DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (234 page)

“Agradeleous—”

“Promise me that their tales will be good!” the dragon roared.

They shared a laugh.

“If I need you again, will you come out?” Brynn asked.

Agradeleous put on that typically awful grin, and despite the joyous mood, both she and Pagonel shivered as the dragon replied, “With pleasure.”

E
ach day brought new challenges, new victories, and new frustrations, and though she worked tirelessly, Brynn felt as if she simply could not keep up with it all. For To-gai, she demanded solidarity, a unison of purpose, though she did not argue when the leaders of her people insisted that they return to their ancient tribes.

Of the Behrenese, Brynn asked for little and was asked for less, as their kingdom continued to dissolve into chaos, with open wars declared. Through it all, the woman hoped that she would one day find the opportunity to exact her revenge upon Yatol Bardoh.

But it was a fleeting fantasy, lost in the swirl of the everyday realities of governing both a city and a kingdom behind it. She had to establish profitable trade, to keep her people happy and prosperous, to allow them to work through the centuries of tribal feuding that had made them vulnerable to the Behrenese in the first place.

It struck her as curious how the situations in the two kingdoms had suddenly reversed, with To-gai uniting and Behren breaking apart. There was a difference, though, in that Brynn and her people would never try to take advantage of that situation, as Yakim Douan had done.

There had to be a difference, else all of it, the killing and the dying, the loosing of Agradeleous upon Behrenese cities, and the last desperate fight to hold Dharyan-Dharielle, would truly prove meaningless.

Brynn knew that, in her heart, and so she was glad when the turn of autumn brought the first open market in Dharyan-Dharielle, one that attracted Behrenese caravans from all across the desert kingdom.

But then, soon after, she was confused, as well, for word came to her that fall of God’s Year 845 that the kingdom north of the Belt-and-Buckle, too, had been shaken to its core, that a new king had ascended the throne. It was a name Brynn knew all too well.

King Aydrian, the son of Elbryan Wyndon.

And she who had been schooled in the elvish tongue recognized the surname the young man had chosen, as well—
Boudabras
—and understood its true meaning.

Maelstrom.

PART ONE
 
And Now I am King

PART TWO
 
Dark Fingers North and South

PART THREE
 
Winter

PART FOUR
 
Heroes Past and Heroes Present

“Y
OU LET HER GO
!” M
ARCALO
D
E
’U
NNERO SCREAMED
,
EVERY MUSCLE IN THE
strong man’s body standing taut. He was past fifty, but appeared much younger, with the suppleness of youth still showing about his hardened muscles and with his black hair still thick upon his head. The excommunicated Abellican monk had been a fighter for all of his life and carried the scars of a hundred battles. But they were only superficial scars, visual reminders, for within the skin of Marcalo De’Unnero resided a body in perfect health.

For that was one aspect of the magic of the enchanted gemstone—a tiger’s paw—that, through the power of the demon dactyl, had merged with the essence of the man.

At his side, Sadye put her hand on his arm, trying to calm him, for his outburst had raised more than a few eyebrows around the throne room of the new king, Aydrian Wyndon, who called himself Aydrian Boudabras. Many of the dukes of Honce-the-Bear were in attendance this morning, including Kalas, who led the elite Allheart Brigade, and Bretherford, who commanded the great fleet of warships. And none of them were used to any man, particularly not one of the Abellican Church, speaking to the king of Honce-the-Bear in such a manner.

Seated comfortably on the throne across from De’Unnero, Aydrian seemed hardly bothered, though. He wore a wry grin, which made him look even younger than his nineteen years, especially given his unkempt locks of curly blond hair and his large blue eyes. That too-innocent look had been stamped upon Aydrian’s face since the events of a few days previous, when he had wrestled the tormented spirit of Constance Pemblebury from the nether realm and had used the distraction to murder King Danube Brock Ursal.

“You fear Jilseponie?” the young king replied, his voice steady and calm.

De’Unnero paused and tilted his head, scrutinizing Aydrian, who seemed to understand the puzzlement and smiled all the wider. Until very recently, Aydrian had been De’Unnero’s pawn, and willingly so. As the son of Jilseponie, who had been Danube’s queen, Aydrian held some tenuous claim to the throne. Using him, De’Unnero and Abbot Olin had pushed their agenda to the highest levels of the kingdom, to the throne itself. Now the pair intended to use that secular victory to bring them to prominence in the Church they believed had abandoned them. In their eyes, Aydrian had been no more than a means to a personal end. More recently, though, since the joust when Aydrian had defeated all challengers, including the great Duke Kalas, things had begun to shift in the relationship between De’Unnero and Aydrian. Slowly but surely, Aydrian had begun to assert more and more control.

De’Unnero saw that, and now, for the first time since he had met the young son of Elbryan and Jilseponie in the wild lands to the west, he was beginning to fear
it. At first, after the young man’s ascension to the throne, De’Unnero had watched him and had marveled, thinking him a most beautiful and cunning creature. But now, given the realization that Aydrian had truly allowed Jilseponie to walk out of Ursal, De’Unnero was growing ever more angry.

“Do you not understand the danger that Queen Jilseponie poses to us? To you?” the Abellican monk explained.

“Perhaps we should discuss this in private with Aydrian,” Sadye said quietly to the monk, and she pulled him tighter. But De’Unnero didn’t even look at her, so fixed was his glare upon Aydrian.

“My mother is nothing,” Aydrian declared, and he looked all around, widening his response to include all in attendance so that he could answer every question raised by his surprising decision to allow Jilseponie simply to ride out of Ursal. “I saw her heart on that day,” he explained. “When she learned the truth of me, that the son she had abandoned to die was alive and well, it was the end for her. Jilseponie Wyndon is no threat. She is an empty shell. I could have been merciful and simply killed her that day. But after her abandonment of me, after she left me for dead, I chose not to be so merciful.”

As he said this, he paused and looked about, and so did De’Unnero, to see a couple of the noblemen nodding and smiling—even proud Duke Kalas, who had once been King Danube’s best friend. Indeed, Jilseponie had made more than a few enemies in the court during her tenure in Castle Ursal, and that enmity had allowed the conspirators to drive a wedge through the accepted line of ascension.

“Let her sit and rot, tormented by the errors of her past,” Aydrian went on. “Death is sometimes merciful, and I wish to show no mercy to wretched Jilseponie!”