DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (303 page)

Pony had to agree. “You have support in Dancard—Earl DePaunch’s stay there will not be without incident.”

“And there he will remain, until we decide otherwise. You shamed him to his soldiers and now they know the truth of my intent. We have won a significant victory here.”

Pony wasn’t quite so convinced, but she understood that it had to be good enough. Still, within Pony there loomed a desire to slip ashore and cripple the batteries, and to finish with DePaunch and all the other leaders. Then let Midalis’ warships sail in, and see how much resistance the island offered! But Midalis was right, she knew. What would they do with the crown’s soldiers even if they came over to the prince’s cause? They had no more room on their ships.

Her friend was right, she knew. Let Aydrian’s men sit there on that rocky island and fester.

And let DePaunch suffer with his fears.

For now.

Chapter 37
 

“I
WAS TOLD TO COME HERE AND CONVINCE YOU THAT THE WITHDRAWAL IS WELL
under way,” Pechter Dan Turk said to Brynn, Pagonel, and the other leaders of Dharyan-Dharielle. “You are to be mollified, to purchase the weeks that Yatol De Hamman needs to strengthen his force.”

Brynn looked past the words, to the torn feelings she read clearly in Pechter Dan Turk’s eyes. It was killing the man to so betray his own people, she knew, and he was doing so only because he had honestly come to believe that it was Abbot Olin and Honce-the-Bear, and not Yatol Wadon and Behren, that were truly in command here, and truly set to benefit. Olin was using Behrenese blood to expand the empire of King Aydrian and the Abellican Church.

Brynn looked around to the others in the room, to see the gamut of emotions, from the doubting expression on the stern face of ever-skeptical Tanalk Grenk to the sudden exuberance displayed by some of the younger leaders.

“Those hundreds who have apparently left De Hamman’s force,” Brynn began, “how far have they retreated?”

“Within an hour’s march,” Pechter Dan Turk replied. “A few miles along the road and no more. Yatol De Hamman will not allow himself to become truly weakened when there is any possibility that you might come forth from Dharyan-Dharielle.”

“Then why march at all?” Tanalk Grenk put in.

“Because if we believe that he is coordinating the retreat of his army, we will not come forth,” Pagonel explained. “Yatol De Hamman does not wish a battle against us at this time.”

“His force is greater than anything To-gai could muster,” Tanalk Grenk argued. “Our walls keep him at bay, but would we win if we charged out from those walls?”

“It would be a difficult battle,” Brynn admitted. “But we would prevail.” She wasn’t sure she really believed that last statement, for she understood that De Hamman’s force was not only mighty in a conventional sense, but that they had added several elements—quick-aiming and versatile ballistae and the Abellican gemstone-wielding monks—to counteract Brynn’s greatest advantage: Agradeleous. For the To-gai-ru to ride out, for all their ferocity, would be to throw themselves into a maelstrom. They might win anyway, Brynn believed, for she thought a To-gai-ru warrior to be worth two Behrenese, but it would be a bloody and difficult battle, one that would leave her army depleted and battered. It would be very hard to accomplish a rout with that second Behrenese force returning fast to join in, for the initial defense would not break and run in their faith and understanding that help was coming fast.

The woman felt a slight pang of guilt in so deceiving Pechter Dan Turk, though, but she could not put her trust completely in the man who was already working as a double agent. He had gone to De Hamman ostensibly to report on her and the defenses of the city, but had instead returned in a polar opposite manner.

Her words stirred several private whispered conversations, mostly among the ferocious To-gai-ru leaders who believed in their hearts that they could overrun the Behrenese all the way to Jacintha and the coast.

“Yatol De Hamman’s retreat will not suffice,” Brynn said, her tone and volume silencing all other conversations in the audience room. “If you would have us break out of Dharyan-Dharielle and ride to the support of Yatol Mado Wadon, then you must convince Yatol De Hamman that we are weaker than we appear, and that he must send more of his forces away, and farther away. Only then will we come forth.”

Pechter Dan Turk stiffened and bristled at the blunt request, but it was not an unexpected reaction. Brynn had just asked him to place his country’s main army into near helplessness, after all!

“If you can do that, then I will rout De Hamman and scatter the army of Behren,” Brynn went on, honestly and bluntly. “You will precede our ride to Jacintha, where you will place all of the blame for this disaster squarely on the shoulders of imperialistic Abbot Olin. You will assure Yatol Wadon that if Abbot Olin is expelled in full, To-gai will not work against Yatol Wadon’s efforts to hold his kingdom united.”

“Unless I am hanged by the neck for deceiving Yatol De Hamman,” the man said.

Brynn had no answer for that. If Abbot Olin was firmly in control, which they all prayed was not the case, then Pechter Dan Turk’s fears were indeed justified and his execution would be a likely consequence.

“Great men are made through great risk,” Pagonel said at her side.

“You must do that which is in your heart, Pechter Dan Turk,” Brynn added. “We have agreed that Behren is not in Behrenese hands at this time, and that Aydrian, and not Brynn, is the threat to your homeland. I offer you a partnership in fixing that problem, but I do not diminish the pain that I know you are feeling in your heart. I say to you that Abbot Olin must be disgraced, and that such an event can only be brought about with Behrenese blood.”

“You ask me to lay open the defenses of my country,” Pechter Dan Turk replied. “You ask me to sacrifice Behrenese warriors.”

Brynn’s answer straightened the man again, mostly, she knew, because Pechter Dan Turk understood that she was correct.

“I do.”

L
ong streaks of blue-white lightning split the nighttime sky, outlining the roiling and rising tower of dark clouds. Waves lashed the sandy beach to the west of Pireth Tulme, tossing about the Alpinadoran longboats and tilting the Honce-the-Bear
warships so violently back and forth that their mast tips drew semicircles against the backdrop of the sheet of rain.

Pony and Prince Midalis pulled their cloaks tight against that rain, though Andacanavar seemed perfectly unbothered by it and Bradwarden merely paused in his piping every so often and shook his bushy head vigorously.

“It feels strange to me to come ashore here,” Prince Midalis remarked. “Do I arrive as a conquering foreigner to this land that should be my own to rule?”

“With the help of the Touel’alfar, we will put things aright,” Pony promised.

“If the storm doesn’t sink the lot o’ our ships,” Bradwarden said with a great belly laugh—one that was not shared as three other sets of eyes glanced back at the rain, the wave-lashed beach, and the rocking ships. They had come in before the start of the storm and were relatively confident that their anchors would hold, but still, any losses incurred by this armada could prove devastating to the cause of the already outnumbered minions of Prince Midalis.

The good sign, though, was that the storm had come in around the tip of the mainland, out from the wider Mirianic beyond Pireth Tulme. While the winds were blowing from the northeast, wrapping around the great vortex of the storm, those winds had carried up warmer southern air. For those who understood the seasons of Honce-the-Bear along the Gulf of Corona, as did Captain Al’u’met and Prince Midalis, the storm seemed a herald for the onset of spring, and a promise for better sailing weather beyond its windy borders.

Pony squinted against the rain and wind and made out the firelight of a farmhouse in the distance. She pointed it out to her companions and started off toward it, and soon after, the friends moved into the dry and dark comfort of the farm’s barn. Bradwarden stayed by the door and continued his piping, the call to Belli’mar Juraviel. For Pony had seen Juraviel in one of her soul stone scouting journeys, and the elf had sensed her spiritual presence and had bidden her to come ashore, in this region. Now they could only hope that Juraviel would hear the song of Bradwarden.

“We should set off before the dawn,” Prince Midalis remarked, and he shrugged off his soaked cloak. “And use this opportunity, since we are ashore anyway, to retake Pireth Tulme.”

“You’ll not hold it,” Andacanavar reminded. “Those armies that took it for King Aydrian are not far.”

“Let us take it and leave it deserted,” the prince explained.

“A signal to Aydrian that you have not forsaken the kingdom,” Pony reasoned. She similarly pulled off her cloak and shook out her dripping hair, running her fingers through it to push it back from her face.

“Aye, and a signal to the folk of the kingdom that they may find an alternative to this usurper,” Prince Midalis explained. “We will attack and overwhelm Pireth Tulme, putting King Aydrian’s puppets onto the open road with news of the defeat. Let Aydrian retake it without a fight—the embarrassment of the defeat will sting at this proud young man.”

Pony smiled, finding herself in complete agreement. This was just the sort of opportunity that they had to seize at every opening, just the sort of necessary unraveling of the tapestry that Aydrian was laying across the land. What effect might the loss of Pireth Tulme have on those men serving the usurper king? Pony knew from her own scouting that the fortress had been taken by force, that the Coastpoint Guards who had held Pireth Tulme had resisted Aydrian, much as those people out on Pireth Dancard had opposed the assault of Earl DePaunch.

Before they could continue the conversation, Bradwarden stopped his piping and gave a great bellow of greeting to a diminutive figure that moved into the open doorway of the barn. Belli’mar Juraviel seemed as if the rain hadn’t even touched him, as if he had somehow wandered through the gale without getting wet.

Pony wasn’t surprised.

The elf came forward, smiling warmly, and Bradwarden pulled the door closed. Immediately, Pony used her ruby to ignite the small pile of wood they had gathered.

“It is good to be back, my friends,” Juraviel said, squeezing the hands of Andacanavar, Bradwarden, and Midalis, then exchanging a warm hug with Pony. “I bring you tidings from the land south of the mountains, as well as from your own kingdom.”

“Brynn Dharielle met our hopes for a distant alliance with acceptance?” Prince Midalis asked.

“Brynn fears Aydrian and the Abellicans,” Juraviel replied. “They overstepped themselves, I believe, for she was attacked in her city. Even now, she is preparing to break out and march to Jacintha. Her goal is to expel Abbot Olin from Behren, and nothing less.”

The elf paused, but they all held silent, their unasked question evident enough.

“Brynn will welcome the support of Prince Midalis,” Juraviel confirmed. “Her role beyond Jacintha and Behren will no doubt be limited, but if she can aid in expelling Abbot Olin and handing Aydrian a sound defeat down there, that will be no small thing.”

Pony sighed, for she had been hoping for more, had been hoping that Juraviel would offer news of To-gai’s willingness to sail north to Entel and fight for the cause of Prince Midalis. But in truth, she realized the improbability of that.

“No small thing indeed!” Prince Midalis echoed, apparently more than satisfied.

“My path here was not direct,” Juraviel went on, “for my people are scattered about Honce-the-Bear, gathering information as they go.” He reached under his traveling cloak and brought forth a rough map of Honce-the-Bear, spreading it carefully on the ground before the fire. “King Aydrian marches east from Entel to Ursal and is even now crossing Yorkey County,” the elf explained, pointing it out on the map. “He has sent the bulk of his force north to sweep opposition from the lands between Pireth Tulme and Palmaris, and the various bands of soldiers seem to be congregating just south of St.-Mere-Abelle Abbey.”

“The grandest prize of all,” Prince Midalis remarked.

“They have done well in keeping their line strong at most points, particularly those that might be struck by sea,” Juraviel explained. “But there are some notable weaknesses.”

The others looked about and smiled. “What gains we shall find with the help of the Touel’alfar,” declared Pony.

“We can strike where he is most weak,” Prince Midalis agreed. “And be gone before he can retaliate.”

“Thus was how Brynn Dharielle defeated Behren,” said the elf. “And then, after years of teasing victories, she held them off from behind the walls of a city, making the war too costly for the Behrenese to continue.”

“But we will not defeat Aydrian in such a manner,” said Midalis. “He will not relent. Eventually, we will have to face him and defeat him.”

“True enough,” Bradwarden agreed, “but I’m thinking that ye should be taking what ye can find until the time’s come to fight Aydrian directly.”

“Of course,” said the prince, and he and the others turned to Juraviel.