DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (188 page)

Of course, other possibilities remained wide open to him. It occurred to him that he could merely send the three mighty Chezhou-Lei warriors out alone in pursuit, and likely have Ashwarawu’s head served to him within a month.

But this plan he had just improvised appealed to Grysh more. Better to get Ashwarawu and his foolish rebels in one devastating sweep. Better to crush the resistance at its core.

Yatol Grysh silently congratulated Chezru Douan again, and fully expected that his life on the frontier was soon to become much easier.

Chapter 16
 

“T
HEY PRETEND THAT THEY SEARCH FOR YOU
,
BUT NONE WISH TO FIND YOU
,” Barachuk said with a wry grin. He and Tsolona had been coming out of the village every night since Brynn’s abrupt departure, knowing she would return. Now, a week after the fight to liberate Runtly, they had been rewarded.

“You killed a Chezhou-Lei warrior,” Tsolona added, but her tone, unlike that of her husband, was not mirthful. “And a Yatol. The Order of Chezhou will seek you forever after, and the Yatols will not readily accept the loss of one of their own.”

“One of their own,” Brynn spat in reply. “Daek was To-gai-ru, yet he turned against our ways, our customs. How deep is the rot that has affected our land?”

“Not as deep as those like Daek would wish,” said Barachuk.

“To our people in the village, you are a hero, Brynn Dharielle,” Tsolona added. “Our hearts bleed for the horses, trapped in barns and paddocks. To see a To-gai-ru warrior and her horse so defeating the designs of the cursed Wraps brings joy to our hearts, reminds us of who we once were—”

“And who we shall be again,” Brynn promised, hardly able to voice the words, for Tsolona’s reference to the Behrenese as the “Wraps” had spurred many distant memories within the woman. It was a derogatory term the To-gai-ru had long used against their desert-dwelling enemies, a reference to the Behrenese custom of wrapping their heads in great turbans. Some To-gai-ru wore turbans, as well, but none as elaborate in design as those fancied by the wealthier Behrenese. It wasn’t just the word, but the manner in which Tsolona had spoken it that so inspired the memories in Brynn, for at that moment, the old woman had sounded so much to Brynn like her own mother!

“The Wraps are many, and are mighty, and their wealth has brought them the services of To-gai-ru like Daek,” Barachuk warned. “Your victory was sweet, but minor, and will be no lasting victory at all if you are hunted down by the Order of Chezhou.”

“Let them come,” Brynn said grimly. “I will line the steppes with the poled heads of Chezhou-Lei dog warriors.”

“You cannot fight a war alone.”

Brynn paused and considered Barachuk carefully, recognizing from his tone that he was deflecting her declaration and not trying to halt it altogether. She studied him hard, and he turned from her gaze to look over at his wife, who gave a nod.

“You have heard of Ashwarawu?” Barachuk asked.

Brynn wore a curious expression. She understood the word, but as a word and not as anyone’s name, as Barachuk was apparently asking. “He who kills without mercy?”

“Ashwarawu gathers warriors as he roams from village to village,” Tsolona explained. “The Behrenese fear him.”

“He would welcome a fighter of your skills,” said Barachuk. “Already, word of your deeds here are spreading across the windblown steppes.”

“You speak as if an invitation has been extended.” Brynn’s voice reflected her caution. She had come into To-gai hoping that some sort of underground movement was already afoot, but she didn’t dare allow herself too much hope at that time. For she knew nothing, really, of this leader, Ashwarawu, and nothing of the force he was assembling.

“Ashwarawu’s ears are large, my young friend, and his invitation is open to any To-gai-ru who will raise sword against the hated Wraps!” Tsolona declared, raising her voice so loudly that Barachuk grabbed her and shushed her, fearing that the guards of the village would hear.

“We know where he is,” the old man whispered to Brynn. “Or we know, at least, where you can go to be found by Ashwarawu.”

Barachuk then rattled off a series of questions to Brynn, trying to figure out how much she knew of the region and the familiar landmarks. He frowned with every shake of Brynn’s head, though, for the young ranger had no points of reference at all south of the mountains. It was just too long ago.

Finally, Barachuk just stepped up to her and physically turned her about, facing her south by southeast. “Three days,” he explained. “Two if your horse is swift. You will find an ancient riverbed—we have not yet seen enough snow to cover its unmistakable designs. Follow the riverbed east. You will cross through several ravines, and in one, you will see to the south a mountain face that seems the profile of an old man.”

“Barachuk’s Mountain,” Brynn remarked, drawing a smile from the old man and a cackle from Tsolona.

“A fine name, though I doubt any but you will call it that!” Barachuk replied. “But there, in that valley, Ashwarawu will find you.”

“Or I will find him,” said Brynn, and she grinned, not expecting the two to take her seriously. They didn’t understand her knowledge of tracking, of reading the slightest signs of passage. She had no doubts that if she got anywhere near to Ashwarawu’s forces, she would find them with ease.

She took the supplies from the old couple, gave each a warm and sincere hug, then gathered up Runtly and began the long trek to the south.

“H
ow did you find us?” the fierce To-gai-ru warrior demanded, scowling down at the seemingly unremarkable man from horseback.

“Perhaps you are not as well hidden as you believe,” the man in the tan tunic and sash of a Jhesta Tu mystic replied, and he gave a little shrug, as if it did not matter.

“I ask you only one more time!”

The mystic shrugged, and the rider growled and seemed as if he was about to
run the mystic down, but then came another voice, one that quieted the rider.

“How he found us is not as important as why he found us,” said Ashwarawu, walking his strong black-and-white pinto to the forefront. “What do the Jhesta Tu see in our struggles that would so interest you, mystic?”

“I was To-gai-ru before I became Jhesta Tu,” Pagonel replied.

“And that means you are loyal to our cause?”

Another shrug, pointedly noncommittal.

“And what of the Jhesta Tu who claim Behren as their heritage?” Ashwarawu asked. “That would include most of your order, would it not? Are they now riding hard from the Mountains of Fire to pledge allegiance to the Chezru Chieftain?”

Pagonel gave a small laugh at that, and took note that Ashwarawu seemed to relax, just a bit. “Hardly that,” he said. “Likely they would be killed before they ever neared Jacintha. Our order and the priests of Yatol hold little agreement.”

The volatile man at Ashwarawu’s side started as if he meant to say something, but the warrior leader held up his hand to silence him. “Allies against a common enemy?”

“The Jhesta Tu do not name the Yatols as enemies,” Pagonel replied. “Though neither would we deign to name them as friends. We orbit different realms, to the satisfaction of both.”

“Yet you are here.”

The simple statement gave Pagonel pause, for in truth the mystic, so fresh from enlightenment, still had not sorted out why he had come to To-gai, and why he had sought out Ashwarawu and his fierce band. All along the path of his travels, once he had hit the midpoint of the steppes, he had heard tales of Ashwarawu and his gang, of vicious retributive strikes against Behrenese outposters. Pagonel had learned why this fierce young man—and he was surprised at how young Ashwarawu really was!—had earned the title of “he who kills without mercy.”

The mystic would be lying, to himself as well as to others, if he did not admit that he was intrigued by Ashwarawu and the renegade warrior band. Still, there was more to his journey to find Ashwarawu than mere intrigue, he knew.

“Why did you find me, mystic?” Ashwarawu pressed. “I have no need to ask how—long have I heard stories of the Jhesta Tu witches. Some sorcery brought you to me, I do not doubt. The question I must answer is whether or not that sorcery is being used to the benefit of the Wraps. Are you a spy? Do you seek to lead the Wraps to me, telling them also the strength of my forces?”

“No, to both,” Pagonel answered simply and without hesitation. “I have come to To-gai to learn.”

Ashwarawu’s eyes opened wide at that surprising proclamation. “What is there to learn, mystic? How to fight? How to die?”

“Or perhaps, how to live.”

The young Ashwarawu rocked back a bit on his horse at the simple response and spent a long while studying the mystic, head to toe.

“You have come to learn,” he said slowly, and he seemed to be measuring Pagonel
with each passing syllable. “To learn which side you must choose?”

“I did not know that the Jhesta Tu were involved with the struggle between Behren and To-gai.”

“You said that you were To-gai-ru!”

“I once was, and perhaps will yet be again,” Pagonel answered. “I do not know. For now, I am Jhesta Tu, and nothing more, and I have come to watch and to learn. And nothing more.”

The man sitting beside Ashwarawu spat upon the ground with obvious contempt. “Are we to provide entertainment, then?” he asked his leader.

But it was obvious to Pagonel that his words had intrigued Ashwarawu enough to push them past the point of such simple questions. The fierce leader continued to stare at Pagonel, trying to gain some measure, perhaps, or perhaps trying to weigh the potential good that could come from this unexpected meeting against the potential risks.

Ashwarawu was indeed leaning toward the possible benefits, Pagonel knew. How much stronger might his army become if the Jhesta Tu mystics were to side with him? For though Pagonel was likely the first Jhesta Tu Ashwarawu had ever seen, the legend of the warrior mystics from the Mountains of Fire was surely well-known through both lands, Behren and To-gai. And that legend, Pagonel also understood, had very likely become greatly inflated with each retelling.

“You are another mouth in search of food,” Ashwarawu said at length.

“I need no supplies, but will find my own.”

“And enough to feed some of my warriors, as well.”

“Agreed.”

And so on that cold winter day, nearing the end of God’s Year 840, the Jhesta Tu master joined the band of a young outlaw, one who was gaining the eyes and ears of Yatol Grysh in Dharyan, and even of Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan in faraway Jacintha.

Ashwarawu had no idea of what it all meant, but he remained thrilled at the prospects of enlisting the Jhesta Tu in his cause.

Pagonel had no idea of what it all meant, but that quiet voice within him understood that joining up with Ashwarawu’s band, even as merely a spectator, would help him more quickly answer the many questions that had nagged at him since his vision after enlightenment had set him on the road to To-gai.

T
he wind-driven snow rode more horizontal than vertical, stinging Brynn and Runtly, forcing both to squint and often turn their heads. The tough pony trudged along, ears flat, but otherwise uncomplaining.

Brynn wasn’t worried. These stinging ice and snowstorms were commonplace on the steppes and rarely amounted to any deep accumulation.

The woman was growing frustrated, though, for she had been in the valley described by Barachuk and Tsolona for several days, with no sign of Ashwarawu and his band, no sign of any recent passage at all. She was anxious to get on with
this part of her winding road, for she believed that this turn might lead her to her ultimate goal.

She knew that she wasn’t going to track Ashwarawu, or anyone else, at that time, though; and so she was taking Runtly along the northern ridge of the hills, looking for some overhang or shallow cave where they could find shelter.

The wind was howling about her, but Brynn felt very quiet, falling very far within herself. She thought again of those she had left behind, of Belli’mar Juraviel and Cazzira, of Lady Dasslerond and the distant land of Andur’Blough Inninness.

Mostly of Belli’mar Juraviel.

Brynn remembered all the stories the unusual elf had told her about his previous protégé, the famous Nightbird. She shivered, and not from the cold, when she recalled Juraviel’s story of his encounter with the demon, Bestesbulzibar, how Lady Dasslerond had come to his rescue, using her magic to take Juraviel and those humans in his charge—and the demon dactyl!—back to Andur’Blough Inninness, where her magic was strongest, so that she could battle the great demon. That fight had left the encroaching rot in the elven valley.

Brynn sighed quietly to herself as she considered the implications of that demon stain. Because of that, Aydrian had been taken in by Lady Dasslerond, who had some mysterious plan to use him to battle the stain. Because of that, Dasslerond’s interest in Brynn had become something more than the usual elf-ranger relationship. Thinking that her people might have to desert their fair valley, Dasslerond had determined that Brynn would help to open the road south by liberating the To-gai-ru.