DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (286 page)

“Let them come closer,” she ordered her soldiers as she walked along the wall, steadying the nervous archers with her solid attitude. “Our first volley must prove devastating.”

De Hamman’s riders and infantry charged in headlong, moving practically to the base of the wall, launching spears and arrows.

And then the To-gai-ru warriors sprang up, a line so thick that it stood shoulder to shoulder the length of that wall, and the hailstorm of arrows drove hard into the Behrenese ranks, stopping cold the bold assault.

“He did not know so many of our warriors had come into the city,” Pagonel remarked.

Even as he finished the statement, however, a surge of lightning bolts reached out from the back of De Hamman’s line, smashing in hard against the defenders, splitting stone and sending men flying from the wall.

Dharyan-Dharielle’s great ballistae and catapults responded, sending balls of fiery pitch and gigantic spears into the masses, many heading for the general direction of the Abellican gemstone users.

It went on for many minutes right there below the walls, and Brynn assembled a group of strong warriors beside her, and followed Pagonel as he ran about, shoring up defenses wherever they seemed about to fall.

A second volley of lightning bolts flashed in at the city, this time all concentrated on Dharyan-Dharielle’s southern gate. Wood splintered and bolts crackled, and the gates buckled inward. And right behind the thunderous blasts came a surge by a group of armored Honce-the-Bear soldiers, driving their equally armored mounts hard against the weakened barrier.

“Hold that gate at all costs!” Brynn cried from the wall a short distance away. She looked at Pagonel for guidance, but he was already engaged in battling a pair of men who had scaled the wall.

“Run on!” the mystic shouted to her. He knew that he had to score a hit quickly here, and so he did, ducking the slash of one man’s sword and sweeping his leg out wide to trip the man up. Not even finishing that kick, trusting that he had the man enough off balance, the mystic sprang up catlike at the second warrior, rushing in before the man could bring his sword to bear. Pagonel’s stiffened fingers smashed hard against the man’s windpipe, stealing his breath and his balance.

The mystic caught him before he fell to his death, though, wrapping him in a tight embrace and turning him about as a human shield against the first man who was trying to recover and come back in.

The attacker hesitated and Pagonel threw the limp man to the ground between them, and even as the standing attacker’s eyes instinctively looked down at his falling comrade, the mystic leaped forward, turning his legs under him and kicking out, launching the attacker over the wall.

Pagonel turned to regard Brynn, but to his relief, she was already moving along.

B
rynn leaped down to the courtyard, the rest of her entourage close behind. “Mount up!” she ordered, knowing that foot soldiers would likely be overwhelmed by the riders pressing at the gate.

Men screamed all about her, horrible sounds of battle that Brynn Dharielle had prayed she would never again be forced to endure. She could hardly believe the sudden turn of events, and it pained her greatly to consider that Aydrian, her
companion for so many years, was in fact the source of this chaos!

With fierce determination, the leader of To-gai climbed up on Runtly and led her force to the courtyard directly before the collapsing gates.

“Fight well,” she said.

“Die well,” came the appropriate To-gai-ru response.

Out in the distance, horns began to blow, and many cries of “Tanalk Grenk!” came echoing down from the walls.

Brynn nodded grimly, knowing that her loyal and able commander would strike hard at De Hamman’s flank and ease some of the pressure on the town.

More hopeful and excited shouts came from the wall, and Brynn followed them to see many men pausing for just a moment, and pointing to the southwestern sky.

“Meet my dragon, Yatol De Hamman,” the woman said grimly. She wished she could go and watch that spectacle—she did indeed!—but then the gate creaked and cracked, and one of the great doors tumbled down into the courtyard. Charging over it even as it fell came the rush of Honce-the-Bear cavalry.

“Fight well!” Brynn called again.

“Die well!” came the eager battle cry.

Brynn was first in, her solid pony not shying in the least as she took it right against the flank of one larger horse, and tightly in between that and a second. Flamedancer flashed left and then right, defeating one attack and initiating a second. The Bearman rider managed to block and started to counter, but Brynn maneuvered Runtly expertly out of his reach, and then the pony leaped back in at him in perfect coordination with her second stab.

This time, her sword got past the man’s defenses and banged hard against his fine armor, the elven blade driving a crease that had him lurching. Not wasting a second, Brynn spun Runtly around to face the other warrior, and urged the pony to buck, its hind legs coming up and kicking hard against the stunned man’s dented armor, launching him from his seat.

Now one against one, Brynn worked her sword in a series of slashes, stabs, and defensive parries, twice ringing her blade off the back of the Bearman’s helmet, and three times scratching his solid chest plate. He tried to counter repeatedly, but each of the lumbering blows of his far heavier sword were neatly picked off, or hit nothing but air as Brynn dodged and retreated.

All along that courtyard, the To-gai-ru riders, as skilled on horseback as any in all the world, matched the Bearmen cut for cut, using speed and agility to counter heavier weapons and armor. They gave no ground, but neither were they gaining any, and the press behind the Bearman was greater, slowly but surely widening the breach at the gate.

“Archers!” Brynn called, trying desperately to redirect more fire into that breach, but her warriors all along the wall were too engaged already to offer much help. She did see Pagonel right above the gate, directing the fire of the archers and keeping the wall clear all about them so that they could concentrate on the impending disaster below, but she feared it would not be enough.

Beyond the wall, more lightning flashed, some streaming up into the air, and the screams increased tenfold, along with a sudden roar of agony, a cry so feral and huge that it made many men stop their fighting and cover their ears, and made others simply turn away and flee.

Following the cry came the crash as the dragon fell from the sky, skidding hard into the wall right beside the opened gate. Stone crumbled at that impact, launching defenders and attackers alike from the wall top. Even some of those archers above the gate were thrown down.

B
ut not Pagonel.

The mystic held his ground stubbornly and cried out to the dragon, pointing to the breached gate. “Here, Agradeleous!”

Dragon fire filled that breach suddenly, immolating those poor attackers behind the front ranks of riders.

Pagonel climbed over the wall and dropped the dozen feet to the ground amidst that burning carnage. All about him, all about the nearby dragon, Behrenese were fleeing in terror. “Come,” Pagonel bade the dragon.

Another volley of lightning bolts, diminished from the originals, but stinging nonetheless, reached out to slam against the wounded dragon’s side.

“I so hate monks and their nasty toys!” Agradeleous roared, swinging his reptilian neck about to face the distant gemstone-wielders. One fleeing man inadvertently stumbled too close to the angry dragon, and Agradeleous wasted no time in grabbing him up in his great jaws. He lifted the flailing man up high so that many could see, then snapped his great maw fully. Pieces of the dead man fell all about.

Agradeleous growled and roared and forced himself up on his haunches, brushing aside blocks of the wall that had tumbled atop him.

Men shrank away from the spectacle, for the dragon seemed unbeatable and all-powerful.

But Pagonel recognized the way the beast was favoring one wing and knew that Agradeleous was sorely wounded from the lightning. Agradeleous took a step out from the wall, as if he meant to go after the monks.

“No!” Pagonel called to him. “That is what they want!”

The dragon turned on him, smoke wafting from his nostrils, licks of flame erupting from the sides of his mouth, and sheer hatred shining in his reptilian eyes.

“They are ready for you,” the mystic explained. “They have the weapons that were built specifically for your destruction. And they have the gemstones.”

The dragon growled again, long and low, and then roared as yet another lightning bolt flashed in against his great scaled side.

Pagonel continued to coax and to warn him, bidding him into the city.

Almost as soon as the mystic and the dragon crossed through the felled gate, the remaining Bearman warriors threw down their swords, and the courtyard and wall were secured.

A few moments later, the city’s western gate swung open and Tanalk Grenk led his force into Dharyan-Dharielle. All about the walls, archers ran toward that area to send volleys at the pursuing Behrenese.

In truth, though, the battle was over. With the gates secured by the imposing dragon, the Behrenese retreated.

As Tanalk Grenk rode toward her, Brynn nodded her appreciation and deference, for she knew that he had played his role to perfection. He had come down with his skilled riders from their positions just along the shadows of the plateau divide, just to the southwest of Dharyan-Dharielle. With the typical and unmatched ferocity of the To-gai-ru, Grenk had struck hard at the Behrenese western flank, then immediately turned his forces in a run to the western gate, diverting many Behrenese and easing the pressure on the southern wall.

“We have won no victory here today,” Brynn told Grenk and all the others nearby. “But we have held our enemy at bay and have stung them hard.” She looked all around, the determination in her blazing brown eyes stilling all doubts and all confusion in a moment of crystalline clarity. “Perhaps we have stung them hard enough to make them turn back for their homes.”

“If not, there is always tomorrow,” said a determined Grenk.

His unabashed support touched Brynn at that desperate moment, for she knew that more than a few of her people would be privately questioning her leadership at that time. Had these attackers not come from the same man Brynn had just helped seat on the throne of Behren, after all?

But she did not allow any of her doubts to cloud her eyes or her strong features.

“Shore up the gate,” she instructed her warriors, then she dismounted and walked off with Runtly to shore up her own resolve, reminding herself of the peculiar circumstances and telling herself repeatedly that she had done right in fighting the wicked Tohen Bardoh, whatever treachery Yatol Wadon and Abbot Olin now offered.

She had to believe that.

Chapter 29
 

A
BBOT
G
LENDENHOOK OF
S
T
. G
WENDOLYN CRUMPLED THE PARCHMENT IN HIS
large and strong hands. His thick brow furrowed over deep-set eyes and he clenched his huge fist powerfully, the muscles on his massive arm tightening the fabric of his brown robes. More than any other master of the Abellican Order, Toussan Glendenhook had ridden Fio Bou-raiy’s coattails to power. For many years, he had walked in Bou-raiy’s shadow, and willingly so. Glendenhook had accomplished much on his own, especially in the arts martial, where he had risen as one of the finest warriors to come out of St.-Mere-Abelle—not on a par with legendary Marcalo De’Unnero, of course, but Glendenhook had been the best of his class.

Still, Glendenhook had always been very aware that he had no chance of ever rising in the hierarchy beyond the rank of master—until, that is, his friend Bou-raiy had ascended the dais as the Abellican Church’s Father Abbot. Glendenhook had been there every step of the way with Fio Bou-raiy, supporting his friend. When Bou-raiy had made his successful bid for the position of Father Abbot, Glendenhook had lobbied long and hard for the votes. Subsequent to gaining the seat in St.-Mere-Abelle, Fio Bou-raiy had repaid his loyal friend with this appointment as abbot of St. Gwendolyn, a monastery traditionally run by a woman.

There had been little resistance to the appointment; the then–Master Glendenhook had rushed to the rescue of St. Gwendolyn when the rogue De’Unnero had come to dominate the place, organizing his infamous Brothers Repentant from the ranks of the plague-devastated abbey. Over the last couple of years since his appointment, Abbot Glendenhook had compiled a strong record at the abbey and among the people of the neighboring villages. His abbey was among the leaders in per capita attendance and donations, and though he was not really a great follower of Avelyn Desbris and the reform that had swept the Abellican Church, Abbot Glendenhook had not reined in his sisters, brothers, and masters when they had desired to go out among the people with the healing soul stones. Like his mentor, Fio Bou-raiy, Abbot Glendenhook had adapted to the change, if not embracing it, and had brought St. Gwendolyn back from the ashes.