DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (213 page)

“But what of this dragon, God-Voice? Surely neither the Kaliit nor Yatol Grysh could have anticipated—”

“A trick, likely,” Douan insisted. “The Jhesta Tu can do such illusions, I am told.”

“But you heard Carwan Pestle. He claimed that it was a great beast, a dragon of legend.”

“And in the dark night, with fires burning and the city under siege, and likely
bombardment from distant catapults, everything that he heard or saw would be multiplied many times over by sheer terror. A dragon? Well, perhaps this fool To-gai-ru woman is such a beast, or has harnessed such a beast. They do exist, or did, and so it is not impossible.”

“But then, what are we to do?”

“Kill it,” the Chezru Chieftain said calmly. “As we kill all of them. Dragons are not immortal, nor are they invulnerable. Send every scholar to the library to study every legend and detail about such creatures. This Dragon of To-gai has won twice, but both with the element of surprise. The next force we send against her will be ready to deal with any dragon, I assure you. Phalanxes of great bows and poison-tipped arrows will bring the beast down.”

Douan paused and chuckled. “If there even is such a beast, and I doubt that there is. But nonetheless, my time of showing any leniency or mercy to To-gai is at its end. They dare to conquer Dharyan? Well, I will respond, do not doubt. As I promised Pestle, I now promise you. Call up all the men of Jacintha. Assemble the garrisons. In a fortnight, we will send fifteen thousand soldiers marching to retake Dharyan, and with them will be the greatest engines of war we can devise. Let the Dragon of To-gai show herself. Perhaps her fiery breath will kill a few, but then she will fall, right before the stunned and horrified eyes of her foolish followers. And then where will they turn?

“Back to the steppes of To-gai? Ah, but we will pursue them, from Dharyan and from the south, where Yatol Tohen Bardoh will march with fifteen thousand more soldiers.”

Merwan Ma rocked back on his heels, amazed by how profoundly this disaster had sparked his master to action. Over the last years, skirmishes against To-gai had been just that—minor battles. But now the God-Voice was readying for an all-out war against the people of the steppes, as he had done a decade and more before.

The Shepherd left the audience room quite unsteadily, quite shaken, but also quite reassured that his master was in control.

Y
akim Douan paced for a long time, growing more and more agitated. How dare these ungrateful To-gai-ru strike so boldly and mercilessly into Behren? Hadn’t he brought the barbarians some semblance of civilization? Hadn’t he brought a better way of life to the wilderness of To-gai?

His breath coming in short and harsh rasps, the Chezru Chieftain continued to pace, kicking his heels against the floor with each step.

A sudden burning pain erupted in his left shoulder, spreading like a wave of fire down his arm. Douan stumbled and nearly fell over. His vision blurred briefly, and when it cleared, the man realized that he was sitting in his chair again.

And now the pain was in his chest.

Yakim Douan struggled to regain his footing, then stumbled to the door. He started to call out for Merwan Ma, but changed his mind, realizing where he had to go, and realizing that he had to go there alone.

Step by step, the stubborn old man made his way along the corridors to the chalice room. The pain had lessened considerably by then, but still Yakim Douan grabbed up the chalice eagerly, so much so that he spilled some of the blood on his robes and the floor. Clutching the chalice to his chest, the man fell into the magical gemstone, diving into its swirling gray depths.

He went inside himself, trying desperately to find the harmony of his body, the natural and healthy rhythm. He began to breathe easier almost immediately, and not from his healing powers, but merely from his realization that nothing serious had befallen him, a point accentuated by a series of loud belches.

Yakim Douan laughed at himself and his desperation, a clear reminder of how much he had to lose. He was immortal, but only as long as he remained in control of the situation about him. If a sudden, burning attack felled him, would he be able to spiritually connect himself to the hematite in time to soar out and find a replacement body?

Yakim rubbed the base of the chalice, his fingers separated from the gemstone by a thin sheet of metal. He could feel its presence in there, its tangible power to take him across the generations and the centuries.

A crash from the back of the room startled him, and he turned to see Merwan Ma standing there, a look of both surprise and horror on his face, and a plate of utensils, the sacrificial knife among them, lying on the floor at his feet.

Yakim considered his own appearance, clutching the chalice, blood on him and on the floor, in light of Merwan Ma’s expression, and he knew at once that the Shepherd understood that there was something more to this chalice.

“Ah, yes, my young attendant,” the Chezru Chieftain said with as much calm as he could muster. “Finishing your duties before going out to the Chezhou-Lei, I see.”

Merwan Ma stammered something undecipherable, but otherwise did not respond. He bent low and picked up the utensils.

“What is it?” Yakim Douan asked bluntly, and coldly, and with enough authority to freeze the poor young man where he knelt.

“God-Voice?”

“You are surprised to see me in here.”

“Yes, God-Voice. I had thought that you would rest in your audience chamber.”

“But it is much more than that, is it not?” Yakim Douan asked slowly and deliberately, moving toward Merwan Ma with each word.

“God-Voice?”

“What do you know of the chalice?”

Merwan Ma began stammering the typical responses concerning the rituals and supposed powers of the sacred chalice, and Yakim Douan let him ramble for some time. Each remark seemed more of an excuse, a front, than anything from the man’s heart, though, and so the perceptive Douan began to understand the truth of it, that Merwan Ma knew about the hematite in the chalice.

The Chezru Chieftain sent his spirit into that gemstone, used the portal that
was the stone to let him fly free suddenly of his physical body. He didn’t slow as he came free, but soared straight for the unsuspecting Merwan Ma, his spirit rushing right into the man, laying bare his soul for Yakim Douan to see.

And he knew then, in that instant, that Merwan Ma did indeed know of the hematite, and that it was the presence of that gemstone, along with Yakim Douan’s clutching of the chalice, that had prompted the horrified look upon his face.

Confronted by the spirit of the God-Voice, the poor Shepherd fell back, toppling over to a seated position on the floor, one arm up over his face defensively, as if warding the man away.

Yakim Douan was already in retreat anyway, rushing back to his body, afraid to give too much away here to the curious Shepherd. He went back into his own body and blinked his physical eyes.

“What is it, my son?” he asked innocently.

Merwan Ma gradually relaxed, but only somewhat. He pulled himself to his feet and tried to act as if all was normal. But Yakim Douan saw the truth for what it was. Merwan Ma knew, and was afraid because he knew.

“I must clean these once more,” the young man stuttered.

“Go, then,” Yakim Douan replied cheerily. “But out to the Chezhou-Lei first. Your duties here can wait.”

Merwan Ma paused a moment and stared at his master, but then answered, “Yes, God-Voice,” bowed repeatedly, and shrank back out of the room.

Yakim Douan growled in frustration at his own carelessness. He replaced the chalice and wiped the blood from the floor, then moved out of the room back to his own private quarters, cursing with every step.

Merwan Ma knew, and he could not tolerate that. He would miss the young Shepherd greatly.

C
hezhou-Lei Shauntil stood at rigid attention before the Chezru Chieftain, the God-Voice, and now—given the disaster at the Mountains of Fire, the failure and honorable suicide of the Kaliit—the only real authority left in the proud warrior’s existence.

“You understand the statement of your mission?” Yakim Douan asked.

“To instate Merwan Ma as governor of Dharyan,” the warrior recited. “To drive the To-gai-ru from the city and reclaim it for you, then to pursue the rebels onto the steppes, under the leadership of Yatol Tohen Bardoh, destroying them utterly and returning to you the head of this foul woman, the Dragon of To-gai.”

“You understand the truth of your mission?”

“As stated,” the warrior replied, and he squared his shoulders and puffed out his massive, muscled chest. “Except that it is Carwan Pestle who is to serve as governor until a Yatol can be put in place.”

“Because?”

“Merwan Ma will die in a battle.”

Yakim Douan nodded and turned away, bitter about issuing such a command
against the Shepherd who had become his friend over the last years. He had known for a long time that perhaps he had become too close to Merwan Ma, and now the incident at the chalice had sealed the young man’s fate. Yakim Douan simply could not take the chance that Merwan Ma had learned too much, for the mere existence of the hematite would damn him in the eyes of many of the Yatols. Their religion was unbending on this point, that the gemstones were the tools of the demons, were the perverse religious articles favored by the heathen Abellicans in the north.

Merwan Ma knew of the hematite in the chalice, and could easily guess at Douan’s connection with it. That revelation, should the Shepherd ever make it, might lead some to guess the truth of Transcendence. And that, of course, the Chezru Chieftain could never suffer to pass.

Still, it bothered him more than a little to so order the death of Merwan Ma. At least he was allowing the man to die honorably. Yes, he would hold a great celebration of the life of Merwan Ma when the tragic news returned to Jacintha.

“Leave as soon as the engines of war, and those designed to defeat the dragon, are prepared,” he instructed the Chezhou-Lei. “On the road, your word is rule, as it remains even when Yatol Tohen Bardoh joins you after the recapture of Dharyan, on all matters military. Yatol Tohen Bardoh understands the value of the Chezhou-Lei, I assure you. He knows his place in this ugly business.” The last words sent a shiver along Yakim Douan’s spine. Indeed, Yatol Tohen Bardoh knew well the means of terrorizing a conquered people. Douan had pulled the man back from To-gai, not because he was ineffective, but because he seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much. Now, given the sudden turn and the utter stubbornness of the To-gai-ru, Douan wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake in relieving the brutal man.

It didn’t matter, he told himself and he waved Chezhou-Lei Shauntil out of his private room. He had other matters to attend—primarily the selection of a new personal attendant, one who would watch over him as he came to maturity in his new body. Only after realizing that he had to get rid of Merwan Ma had the Chezru Chieftain come to understand the depth of his mistake in becoming so close to the man over the years, not only because of his personal grief at having him killed, but because he had not bothered to seed the pool of potential replacements in the event of some unforeseen tragedy.

Again, it didn’t matter, he told himself. Transcendence was a couple of years away, at least, and in that time, he would undoubtedly find some overpious fool eager to assume the duties.

B
rynn, Pagonel, Juraviel, Cazzira, and Agradeleous watched the marching force with a mixture of awe and amusement. Never had any of them seen such an array of sheer power, with thousands of marching soldiers and hundreds of cavalry, and great war engines, from catapults to gigantic spear-throwing ballistae. This was the power of Behren, the might that had swarmed over To-gai and that kept the often imperialistic Bearmen of Honce-the-Bear, even with their gemstone-wielding
Abellican monks, at bay.

“And so I see why you chose not to defend Dharyan,” Juraviel said to Brynn. Indeed, Brynn had taken her entire force out of the city soon after sending the refugees down the eastern road toward Jacintha. The To-gai-ru warriors had moved south of the city and were now hiding in the desert, while Brynn and the others had come there, just east of Dharyan, to view the response from Jacintha.

“I did not know it would be so overwhelming,” the woman admitted.

Agradeleous snorted, hardly agreeing with that assessment.

“They have prepared for you,” Juraviel remarked to the dragon, pointing out the ballistae. “One strike from those would take you down to the ground.”

The dragon snorted again, unimpressed.

“We could not have held Dharyan,” Pagonel remarked. “Not even for a single day against this force.”

“We cannot, can never, fight the Chezru Chieftain, army to army,” Brynn explained. “We will frustrate him and his commanders and make them all see that a continuing war is not in their best interests.” She turned to the dragon. “This is where you will show your greatest value to our cause, Agradeleous. Pagonel will help us to forage, what little there is to find, but—”

“More than a little,” the mystic put in.

Brynn nodded deferentially, not wanting to underestimate the Jhesta Tu in any way. She was quite sure that Pagonel’s understanding of the land would prove invaluable. But still, she knew that it would not be enough, not for her warriors and not for their horses. “But,” she continued, “it will be Agradeleous with his great speed and strength who will truly supply us. Fly out at night to a river and return to us with buckets of water. Descend upon a herd of deer and bring us more meat than we could possibly consume!”

“There are thousands of you,” the dragon remarked, seeming not quite convinced.

“I hold faith in Agradeleous,” Brynn answered. “We will construct a great platform and use heavy ropes with which you can bear it.” Brynn turned to the others, to see the elves nodding with more than passing curiosity and Pagonel rubbing his chin, considering it all.

“If we can stay mobile, and independent of the few known watering holes, then the Behrenese will have a difficult time in catching us,” Brynn explained. “We can maneuver about them and strike wherever they are weakest.”