DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (269 page)

“My King,” Earl DePaunch said quietly, as if he could hardly get the words past the lump of pride swelling in his chest and in his throat, “I will not fail you. When you sail north after the winter, you will find Pireth Dancard flying the bear and tiger of King Aydrian, and you will find the men you now entrust with this most important mission standing ready to sail beside you in the conquest of Pireth Vanguard!”

Aydrian smiled, mentally patting himself on the back once again for the wisdom of his decision to take the main fleet from the aging and too-cautious Duke Bretherford.

“H
e is afraid, that’s all,” Sadye said to Aydrian later that day, the two of them alone in Chasewind Manor’s luxurious rooms. “He holds confidence that we cannot be stopped, of course, but prefers a more methodical march across the world.”

Aydrian gave her an amused look. “Since when has Sadye ever preferred a course of caution?”

That set the smallish woman back on her heels.

“Is this not the same Sadye who traveled the Wilderlands with a band of ruffians?” Aydrian asked. “The same Sadye who befriended Marcalo De’Unnero, indeed, who fell into his arms, because of the thrill of danger that he presented?”

Sadye’s posture became one of petulance. “It was more than that.”

“Was it?” Aydrian asked. “Oh yes, there was the promise of power, as well, perhaps the greatest aphrodisiac Sadye the bard has ever known.”

She tried to hold her look, but Aydrian could see that his simple and honest reasoning was wearing at her edges. He moved very close to her—too close!—and she seemed to shrink back, just a bit.

“I understand you,” Aydrian said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You and I both recognize the allure of power and of danger. You and I both understand that to live on the precipice of disaster is truly to be alive.”

Sadye blinked repeatedly and her breathing became more urgent and intense. Aydrian could feel that breath on his face, full of the heat that was growing within her. He could see the sparkle in her dark eyes, an intensity wrought of simmering desire that threatened to explode into unbridled passion.

He leaned in a little closer, wanting her to be full of his scent and his breath, wanting her to feel the pull of his body.

Her chest rose and fell more quickly; she was drawn toward him beyond the warning of her common sense.

“I am expected at council,” Aydrian said suddenly, and he stepped back, breaking the moment. He wanted Sadye badly. He had never known the love of a woman, but he understood the sweetness of it anyway, could see it in the sheer intensity of the woman’s eyes, could feel it in the heat emanating from her body.

But not now. Not while they were still so far from the treasure De’Unnero coveted most greatly. He would trade De’Unnero the Abellican Church for Sadye, and the man would go along. Besides, Aydrian knew that he was making Sadye insane with lust for him, and he wanted to play that out, wanted to let the heat grow within her until she begged him to take her.

With a look that promised passion beyond anything the woman had ever known, Aydrian turned about and left the room, glancing back only one time.

Sadye was trembling.

Thoughts of her followed Aydrian out of Chasewind Manor and all the way across Palmaris to the meeting house near to the city’s north gate. He found De’Unnero, Kalas, and all the other commanders who were not busy with DePaunch and the preparations at the docks assembled about a table on which was spread a map of Honce-the-Bear.

Aydrian moved to the table, stepping between De’Unnero and Kalas. He studied the map, noting the areas shaded red to indicate that they were considered well secured under his control. That included all of the kingdom south of Caer Tinella on the western side of the Masur Delaval, and all of the southland, across Yorkey County to Entel. Aydrian particularly noted the newest placement of the pointers they used to show the intended progress of a coming march. One moved out of the Masur Delaval to Pireth Dancard, indicating the course of DePaunch, while a second moved across the river from Palmaris and diagonally southeast, generally aiming for Entel or the coastal region just to the north.

“Proceed,” Aydrian bade them, for he knew that all of the commanders had paused to allow him to digest the map in full.

Kalas looked to De’Unnero, motioning for him to continue his reasoning, and the monk promptly bent over the table and adjusted that southeastern-leaning arrow to a position more directly east, its tip climbing north from Entel in a direct line to St. Gwendolyn, the largest abbey along the Mantis Arm region of the
kingdom.

After a moment’s pause, Duke Kalas said, “You risk leaving pockets of resistance behind our lines. We have not secured every town south of this line and out to the Mirianic. Prince Midalis has loyalists there, I assure you.”

“The longer we tarry, the more likely those pockets will fester into open rebellion,” De’Unnero countered. “If we sweep north of them, those unsecured towns will be cut off and the people will understand the folly of resistance.”

“Tarry?” came a question from a lord across the table. “Are you not the same man who cautioned patience and argued against launching Earl DePaunch to Pireth Dancard?”

“Brother De’Unnero wished to ensure that all precautions were properly explored,” Aydrian interjected before the volatile monk could snap back. “And wisely so. There is a significant difference between a fast march and a late-season seaborne assault. The weather will not slow To-gai ponies, but a gale in the gulf could cost us dearly.”

That brought more than a few confused looks from those around the table, from men who had supported Aydrian’s determined decision to send DePaunch north.

“Brother De’Unnero wanted to make sure that all risks had been weighed—as Duke Kalas is apparently thinking now in aiming our march more conservatively toward Entel.” Aydrian paused a moment and looked at Kalas, and then, with a supportive smile, to De’Unnero. “In this case, the dangers are even less considerable,” he decided, and he placed his hand on the pointer, holding it firmly in line toward St. Gwendolyn. “If any rise behind us, we will quickly proceed south and destroy them. For our army that reaches St. Gwendolyn and the sea will likely be far less in number than the force that initially departs Palmaris. We will stretch our line across the kingdom, from the Masur Delaval to the Mirianic, and then turn up the coast and move inland from the river simultaneously.” As he spoke, he put his hands at those two strategic points and slowly began to move them toward each other, timing them so that they would converge upon that single most coveted prize, St.-Mere-Abelle.

Aydrian was not surprised by the satisfied expression he found stamped upon the face of Marcalo De’Unnero. He turned his head about to regard Kalas, and found him nodding his agreement.

“It will be the most glorious march of the Allhearts and Kingsmen in centuries!” said the same enthusiastic commander who had berated De’Unnero.

“Ten thousand soldiers marching under the bear and tiger of King Aydrian,” another agreed. “The very ground will tremble at our passing!”

“The army will be prepared for the challenge,” Duke Kalas assured the king, and several seconded his sentiment.

“Duke Kalas can begin his march out of Palmaris at the earliest opportunity,” Aydrian explained. “The season will be milder across the heartland than in Palmaris. For those Allhearts who will not go with Duke Kalas, but will remain in
command of Palmaris, I bid you to gather exploratory forces and strengthen the flow of information all about us, from Caer Tinella in the north to Ursal in the south, and across all the stretches of the kingdom west of the river. Also, ready a fast-moving force to react to any open revolt anywhere south of Duke Kalas’ proposed march. If a local lord begins resistance, you have my orders to crush him and at once replace him with someone loyal to me.”

That brought enthusiastic nods from the warriors, to be sure, but also more than a few confused looks.

“You will be traveling back to Ursal then, my King?” Duke Kalas asked. “For you speak of my march as if you will not be involved.”

“No, and yes,” Aydrian replied, and when those answers sank in, a few more commanders affected confused expressions.

“Surely you are not considering sailing with Earl DePaunch to Pireth Dancard!” one man said with alarm, voicing the doubts shown on every face about the table—except of course, for Aydrian and one other notable exception: Marcalo De’Unnero.

Aydrian looked at the monk and could see on De’Unnero’s face a complete understanding of his own intentions.

“Duke Kalas has secured the regions west of Palmaris,” De’Unnero remarked, the perfect lead-in for Aydrian.

“The plans you lords have put in place to deal with the enemies of the crown that you recognize are laudable,” Aydrian explained. “Yet there remains one more enemy, hidden in the west. This enemy will prove formidable only if we allow her to use her tactics of subterfuge and quiet destruction. If we face her on the field of honor, the threat will be fast extinguished.”

He paused and considered the posture of those about the table, the looks of confusion and even suspicion. Aydrian understood those expressions, certainly. His ascension had thrust the kingdom into civil war, had forced these earls and dukes and Allheart Knights into standing against the man they always believed would become their king. And now Aydrian was introducing something completely new to them, yet another threat and yet another war.

“This will be my task throughout the winter,” Aydrian explained, sliding up out of his chair to tower over the seated men. “While Earl DePaunch secures the gulf and Duke Kalas and you other fine lords strengthen our hold on the southland, and while Brother De’Unnero continues the erosion of the present-day Abellican Church and facilitates the revitalization of that wayward institution, I will march to the west, with four hundred warriors behind me.”

“The Allhearts are ready to march, my King,” said Duke Kalas. “I will personally pick the most able Kingsmen to supplement our ranks.”

“Did you not hear me just explain that your duties to the crown will be in the southland?” Aydrian asked.

“But my King …”

Aydrian leaned over the table, hovering over Kalas, and—amazingly to the other
lords and Allhearts, who had always viewed Duke Kalas as the strongest of their order—the man seemed to shrink and diminish beneath the mighty king.

“Do not ever presume to treat me as a delicate ornament,” Aydrian reminded, his tone level. “I am the same man who defeated the uprising at the north wall, the same man who facilitated our conquest of this formidable city, the same man who won the tournament celebrating the fiftieth birthday of King Danube.”

Aydrian wished that he could take back that last remark as soon as the words had left his mouth, for Duke Kalas winced—he had been the man Aydrian had defeated that day—and all the other lords bristled. Behind him, the young king heard Marcalo De’Unnero suck in his breath hard.

“If I am enough of a man even to ride in the same field as Duke Kalas,” Aydrian improvised, “then surely I am warrior enough to defeat the dangerous enemy to our west.”

Kalas’s expression softened just a bit, but enough so for Aydrian to hope that he had salved the wound.

“Would you not all agree?” the young king asked, turning and standing straight, his waving arm throwing the question to all the assembly.

As the lords fumbled about their appropriate affirmative responses, Aydrian glanced down to his left, to see a tight-jawed De’Unnero resting back in his chair, his strong arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“Pray tell us the identity of this enemy, my King,” Duke Kalas bade. “Do you fear the huntsmen of the Wilderlands?”

“I fear no one,” Aydrian replied. “Not Prince Midalis, not St.-Mere-Abelle, and not the Touel’alfar.”

Looks of astonishment came back at him; some of them had never even believed in the Touel’alfar, after all, and had known them only in the fireside tales told to them as children and in the wild rumors circulating through the streets of Ursal that Aydrian had been raised and trained by these mysterious elves.

“Oh yes, my lords, they are real, these elusive creatures of the Wilderlands,” Aydrian assured them. “You have all heard the rumors of my origins, beyond my parental heritage, and those rumors are true. I know this enemy. I know where she lives. And I know how to destroy her, quickly and efficiently. I will go with four hundred—select the soldiers, Duke Kalas, and they need not be the finest of your warriors. Just give to me men able to withstand the elements of winter, men who possess the skills necessary to survive the harshness of winter in the Wilderlands, even in the lower mountains. Huntsmen and those raised on the northwesternmost borders of Wester-Honce, perhaps.”

“This is foolishness,” came an unexpected reply from across the table, even as Duke Kalas was nodding his agreement. Aydrian and all the others looked over to regard the speaker, Duke Treschent of Falidean, the southernmost province of the Mantis Arm.

“You dare to question the king?” Kalas snapped, but Aydrian held up his hand, bidding Treschent to continue.

“I … I only …” Treschent glanced about nervously.

Aydrian began a slow walk about the table, his eyes never leaving the man, his stare, though it seemed neutral outwardly, melting the duke beneath it.

“You do not doubt my ability to destroy our enemy,” Aydrian prompted.

“No, my King, of course not!” the squirming duke replied.

“No, you fear our hold over the kingdoms while I am away,” Aydrian reasoned, and the other swallowed hard. “You question the depth of the acceptance of King Aydrian, and fear that the people will step into open revolt when I am away.”

The duke swallowed hard again as Aydrian moved to stand right beside him, and several others about the table dared to whisper in private conversation.

“Is that not why I have men such as Brother De’Unnero and Duke Kalas supporting me?” Aydrian asked. He stayed there a moment, thoroughly diminishing the duke, then walked to the side, addressing the whole of the gathering.