murderous companions.”

Pagonel didn’t understand the details of it all, but they hardly seemed important at that moment. He recognized the signal flare for what it was, and was not surprised when he heard the blast of teeyodel horns, both north and south.

Before he could begin to sort through it all, the fierce Chezhou-Lei came at him again, and the mystic was rolling and leaping, dodging and turning, and ultimately, backing.

He realized that he was running out of room when he heard the cries of a Behrenese soldier behind him, coming on fast.

H
er shouts lost in the commotion about her, Brynn galloped Runtly all along Dharyan’s western wall, letting fly arrow after arrow, some aflame—on those occasions when she got near to a torchbearer—and others just taking scrambling sentries from the wall top. With each subsequent run, she held closer to the center of activity, the gatehouse, where the wooden doors were burning and Ashwarawu, on his strong black-and-white pony, had backed up close, urging his mount to kick at the weakening wood.

His soldiers about him fired their bows at any atop the wall who tried to draw a bead on their leader, while other To-gai-ru scrambled up the wall, throwing themselves over the top, into the midst of their enemies, with abandon.

The sheer fury of the attack, the sheer bravery and inspiration of Ashwarawu, seemed to Brynn as if it would win the day, as if they would score a huge victory here. While she didn’t entertain any illusions that so small a force as this could conquer a city as large as Dharyan, she felt certain that they would inflict a serious wound against Behren here, and return as heroes to the steppes.

Brynn gritted her teeth with determination as she watched a pair of her comrades run to the base of the wall, just to the side of the gatehouse, a huge skin of oil held between them. They rocked it and tossed it up over the wall, and an archer hit it squarely as it went over, the fiery arrow puncturing the skin, creating a huge fireball.

But then Brynn took note of a second flame, a fiery missile arcing over the dark Dharyan sky.

She tried to ignore it, focusing on her aim, and even took another Behrenese soldier from the wall.

She couldn’t ignore the continuing distant blare of horns, though, to the north and to the south, and sounding closer with every blast.

Dharyan’s gate seemed about to fall, but Brynn’s stomach tightened with trepidation.

T
hough he hated the thought of turning his back on a Chezhou-Lei warrior, Pagonel spun suddenly to slow the charge of two Behrenese warriors. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, of something coming over the wall.

Behind him, Wan Atenn charged. Before him, the Behrenese stopped to strike defensive postures, then turned suddenly, surprised, as a twisting form rolled over the wall. Pagonel threw himself backward, falling to his butt and rolling over.

The oilskin exploded, immolating the two Behrenese, startling and blinding Wan Atenn.

Pagonel came around and kicked upward, his feet catching the Chezhou-Lei—who still had his sword up over his head—in the gut, just under the rib cage. The mystic extended full out, double-kicking, but shortening the blow with his right leg, which was closer to the courtyard, and extending fully through with his left, diving the Chezhou-Lei backward and turning him with the kick.

Pagonel came back to his feet on the edge of the parapet, with Wan Atenn falling hard behind him, to the city courtyard. The mystic could have leaped at the Chezhou-Lei then, trying to finish him with a single, clean kick.

But he knew the truth, and he hadn’t the time.

He went to the wall then and looked to the south, and saw the torches of the approaching force—a force of hundreds, he realized.

“Fly away!” the mystic cried to the warriors outside the wall, and he climbed atop the crenelation, preparing to leap into the tumult below, waving his arms in an attempt to garner some attention. “A trap! Fly away!”

But his voice was a whisper amidst the thunder of battle.

E
xpecting his enemy to be leaping down at him, Wan Atenn braced himself and set his sword above him.

When nothing followed him down, and as his breath came back to him, the proud warrior pulled himself from the ground. He wanted nothing more than to scramble back up and pay back the wretched Jhesta Tu, but he could not,
he realized—not then. Ignoring the two soldiers burning and thrashing on the ground near to him, the Chezhou-Lei stalked to the gate.

He looked back to see the rest of his command coming forth, as they had been ordered, moving out from the shadows of the nearest buildings toward the gatehouse. He pointed to the commander of the group, then to the burning and falling door, then leaped to a ladder beside the gatehouse and made his way back up.

Confusion had taken the field immediately outside the gate by that point, as the torches of the two twenty-squares drew nearer and nearer and the To-gai-ru came to understand the truth of the trap. Wan Atenn could not spot the hated Jhesta Tu in the scramble, but he did see another figure, one that he knew at once.

Ashwarawu remained at the base of the door, his horse bucking and kicking hard at the wood, the leader howling out for the continuing charge despite the obvious forthcoming turn in the battle.

Ashwarawu!

Suddenly, Wan Atenn forgot all about the Jhesta Tu mystic. He moved to the gatehouse directly above the door, shoving aside those few guards remaining inside the structure and ignoring the fight just to the side, where several To-gai-ru had managed to scale the wall.

His focus was below.

The doors went down and Wan Atenn’s main garrison charged out into the thrash of To-gai-ru, streaming past Ashwarawu, whose great sword cut down one man and then another.

Smiling widely, the Chezhou-Lei warrior leaped down from above.

H
er bow back in place at the side of her saddle, sword in hand, Brynn brought Runtly in tight maneuvers, chopping away at one Behrenese defender after another. The door was down, the enemy flowing out to meet the attack right there in the bottleneck of the gate.

Not enough enemies to overwhelm the attackers, Brynn knew—not coming from inside the fortified city, at least.

The torches she glimpsed to the north and to the south, though, made it clear to her that the time had come for a full retreat.

Amidst it all, she saw Ashwarawu, slashing away, chopping down enemy after enemy and howling gleefully with each devastating strike. He seemed so much larger than those around him, so above the battlefield, a god among mortal men, that Brynn found herself second-guessing her instinct to retreat. Could the strength of Ashwarawu take them through the bloody night?

But then a form dropped beside the large warrior, expertly taking him down to the ground.

Brynn forged Runtly in her leader’s direction, but she got cut off by a pair of Behrenese entwined with a To-gai-ru rider, and she had to put her sword to fast work to save her compatriot from getting pulled down from his mount.

By the time she looked back toward the gate, Ashwarawu and the man who had
dropped upon him were up and facing each other. The raider pulled a huge axe off his back and slashed out wildly.

But he was dazed, it seemed to Brynn, and his overaggressive attack got nowhere near to hitting, while it left him off-balance.

His opponent expertly backed to the side, then came in behind Ashwarawu’s strike, stepping forward with the horizontal slash, his fine sword cutting the raider leader’s belly. Ashwarawu leaped back and doubled over a bit, and the enemy came forward in a crouch, turning his sword, then straightened fast, lifting the blade and skinning Ashwarawu’s face from chin to forehead!

Brynn cringed at the explosion of crimson mist, at the pitiful sight of Ashwarawu, standing there, arms outstretched down and to the side, back bent slightly and his head thrown back from the sheer force of the devastating blow.

Brynn’s horror only increased, as well as her fear of this amazing enemy, as the Behrenese warrior spun a complete circle, gaining momentum for his flying blade, and brought it across perfectly to lop Ashwarawu’s head from his shoulders.

The woman exploded into motion again, forcing her horse about, screaming for a full retreat, even slapping the rumps of To-gai-ru ponies to spur them on their exit from the battlefield.

Many died right there, more Behrenese than To-gai-ru, but most of the raider band did turn and extract themselves from the mob, riding hard to the west, in a long and unorganized line.

Through it all, Brynn strained to find her one friend among the raiders, a mystic who had become much more to her than mere ally. But she couldn’t find him, not on the wall nor in the tumult.

He was likely dead or captured on the other side of the wall, she realized, and with that grim and unsettling thought in mind, and with nothing left for her here in the frenzy, the woman turned Runtly to the west and kicked him hard, sending him leaping away and trampling a pair of Behrenese soldiers in the process.

She went back to her bow almost immediately after she had broken free, lifting her leg over her saddle and turning in one stirrup so that she was facing backward. Arrow after arrow flew back into the Behrenese ranks. She got off nearly ten shots before she was out of practical range, and before she heard the sounds of battle yet again, being joined to the south of her. Thinking only to aid her countrymen, Brynn cut her horse to the south, and saw the truth of their doom.

Ranks of Behrenese, Jacintha soldiers, swarmed over the retreating To-gai-ru, both south and north, closing like the jaws of a killer wolf upon their prey. Tears in her eyes, thinking it all at an end, Brynn plunged right into the wild fight.

She dealt a few blows and took a few in return, and for a while, got the best of those around her—so much so that many started to flee from her rather than engage.

But she was growing weary, was bleeding from several wounds, and standing out so tall among the overwhelmed To-gai-ru certainly invited disaster.

An arrow drove hard into Brynn’s side, cracking through her ribs and piercing
her lung. All the world swam in blurry grayness then, the woman’s orientation fading away.

She slumped forward over Runtly’s neck, lost in the swirl of pain—so lost that she did not see the imposing Behrenese rider come up right beside her, his curved sword poised to finish the task that the arrow had surely begun.

F
or Chezhou-Lei Dahmed Blie, this was a crowning moment of glory, one that would elevate him within the ranks of his mighty order. This To-gai-ru woman had fought valiantly in the brief exchange out here, as many of Dahmed Blie’s warriors had witnessed. So he had managed to separate her and have her shot down, and now many would look on as he killed her, claiming the prize as his own.

He lifted his sword above his head and brought his mount up beside the brown-and-white To-gai pinto.

A form, a man, came up over Runtly’s other side in a great leap.

P
agonel hooked his foot on the saddle and flank as he crested the pony’s back, right behind the slumping Brynn, his shin going down atop the pony’s broad back, affording him balance. His lead foot went out ahead, planting against the side of the stunned Chezhou-Lei’s mount, but that foot did not break the Jhesta Tu mystic’s momentum, for it was not the first contact. That came in the form of Pagonel’s thrusting hand, his stiffened fingers perfectly aimed to jab into the surprised Chezhou-Lei’s throat, driving through the man’s skin and shattering his windpipe.

They held the pose for a long moment, the Chezhou-Lei’s sword slipping from his grasp to fall harmlessly into the dirt on the other side of his horse. Slowly, Dahmed Blie’s trembling hands reached for Pagonel’s extended arm.

The Jhesta Tu mystic snapped free his bloody hand, then pulled back with his hooked foot, bringing him back fully to Brynn’s pony. He gathered up the woman in his arms and urged the pony to leap away.

Behind him, Dahmed Blie fell over forward, but was well-secured in his saddle, which turned over with him, leaving the dead warrior dangling in the bloody dirt below his horse.

A
way from the battlefield to the south, Pagonel gently lowered the grievously wounded woman to the sand.

He reached inside himself, to the source of his life and his power, and brought forth warmth to his hands, gently massaging the wound, where the arrow still protruded from the side of Brynn’s chest. He knew that he had to pull the arrow forth, but first he needed to lend her strength, to channel it from his own body and into hers.

Pagonel heard the vultures overhead, heard the cries on the distant bloody field, of men dying in the dirt, helplessly.

He blocked them out. He focused on Brynn, sent his energy into her.

And then he stopped, his eyes going wide, as he came to know that he was not
alone here, or at least, that his energy was not the only healing magic flowing into Brynn’s frail body.

Her beret! Pagonel knew then that there was an enchantment upon it.

The mystic nearly chuckled aloud, musing that he had just discovered the truth of why powries were so tough. But even with the aid of the beret, Pagonel could not find any mirth, for he wasn’t sure that it would be enough.

He worked with her for nearly an hour. Then, exhausted, and with the bloody arrow lying on the ground, the mystic hoisted Brynn back up, laying her across Runtly’s back. He took up the pony’s reins and started off again to the south.

Spring slipped into summer before Pagonel and Brynn, who was still comatose from her only slightly improved wounds, entered the region known as the Mountains of Fire. At the base of the five-thousand-step climb to the Walk of Clouds, the mystic stripped the gear from Runtly and gave him a slap, sending him running off in the direction of the low fields, where other horses ran wild.