DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (214 page)

“Then we must always know where they intend to be next,” said Pagonel, turning a wry look upon Brynn. The two had already discussed this somewhat, with the mystic explaining that he would serve her well as a spy.

“They have many To-gai-ru slaves among them,” Juraviel noted.

Brynn looked from the elf to the mystic. She really didn’t want to be apart from him, considering him an advisor who, in many ways, was even superior to Belli’mar Juraviel. Pagonel understood the Behrenese as well as she did, and knew even more about the Yatol religion that so dominated the desert people.

But she couldn’t deny that her only advantage here was information, was knowing her enemy better than they knew her, and so, after many moments of staring hard at her dear Jhesta Tu friend, she finally nodded her assent.

Pagonel leaned over and kissed her for luck, then slipped around the back of the sand dune, disappearing into the desert sands.

That same night, as the Behrenese army camped in sight of the city now called Dharielle, their contingent of To-gai-ru servants grew by one. Farther to the south, a dragon took to the air, bearing the warrior woman back to her army of four thousand. The two elves and Agradeleous did not stay with Brynn, but took to the air again, scouting the region, then settled back near to where they had parted ways with the Jhesta Tu mystic, to await his return.

M
ore than two hundred To-gai-ru slaves had accompanied the Jacintha army on its long march from the east, nameless and faceless in the eyes of the superior-minded Behrenese, and so Pagonel slipped into the large encampment with little difficulty. He wore nondescript clothing, rags like all the other slaves, and kept his telling and magnificent sash about his waist, but under his large shirt.

He moved about the encampment for a long while that night, among the To-gai-ru gatherings, listening far more than speaking. Their talk of the Chezru Chieftain’s outrage reminded Pagonel just how dangerous this whole game had become. The might of Behren was sweeping, and dominating, and not even the mighty kingdom of Honce-the-Bear desired to match armies with the Chezru Chieftain. And now Brynn had turned all that might upon herself, against To-gai, and the only chance they had was in hitting the Chezru Chieftain where he did not expect it, continually flanking the massive armies and pecking away at vulnerable spots until the Behrenese decided that they had gone to too much trouble.

Looking at the encampment, a massive, well-prepared, well-drilled, and eager force, the mystic had to wonder if Brynn hadn’t stepped a bit too far over the line. He was somewhat bolstered, though, by the whispers of the prisoners whenever the quiet discussions turned to the Dragon of To-gai. Apparently Brynn’s fame had already spread—among the To-gai-ru slaves, at least—all the way to the coast. She would find many willing to join her army with each city conquered.

The next morning, the Behrenese army rolled in sight of Dharielle’s eastern wall, close enough so that the body of Yatol Grysh could be seen, still hanging before the closed gates. Now Pagonel paid close attention; there were several Chezhou-Lei warriors among the soldiers, he knew from their distinctive armor, and their hierarchy became apparent almost immediately, with one large and powerful warrior taking the lead in delegating commands. With frightening efficiency, the army set up its catapults and ballistae. Riders went out north and south, encircling the quiet city.

Pagonel noted that the Chezhou-Lei leader kept returning to two men, Chezru Shepherds by their dress and the styling of their hair, as if explaining his intent. Pagonel recognized one of them as the attendant of Yatol Grysh.

An hour passed, and then another, and the scouting riders returned with reports that no one had been spotted along the walls of the conquered city.

One of the Chezhou-Lei rode forward under a flag of truce, moving near to the city gates and calling out a greeting in Behrenese and in the To-gai-ru language. But of course there was no response from deserted Dharielle.

That only seemed to infuriate the Chezhou-Lei leader. He stormed over to where the To-gai-ru slaves had been gathered, selected one man randomly from the horde, then stalked away, dragging the man along.

A few minutes later, one of the catapults launched a living, screaming missile over the city wall.

The only responding sounds were the startled cries of the carrion birds within.

Pagonel studied the leader intently, then looked around at his To-gai-ru fellows, reading much from their grim expressions.

The Chezhou-Lei leader began barking a series of commands, and his army fell into its prescribed positions. The catapults let fly more conventional missiles of burning pitch and large rocks, and the ballistae held back, their great spears pointing toward the skies as if expecting the Dragon of To-gai to fly past at any time.

Batteries of archers sent a volley of arrows over the wall, but then they, too, held their shots, scanning the skies above.

And then came the charge, hundreds of horsemen thundering for the gates, foot soldiers falling into ordered defensive arrangements behind them. It was a feint, Pagonel knew, because the Behrenese would never lead with their cavalry, and sure enough, the horsemen got near to the wall, yelling and screaming, and then swung about to the south, running along the wall, looking for some enemy somewhere.

The foot soldiers swarmed for the eastern gate, a large ram leading the way.

They went through without resistance, swarming into the city, and then the cavalry went in right behind.

Pagonel took great amusement in the outraged expression of the Chezhou-Lei leader when he learned that the city, Dharyan once more, was deserted.

With great ceremony, the whole of the army, except for scouts sent to the west, entered Dharyan and began securing the place, putting the slaves to work at patching burned-out roofs and clearing rubble and dead bodies.

Soon after, the unknown Shepherd Pagonel had noted, Merwan Ma, was named by the Chezhou-Lei leader as governor of the city.

S
everal days went by uneventfully, and it was obvious to Pagonel that the Behrenese army—the bulk of it, anyway—wouldn’t remain in Dharyan for long. The mystic waited anxiously for the advance scouts to return, wondering if Brynn’s preparations for the deception had paid off. Soon after leaving the city, heading south, Brynn had sent many riders back to To-gai, where they were instructed to find as many of their compatriots as possible and begin a long procession—walking a wide loop—in sight of several outposter settlements, making it appear
as if Brynn’s army had headed back to the west and melted into the grassy steppes.

She was counting on the Behrenese overconfidence again, with them convinced that the inferior To-gai-ru knew that they could not sustain any kind of a war against Behren.

During those days of waiting, Pagonel positioned himself so that he would be working near the building that had been designated as the command post of Dharyan, where both Governor Merwan Ma and the Chezhou-Lei leader, Shauntil, held audience. He couldn’t get into the place, not openly at least, for only selected slave women were allowed inside, but he made certain to befriend many of those women, so that he could continue his spying.

Finally, late one afternoon, a rider returned from the plateau and was taken for an immediate audience with the leaders.

The guards overseeing the work of Pagonel and others hardly seemed to take notice of the To-gai-ru, for they were as anxious for word as was Pagonel. They drifted away from the slaves, never looking back.

Pagonel slipped off to the side gradually, then darted behind a pile of rubble and down an alleyway at the side of the command building. With a glance around to make sure that no sentries were in sight, the mystic fell into his Chi and lifted his spirit, then easily scaled the building, moving beside a window that overlooked the main audience hall, where Merwan Ma, Carwan Pestle, and several Chezhou-Lei, including Shauntil, had gathered to hear the news from the scout.

“Of course they ran,” one of the Chezhou-Lei was saying. “That is their cowardly way. They knew that they could not hope to hold Dharyan against the might of Jacintha, and so they fled to their steppes.”

“They passed Dancala Grysh only a couple of weeks after taking Dharyan,” the scout reported, and Pagonel smiled in admiration of Brynn’s cunning deception. “They could be anywhere in the steppes now, or even disbanded.”

“They have not disbanded,” Shauntil insisted. “They follow this leader, blindly and to their doom. It is their way.”

“I was here when Ashwarawu attacked,” said another of the Chezhou-Lei. “Shauntil is correct in his assessment. They are like pack dogs, the To-gai-ru.”

“We will sweep the steppes,” Shauntil declared. “We will catch up with this Dragon of To-gai and give the To-gai-ru the harshest of lessons. When we leave, there will not be enough To-gai-ru men left to mount another attack against Behren.”

Some movement below alerted Pagonel that he had to get down, and he started to do so, but then heard Shauntil gruffly dismiss the other Chezhou-Lei, the scout, and Carwan Pestle, pointedly telling Merwan Ma that they needed to speak alone.

Pagonel flattened himself against the wall, not wanting to miss out on this private conversation. But as a Behrenese soldier walked along the alleyway below him, he knew that the chances were great that he would be spotted.

So he leaped out, diving down the fifteen feet atop the unsuspecting soldier. He flew right past the man, hooking him about the head as he did, and he immediately
rolled about, his momentum snapping the poor soldier’s neck instantly.

The two went down in a heap, with Pagonel rolling away, over and over to absorb the blow. He came back quickly, dragging the soldier behind a pile of rubble in the alleyway, then stripping the body of its uniform and donning it himself.

When he got back to the window, the audience hall was empty. Pagonel moved along the ledge, then climbed again to the top floor of the three-story structure. Then some arguing guided him along, farther to the rear of the building, where he peeked in around a window.

There stood Merwan Ma, against one wall, his hands upraised, a look of sheer terror on his face. A few feet away stood Shauntil, a dead To-gai-ru slave on the floor behind him, a bloody dagger in his hand, pointed toward the new governor.

“You serve the Chezru Chieftain!” Merwan Ma cried.

Shauntil smiled wickedly. “Carwan Pestle will govern Dharyan until a suitable Yatol replacement can be found, while I assume the mantle of Governor General of the region, and all of To-gai.”

“Pestle can have it!” Merwan Ma conceded, quite willingly. “I only came out on the command of our common leader, and have no desire …” His words trailed away as a knowing, even more wicked, grin widened on the fierce Chezhou-Lei’s face.

Outside the window, Pagonel’s expression screwed up with curiosity, for it seemed obvious to him that the Chezru Chieftain, for some reason, had sent this poor Shepherd out there to be murdered.

“I have served him for many years,” Merwan Ma pleaded as the Chezhou-Lei approached. “I am his choice to oversee Transcendence!”

That last word came out with a gasp as Shauntil plunged the dagger into Merwan Ma’s belly.

“But you were murdered, Governor Merwan Ma, by a To-gai-ru slave, who was angered because you ordered her brother launched by catapult into the city,” the warrior explained, and he pumped his arm, stabbing the poor man again and again.

Shauntil stepped back and Merwan Ma collapsed to the floor.

“Yes, it hurts,” the warrior teased. “But I could not kill you efficiently, for, after all, you were killed not by a Chezhou-Lei, but by a poor, frantic slave woman.” With that, Shauntil tossed the knife to the floor between them and started for the door.

He paused, though, considering the blood on the robes he had put on, and with hardly a thought, he stripped the outer layer off and tossed it into the hearth, where the dying ember reignited about it.

He looked back to Merwan Ma, then left.

Pagonel dropped back down to the alleyway, his hands working the wall through his descent deftly, so that he landed lightly on his feet. He rushed to retrieve the dead soldier, knowing that time was of the essence, then hoisted the man on his back, moved to the base of the window, and climbed back up once more, this time
moving through the open window and into the room.

A soft groan from Merwan Ma told him that the man was still alive, though barely.

Pagonel stripped off the injured Shepherd’s bloody clothing and tended the wound as quickly as he could, then put his own clothes on Merwan Ma, and put the Shepherd’s clothing on the soldier. He took up the knife and stabbed the dead man in the gut, then placed him as Merwan Ma had been placed.

He rushed to the hearth and pulled out an unburned edge of the robe, then held it to the embers and blew on them until it ignited. He brought his brand to a torn tapestry at the side of the hearth and set it ablaze, the flames spreading rapidly along the dried tapestry and old, dry wood. The mystic tossed the still-burning brand at the chest of the dead soldier, wincing as the fire began to catch. With a deep and steadying breath, Pagonel gathered Merwan Ma across his shoulders.

He heard voices on the stairs, then a shout of, “Fire!”

It was a movement that only a Jhesta Tu, and only a master of that order, could ever have accomplished. Pagonel ran full speed to the open window, reached into himself to buoy his body magically, then leaped out, across the alleyway, flying fifteen feet to the next roof. He sprinted across that roof, hardly slowing, then leaped again, right to the top of the south wall, and then, hardly slowing, hopped over that wall and fell the fifteen feet to the sand below, landing as softly as he could, bending as he hit to cushion the blow for the man draped about his shoulders.

Without delay, hearing shouts from at least one soldier who had spotted him—or had spotted
something
—the mystic laid Merwan Ma out straight at the very base of the wall and fell down beside him, working frantically to cover as much of them as possible with loose sand.