DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (291 page)

“But how long has passed since the fall of Lady Dasslerond?” Brynn asked. “Even if you and your cousins were to stretch your line from Dharyan-Dharielle all the way to the far north, the news will not travel quickly.”

“Lady Dasslerond fell just over two weeks ago,” Lozan Duk explained.

“Then how …”

“The emerald Belli’mar Juraviel holds facilitates his travel—and my own! I was on the southern edge of the Path of Starless Night when he found me from my call, only two days ago. I had come south to meet this dragon, Agradeleous; but alas, the
great wurm was not in his lair.”

“He is here.”

That brought a smile to the pale face of the Doc’alfar. “Belli’mar Juraviel told me of the dire news in the north, and of the danger that is Aydrian, and bade me come here to find you and tell you that we will not forsake you and your people at this dark hour.”

“Two days ago?” Brynn asked. “The Path of Starless Night is a week’s march.”

“Belli’mar Juraviel took me with him through use of his magical gemstone,” Lozan Duk explained. “I would have arrived before dusk yesterday, but Belli’mar Juraviel put me down outside your city, neither of us knowing that an army had encircled the place. It took me all the night to weave my way through the human soldiers.”

Brynn translated it all to Pagonel, then sat back to digest the information. “It would seem that all of my worst fears of Aydrian are true,” she said to Pagonel.

“Abbot Olin seems more the emissary and less the rogue, then,” the mystic replied. He put a hand up to stroke Brynn’s black hair, prompting her to look directly at him.

“There is a great sadness in you,” Pagonel remarked.

“You did not know Andur’Blough Inninness,” Brynn explained, “and thus you cannot understand the significance of its passing. And you did not know Lady Dasslerond. In truth, she was more of a mother …”

Brynn’s voice broke apart, and she sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. She tried to steady herself, knowing that she had to be strong, that she would likely face some serious challenges even beyond the army that now laid siege to her city. But even as she tried to steel herself, Lozan Duk’s words began to sink in even deeper. Images of her youthful days beside Dasslerond and the elves came flooding back to her, and she had to bring one hand to her face to find enough focus so that she did not begin sobbing openly.

Finally, she caught enough of her breath to instruct her guards to show Lozan Duk to a comfortable room, then to explain to the Doc’alfar that she would call on him shortly.

“You wish to be alone?” Pagonel asked her quietly as the elf departed.

Brynn started to answer that she did, but she thought it over and realized otherwise. “Come with me,” she bade her dearest and most trusted friend and advisor. “Hold me when I need you to, and listen to my tales of Lady Dasslerond and Andur’Blough Inninness.”

Pagonel nodded and moved around the arm of the chair, taking Brynn’s hand and helping her to her feet.

Before they had even reached her private rooms, the Dragon of To-gai had already begun an animated telling of some of her fondest memories of her years among the elves.

T
hey plodded through the deep snow uncomplaining, with Bradwarden leading
the way and piping his songs, and Pony and Symphony following close behind.

Far ahead, Belli’mar Juraviel ran atop the snow with hardly an effort, and every so often he stopped and called back to them, correcting their course. He had already used his emerald to locate Prince Midalis and his entourage, and had meant to take Pony and the centaur to the prince through the same magical means. But to the relief of them all, Juraviel had found that Midalis was not so far away—less than a day’s march.

Pony’s delight at seeing her old friend was only heightened when she at last entered the small cottage he was using as his temporary quarters to find another old and dear friend standing beside him.

“All the grim tidings diminish against the splendor of your arrival, dear Jilseponie,” Prince Midalis said, and he sprang from his chair and swept around the desk, wrapping Pony in the tightest of hugs.

“You’ve heard of my son, then, and his march across the kingdom that should be your own,” Pony replied.

Prince Midalis pulled back from her and turned to the grinning man standing at the side of the room. “Good Captain Al’u’met took upon himself and his crew great risks to sail across the Gulf of Corona even as winter was settling in. A gale could have swamped them, but they pressed on anyway, in the knowledge that it was critical to deliver the tidings from Abbot Braumin of St. Precious.”

“Though I fear that good Braumin is no longer in that position,” Al’u’met put in. “The army of Aydrian approached Palmaris even as I sailed, and we have reason to believe that the city was overrun in short order.”

Pony nodded.

“Because the fleet of Ursal—a portion of it, at least—has sailed past the city and into the gulf.” Prince Midalis added. “A flight ship from Pireth Dancard arrived only three weeks ago, after having been pursued nearly halfway across the northern stretches of the gulf. Had not a storm arisen, she would have been caught by the pursuing warships—warships flying a pennant that showed both the bear rampant and the tiger rampant. Apparently, this perversion is the flag of Aydrian Boudabras.”

“Boudabras,” Pony whispered, the first time she had heard that name.

“An elvish word,” Bradwarden explained. “The word of a great storm, maelstrom.”

“How fitting,” Prince Midalis said dryly.

“We will have a difficult time of discerning exactly how much of the land, and sea, Aydrian has secured,” Pony reasoned. She looked all about, settling on a view outside the window, where the snow had begun to fall once more. “I know not this town. How far from Vanguard are we?”

“A week’s march,” Midalis explained. “The ground is defensible here, and here, we are already well on our way to Palmaris.”

“You expect to begin your counterattack there?”

“It seems the logical choice.”

“Logical and obvious, to young Aydrian as well, not for doubting,” Bradwarden interjected.

“I do not have a fleet that can match that of Ursal,” Prince Midalis retorted, and the desperation and frustration was clear in his voice. “The land route to my throne goes through Palmaris, and so through Palmaris I must go.”

The centaur gave a polite bow.

Pony glanced at the other three in the room in turn, settling on Bradwarden for a bit, silently asking him for agreement, and when he nodded his understanding, she turned directly to Midalis. “We found you with help from another friend,” she explained. “A powerful ally to our cause. You know of the Touel’alfar?”

The prince’s expression grew curious indeed, his gray eyes, telltale as a mark of the line of Ursal, widening considerably.

“They will scout the lands for us,” Pony explained. “They have ways to determine the movements of all. With the help of the elves, we will discover the vulnerable areas in Aydrian’s line, perhaps.”

“Even if this is true—and it is welcome news indeed!—our options remain limited,” Prince Midalis answered. “If we are to take the war to Aydrian, then we must march south, and it will be of no small consequence to pass by Palmaris. Over the weeks, my scouts and commanders have given me much insight, and I have found but three choices, and three hopes. The first is that Aydrian will choose to divide the kingdom, with him taking the region south and west of the gulf, and leaving Vanguard alone.”

“It’s not what we’re seein’ from him,” the centaur remarked.

“The second is that he will choose to attack Vanguard, either by land or by sea,” Midalis went on. “In either case, he will find the fighting difficult, for I, too, have discovered an ally. I have set my army west of Vanguard, defending against any land invasion, though I do not expect one in the throes of winter. The city of Vanguard is well defended, as well, and we could return there quickly, if needed. But again, it would be of great fortune to us should Aydrian decide to sail the gulf in this season. Likely, more than half his forces would be taken to the bottom.”

“He’ll not come north until St.-Mere-Abelle is conquered, I would guess, and that will be no easy task,” Pony agreed.

“And just north of Vanguard city, and to the east, my ally has encamped, and they will defend my land as fiercely as my own subjects.”

“Andacanavar has come to your aid,” Pony reasoned.

“And Bruinhelde,” Midalis explained. “I do not expect that they will march with me when I go south to dislodge King Aydrian, but if he brings the battle to Vanguard, he will find my army strengthened by my loyal neighbors from the north.”

“And what’re ye to do if word comes from Aydrian that he’s givin’ ye yer kingdom north o’ the gulf, and that he’s takin’ all the rest?” Bradwarden asked.

The prince squared his shoulders, seeming every bit the man, the king, that his brother had been before him. “Honce-the-Bear is my kingdom, not Vanguard,” he said. “I deny Aydrian’s claim, and will fight him to my death or his own.” As he
finished, he looked at Pony and winced, perhaps only then realizing to whom he was speaking.

But then Pony dismissed that tentative look by saying, “And I will fight beside you, to the bitter end.”

“Let us plan our first moves, then,” said Midalis.

“Belli’mar Juraviel of the Touel’alfar is already on the move,” Pony informed him. “His scouts will scour the land in short order. We will have one advantage in this battle for your kingdom, that of information.” She turned to Al’u’met, a wry grin suddenly spreading on her fair face. “Tell me of Pireth Dancard, good Captain. Take me to the sea and point out the direction.”

“What’re ye thinkin’, lass?” Bradwarden asked.

Pony’s response came through a wicked smile. “I’m thinking that we should find every loose thread that Aydrian shows around the edges of his blanketing army and tug them hard until the whole of it unravels.”

M
ost of all, the city seemed secure. Soldiers marched along the streets in orderly fashion, and the walls were thick with sentries. Defensive fortifications were under construction at every point along the wall, including many new catapults and ballistae.

Aydrian could hardly contain his smile as he moved through the streets of tamed Palmaris, to the cheers of soldier and townsman alike.

“Marcalo has done a magnificent job in putting the city in line, it would seem,” Sadye was happy to say at his side.

Aydrian didn’t answer, but just kept looking around at the beehive of activity that was Palmaris. He and his charges made their way to the eastern end of the city, to the great square outside of St. Precious, where Aydrian’s commanders put the soldiers in line, rank upon rank.

The doors to the great abbey creaked open and Marcalo De’Unnero came forth, flanked by a dozen Abellican monks. He walked up to stand right before the king, who dismounted.

“Welcome back to your city, King Aydrian,” De’Unnero said when the cheering of the multitudes gathering about the square had at last ended. “You will find Palmaris most accommodating, I assure you.”

“Accommodating and secure,” Aydrian replied.

“More so than ever before,” the monk said with great pride and great conviction. “The garrison has spent the entirety of the season at work in preparing the defenses. Should our enemies choose to march south to this city, they will find the place a singular fortress designed to hold them back.”

“Any word from Duke Kalas?” Aydrian asked.

“He has pushed across the breadth of the land, and last word had him fast approaching St. Gwendolyn,” De’Unnero replied. “And his army has swelled to many times its size, with new recruits rushing in to join in the glory of King Aydrian.”

Aydrian beamed and looked to Sadye, who verily glowed at the news. “And
what of the Church?” he asked.

“When St. Gwendolyn falls, if it has not already, then there will remain but two opposing abbeys: St.-Mere-Abelle and St. Belfour of Vanguard,” the monk replied. He wasn’t looking at Aydrian as he spoke, however, but rather at Sadye, who continued to stare at her liege, offering a look that was not hard to read.

Aydrian hesitated a moment to take note of De’Unnero’s shifting expression as the monk looked over the woman. “Duke Kalas will turn his march to St.-Mere-Abelle as soon as St. Gwendolyn is secured?” the young king asked, thinking it wise to distract the monk at that moment.

De’Unnero looked at him and blinked a few times, as if coming back to the situation at hand. “He will,” the monk stammered. “Of course he will. As we determined.”

De’Unnero’s gaze went immediately back to the woman.

“Let us continue this in the warmth of your private quarters,” Aydrian bade, and he turned to his commanders. “Dismiss the troops. Give them two days to rest and warm their bones, and then join in with the work already at hand here in Palmaris. I will not leave this city to be plucked from my grasp by the eager Midalis, but I expect to be on the road as soon as the weather begins its turn to spring. We will meet up with Duke Kalas in the southland, and then march together to the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle.” He turned back to De’Unnero as he again made pointed reference to that most coveted prize. “Father Abbot Bou-raiy will open those gates, or we will knock them down.”

The two men sat together in a small room a short while later. Sadye had moved to join in, but Aydrian had dismissed her, telling her to go to Chasewind Manor and find some much-deserved rest. She had tried to argue, but only briefly, before Aydrian had fixed her with a glare that had told her there would be no debate on this matter.

So he sat alone with De’Unnero, and he felt the keen tension within the man, a mixture of eagerness and anger.

“I have begun training on nearly fourscore new monks,” De’Unnero explained, pacing back and forth in front of the blazing hearth while Aydrian reclined in a comfortable chair. “This war will no doubt deplete the Abellican ranks by more than half, and I intend to fill those positions quickly and efficiently. And I assure you, all of my monks are being trained in the gemstones from the start of their duties. I will have enough magical power ready to help counter the barrage we will no doubt face at the hands of the brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle.”