DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (218 page)

"What a glorious victory lies before us, my friend," Markwart continued, "one that will play the King's hand for him. He will not dare speak against us when we walk down the streets of Palmaris with our gruesome trophies, proclaiming that the evil is purged to the cheers of thousands!"

"I have told you all along that the one called Nightbird is mine for the taking," De'Unnero replied with confidence. "I understand my role now, the calling that God brought to me when he led me to St.-Mere-Abelle and drove my body through hours of training. This hunt is the task for which Marcalo De'Unnero was born, and in it I shall not fail!"

Markwart didn't doubt him for a minute, as was reflected by the wicked laughter of his spirit. De'Unnero, so intense, rubbing his fingers together eagerly, did not join in.

"When may I go?"

"As soon as you are prepared for the road," Markwart replied.

"Prepared?" De'Unnero scoffed. "What preparations must I make?"

"A little matter of food and transport," the spirit of the Father Abbot replied sarcastically. "Are you to ride horseback or in a wagon?"

"Ride?" the Bishop echoed. "I will run, will find my food as I go."

"Pray tell me," Markwart prompted.

The Bishop grew more animated. He moved around the edge of his bed, extending his hand toward the Father Abbot, showing the spirit his tiger's paw gemstone. "It is incredible," he admitted. "Like you with the soul stone, I have found a new level with the tiger's paw. When I fell into the magic in pursuit of Baron Bildeborough, it affected more than my limb. I
was
the tiger, Father Abbot, in body and in heart; surely such a creature will have little trouble with the winter terrain."

Markwart, caught by surprise, paused to digest the startling information. He wondered if De'Unnero, too, had found this inner voice, the voice of God; his pride made him hope that the man had not!

But then he understood, for the voice told him the truth of the matter:

De'Unnero had found the higher level of stone use because of his intense emotional state when he had set out after the Baron. That intense level would be useful now, Markwart thought; again the voice showed him the way.

"Still, you have preparations to make," he said to De'Unnero. "Who is your second?"

"A pitiful sort named Brother Talumus."

"Do you trust him?"

"No."

"Tell him that you are leaving, but that he is to take no action nor inform anyone," Markwart instructed. "Tell him to deflect any questions concerning your whereabouts."

De'Unnero shook his head. "Questions and issues will be raised daily," he explained. "The road is long before me."

"And Brother Francis will leave this very morning for St. Precious to serve in your stead," Markwart explained. "That one is trustworthy, and too insignificant to cause any problems for either of us."

Now De'Unnero was smiling.

"One last issue," Markwart went on, listening again to that voice in his head. "What has happened to the merchant Crump?"

"He remains in the dungeons of St. Precious."

"Repentant?" Markwart asked.

"Hardly," replied the Bishop. "That one is far too proud and stubborn to admit the error of his actions."

"Then parade him out publicly tomorrow morning," the Father Abbot instructed. "Accuse him loudly of treason, and let the fool speak."

"He will deny it to the word."

"Then execute him in the name of the King," Markwart said callously.

Even brutal De'Unnero was taken aback by that command. But only for a moment, and then a grim smile made its way across his face.

"Now open your mind to me," Markwart instructed. "I will show you the manner in which you might best use your favored gemstone, in which you might easily attain again that highest level of magic."

They joined then, spirit to spirit, and Markwart gave the Bishop the needed information. When they were done, De'Unnero could readily bring forth the tremendous level of power —the one he had found when in pursuit of Baron Bildeborough.

"May the speed of God's own legs carry you swiftly," Markwart said, a traditional parting when haste was needed.

In answer, De'Unnero held up the tiger's paw for Markwart's spirit to see. "Indeed they shall," he said. "Indeed they shall."

Proud and stubborn Aloysius Crump played his role perfectly in the public square the next morning. Standing with his hands behind his back lashed through a loop in a heavy pole, he answered De'Unnero's accusations of treason and murderous intent by spitting in the Bishop's face.

That only made it all the more delicious for De'Unnero. Proclaiming the glory of God, he brought forth a gemstone, a serpentine, and summoned its bluish-white protective shield —not around himself—around the surprised Crump.

The crowd, several hundred strong, mostly street vendors and fishmongers out early, gasped at the display, though they knew not what it might be.

One woman at the back of the crowd, standing more in an alley than in the square, recognized the glow, though she couldn't fathom the reasoning behind putting it around the accused merchant. Pony watched quietly and so did Dainsey, standing beside her, asking her question after question without waiting for answers.

Bishop De'Unnero brought up a second protective shield, this one around himself, and then held forth another stone, glittering red.

"Ruby, for fire," Pony explained, "though no fire will have much effect on either of the men with the serpentine shields about them."

"Then why?" Dainsey asked.

Pony shook her head, but then her eyes widened and her mouth gaped as she watched De'Unnero plunge his ruby-holding hand through Crump's serpentine shield, holding the red gem against the man's shoulder.

"In God's name," she gasped.

"What does it mean?" Dainsey asked.

"I give you one final chance to denounce your actions, Aloysius Crump," Bishop De'Unnero cried loudly, "one last chance to admit your treason against the King of Honce-the-Bear and live."

Crump spat on him again, and moved to spit yet a third time. But his eyes widened and he gasped repeatedly, the saliva bubbling in his mouth as De'Unnero began bringing forth the fires of the ruby, fires contained by the unrelenting serpentine shield and within the body of Aloysius Crump. Smoke streamed from his shoulder; his eyes fluttered and rolled up.

"In the name of the King, then, let the fires of God cleanse you!" De'Unnero proclaimed. "And may he have mercy on your tainted soul!" And with that, the Bishop loosed the full power of the ruby.

Its energy bulged and shook the serpentine shield, but no flames could pass through that barrier, nor could Crump.

"He's alive with fire!" Dainsey cried. Everyone else in the square cried out, as well, for the man within the serpentine shield seemed an orange ball of flame, a living creature of fire.

Crump was consumed suddenly, brutally, the energy of the fiery burst incinerating his clothing, his skin, evaporating his bodily fluids.

De'Unnero pulled his hand back and dropped the serpentine shields, and the blackened, tattered remains of Aloysius Crump tumbled to the platform.

"God be praised," the Bishop said. He walked away, his last duty done, eager for the road that would bring him to Nightbird.

By the time Brother Francis set out on the road from St.-Mere-Abelle, before the midpoint that same morning, the city of Palmaris was without its leader, as eager De'Unnero had already begun his swift flight to the north.

Francis' movements were less eager and far less swift. He and five bodyguards rode in a wagon drawn by two strong horses, moving steadily along the road to the west. They carried a valuable load: several chests of gol' bears to be used by Francis to endear himself to the Palmaris populace.

Normally the seventy-mile journey to the Masur Delaval would take three full days, but Markwart had charged him to take no more than two. To that end, one of the other brothers carried a hematite and a turquoise; he would use them to bring in animals and steal the life force from them, lending it to the horses.

And so at the end of that first day, Francis and his fellows had put more than forty miles behind them. When night descended, their team fresh from the life force of some white-tailed deer, they continued on.

Francis preferred the frenetic pace. Since they didn't stop for the night, there was no time for any of them to relax; and he did not have to face the inevitable introspection, the thousand questions and thousand doubts that surrounded him. He drove the team until exhaustion overwhelmed him, and then he slept, but only for a brief period. His second nap came shortly after the dawn of the second day, and Francis quickly fell into a deep slumber, one that might have lasted well past noon. However, he was roused with still two hours to go before midday, and notified that they had reached the great river.

A fog was thick on the Masur Delaval, so Francis could not yet see the outline of the city that would serve as his new home. By the time the slow-moving ferry had crossed half the river, though, that fog was gone; there, before Francis, loomed all his doubts.

King Danube's journey to Palmaris was not nearly as swift, though certainly more comfortable. Danube, Duke Targon Bree Kalas, and Constance Pemblebury, along with several other nobles, sailed on the royal ship,
River Palace,
a large caravel crewed by the most experienced sailors and oarsmen in the King's military, staffed by beautiful women, and stocked with the finest foods and finest drinks.

Surrounding the ship sailed half of Ursal's fleet, ten warships loaded with weapons and soldiers. The miniature fleet sailed in the defensive formation called the lance-left —two ships behind
River Palace,
two to the port, one directly ahead of her, and the remaining five strung westward from
River Palace's
starboard bow. The lead ship was some six to eight hundred feet ahead of the King's caravel; lookouts watched for danger both along the riverbank and in the waters ahead.

Not that the King and his escort were expecting any trouble; riders had been sent ahead along both riverbanks, warning the local inhabitants to stay away from the water and to have no boats out when the red sail emblazoned with the black bear rampant of King Danube —the mainsail of every warship of Ursal—came into view.

As they were in no hurry, they meant to put in at nearly every port; the King had allowed for three full weeks of travel at a leisurely pace. And so it was, the days drifting lazily and uneventfully past them, the on-board party nearly constant and growing bawdier by the day.

They were at just such revelry late one afternoon when the ship lurched unexpectedly, throwing more than a few to the deck.

"Captain, do warn us!" the King cried to the man standing on the bridge.

"Battle mast!" Targon Bree Kalas interrupted, running forward past the King. Danube turned to see the man leap to the rail, grab a line, and then lean out so he could get an unobstructed view of the river ahead.

"The lead ship has dropped its mainsail!" Kalas explained. "As has the second!"

"What is it?" King Danube asked his captain.

"A ship in the river ahead," Kalas answered before the captain had a chance to respond, "a common trader, by the looks of her sails."

"I thought we instructed all vessels to keep off the water," King Danube replied.

"As you ordered, my King," the captain replied.

"But this one either did not hear or chose to ignore," Kalas added.

"Order it to move aside, then," said the King, "or sink it!"

"We are positioning to act accordingly," the captain assured him.

Duke Kalas looked at his King and smiled at the captain's false bravado. Danube, a man of action, was likely as enthralled as Kalas over the sudden excitement, the first excitement other than carnal since the journey had begun. But Danube had to keep up appearances, and thus his seemingly aggravated call for sinking the trader. The ship would move aside, they both knew, for it stood no chance of winning a battle with the warships in Danube's fleet.

The
River Palace
and her escorts dropped sail and were propelled ahead by their oarsmen. The trader had lifted a white flag and had dropped anchor, a sign of parlay. The warships had formed a triangle around her, their catapults, ballistae, and archers at the ready.

"Nothing in the water ahead of her," Kalas observed.

They all watched, intrigued, as a small boat was lowered from the trader, then rowed out to the nearest Ursal ship.

"Saudi Jacintha!"
came a shout through a horn from that ship, a call echoed down the line until it came to the ears of Danube and the others.

"Saudi Jacintha?"
Constance Pemblebury echoed, a puzzled look on her face; the words meant nothing to her.

"The vessel's name," Kalas explained. Then he tapped his finger against his chin, considering the name, one he thought he had heard before.

A second message was passed down the line, this one naming Captain Al'u'met, who had sailed all the way from Palmaris in hopes of speaking with King Danube.

"I know no such man," an exasperated Danube said. "Captain, call back for the ship to move aside or be sent to the depths. I have no time —"

"Al'u'met!" Kalas said with sudden recognition. "Of course."

"You know the man?" Danube asked.

"Behrenese," Kalas replied. "A fine sailor by all reports."

"Behrenese?" Danube echoed incredulously. "This ship, this
Saudi Jacintha,
from Behren?"

"Sails from Ursal and Palmaris," Kalas clarified. "Al'u'met is Behrenese, but his crew is not, nor is his ship. He claims to be a subject of the King of Honce-the-Bear, I believe." There was another little fact about Al'u'met, concerning the man's religious convictions, that Kalas knew as well, but he thought it better to keep that private for the time being.

"You know him?"

"I have heard his name, that is all," Kalas admitted. "Surely a Behrenese ship's captain on the Masur Delaval is a rarity, and thus Al'u'met has gained some measure of fame."

"And he has come from Palmaris in hopes of speaking to me," King Danube mumbled. "Cheeky, I would say."

"Perhaps," Kalas said in a leading tone. Then he and Danube locked gazes, and both understood the potential significance of a Behrenese sailor coming from Palmaris. What news might this Al'u'met bring King Danube? What stories of the terrors of Bishop De'Unnero?"

Off to the side, Abbot Je'howith shuffled his feet uneasily, and that only made Kalas press on more firmly.

"Hear him," the duke begged the King. "We know not the true situation in Palmaris, only what aggrieved merchants and churchmen have told us; and obviously both are prejudiced on this issue."

"As is a Behrenese sailor," Je'howith pointedly reminded them.

"But at least it may provide a third perspective," Kalas shot back, and the two eyed each other dangerously.

King Danube glanced around, trying to measure the level of intrigue among his entourage. He didn't want to interrupt the party and certainly didn't want to turn the rest of the voyage glum for the sake of a mere sailor —and especially one of Behrenese descent. But such a meeting might actually serve to make the voyage more tolerable.

"You cannot grant audience to every commoner who comes begging," Je'howith remarked, but the abbot's opposition only strengthened Danube's resolve.

"Send a messenger to him to see what he desires," the King said to Duke Kalas. "If his subject is worthy of my attention, arrange for the merchant boat to lead us back to Palmaris, where I will find a moment's time to speak with the man."

"Drop a boat and two to row!" Duke Kalas ordered, taking command of the situation. The crew, not daring to question his authority, immediately complied. To everyone's surprise, and to the delight of many ladies, the Duke then swung over the rail and dropped nimbly into the small craft, standing in the prow as the two men began to row.

"Such a man of action," Constance Pemblebury muttered, but her sarcasm was lost on the swooning ladies all about her.

Targon Bree Kalas loved the water, loved the lurching motion of a boat and the feel of damp wind on his face. He would gladly give up his land holdings for the title of Duke of the Mirianic, but that title belonged to Duke Bretherford of Entel, who showed no signs of dying anytime soon, and who had several heirs. So Kalas took his waterborne pleasures where he could find them —and he found one now, the men behind him propelling the craft past the four warships ahead.

The sight of the three Ursal warships filled him with pride as they came into view. One ship had its two heavy ballistae tilted slightly upward. Kalas understood that these weapons shot circular bands wrapped in chains. When flung out, the spinning motion of the bands caused the jagged chains to spread wide, shredding the enemy's sails.

A second ship carried two small catapults that shot burning pitch; and the third fired metal-capped ballistae spears that could drive fatal holes through the hulls of any but the most heavily armored ships. Add to those heavy weapons the rows of skilled archers —their great yew bows bent back, their many arrows wrapped with rags, ready to be lit—and Kalas knew without question that the
Saudi Jacintha
had no options; any show of resistance would result in the swift destruction of that vessel and all aboard.