DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (20 page)

“We cannot take that away from her,” Lady Dasslerond went on. “Above all else, Brynn will need to perfect her riding skills to the very highest level if she is to return to her people with any manner of stature.”

It was true enough, Juraviel knew. The To-gai-ru valued their pinto ponies above their children and measured themselves mostly based on how well they could ride one of those tough and strong beasts. Any To-gai-ru aspiring to a position of leadership would have to outride his or her competitors.

“Many of her lessons must soon center around riding,” Lady Dasslerond explained. “Perhaps you and she can find a way to adapt the To-gai-ru riding style with
bi’nelle dasada
.”

“We can catch a horse this day,” Juraviel replied, and he chuckled, imagining Brynn Dharielle walking right up to one of the wild horses in Andur’Blough Inninness and coaxing it back to Caer’alfar. “And begin the training process, on horse first and then with Brynn.”

Lady Dasslerond was shaking her head before he finished. “There are no horses in Andur’Blough Inninness suitable for the girl,” she explained. “This will be her greatest challenge, her chance to bring our gifts to her to their pinnacle, and as such, we must give her the proper tools.”

Juraviel narrowed his gaze, hardly believing what his lady was saying. “You wish me to go to To-gai?” he asked doubtfully.

“That is not possible,” Lady Dasslerond was quick to answer. “No, my eyes look in a different direction, to call in the favor of a friend.”

“Bradwarden,” Juraviel stated, finally catching on, but then his expression turned to one of doubt. “Are you thinking that Brynn Dharielle should ride Symphony?”

Lady Dasslerond rocked back at the notion, apparently caught off guard but also apparently intrigued.

“She could not begin to handle that one,” Juraviel said. The thought of anyone other than Elbryan or Jilseponie riding Symphony didn’t sit well with the elf. “She is not nearly large enough to control the horse,” he went on. “Her legs would not reach around Symphony’s considerable girth, and never would Symphony even feel the press of her skinny limbs.”

“Tuntun rode him,” Lady Dasslerond reminded him; for indeed, Tuntun had ridden Symphony all the way to the Barbacan in pursuit of Avelyn’s party. “She was no larger than Brynn.”

“But she was stronger,” said Juraviel, “with muscles honed by years and years of training.”

“You do not wish to see Symphony given to Brynn,” Lady Dasslerond noted slyly.

“I do not believe that Symphony can be
given
to anyone,” Juraviel answered. “By Nightbird’s own description to me—supported by Bradwarden—Symphony chose him as much as he chose the horse.”

“And if Symphony accepted her?”

Juraviel didn’t reply, just stood there staring at the lady.

“You do not believe her worthy of Nightbird’s mount,” Dasslerond went on, easily gaining the upper hand now, “as Tuntun did not believe Nightbird worthy of Mather’s sword.”

“Nightbird taught her differently.”

“As Brynn will teach you,” Lady Dasslerond said. “Go out this week, Belli’mar Juraviel. Find Bradwarden, the centaur, and discover his feelings on this matter. You will enjoy the visit with your old friend, I believe, and with Roger Lockless, who is rumored to be in Dundalis with the centaur.”

Juraviel didn’t begin to disagree.

“Return with a horse for Brynn Dharielle,” the lady instructed. “Remember that she will carry on the responsibilities of a ranger, as did Nightbird, and that her road will be no less fraught with danger. And remember, Belli’mar Juraviel, that much of the power Brynn Dharielle will find will come as a result of her horsemanship.

“Choose well,” she continued, her tone friendly but stern. “When you are with Bradwarden you will learn if that horse is to be Symphony, and if you see the way clear, do not let your personal jealousies defeat our cause.”

Juraviel straightened, recognizing clearly that he had just been put in his place, in no uncertain terms. Lady Dasslerond was placing her trust in him; she could have sent any of the others to Bradwarden with instructions to retrieve Symphony. No, this was a test, Juraviel understood, a way for the lady to measure whether or not he intended to repeat the same errors he had made with Elbryan and Jilseponie. At that moment, Belli’mar Juraviel realized that he would return with mighty Symphony, if the centaur and the horse would agree to it.

“There is one other matter for you to investigate while you are in the lands of the humans,” the lady added. “Our scouts have reported that the gemstones Jilseponie used were never recovered after the battle in Chasewind Manor.”

“The Touel’alfar have never been concerned with the magical gemstones,” Juraviel replied, “except for the emerald given to you. They are the domain of the humans, by your own words.”

“And I mean them for a human,” Lady Dasslerond interrupted. “Have we not discussed this? The child will be all that his father was and all that his mother once was. We will teach him the sword and the magic.”

Juraviel thought back to that fateful day. Brother Francis had been the first one into the room, he remembered; but if Francis had found the stones, he would have turned them over to the Church immediately and so they would not still be missing. But there was another in the area of the battle, according to the version of the tale Juraviel had heard, another human with a reputation for light fingers. He looked at Dasslerond, and she nodded and walked away. She had a pretty good idea that he could locate the missing gemstones, Juraviel knew.

Yes, Juraviel had a good idea who had the stones.

Eager to see his old friends again, the elf was out of Andur’Blough Inninness
that very night.

Chapter 8
 

A
BBOT
A
GRONGUERRE HELD HIS BREATH AS HIS GUESTS AT
S
T
. B
ELFOUR
—P
RINCE
Midalis and the two barbarians Andacanavar and Bruinhelde—entered the study. The abbot had purposely removed the room’s normally comfortable chairs, replacing them with five straight, hard-backed seats arranged in a circle with no apparent “head” position. Brother Haney would be the fifth in attendance, seated away from Agronguerre—again purposefully, for the abbot wanted his guests to feel as if this was a meeting of comrades and friends and not a drawing of lines between Vanguard and Alpinador, between Church and barbarian.

He watched the expressions of the two Alpinadorans carefully, nodding his agreement when Prince Midalis quickly took the seat to Brother Haney’s right, thus leaving the chairs on either side of the abbot for their guests. Bruinhelde seemed to bristle a bit, but Andacanavar calmed him with a pat on the shoulder, motioning for him to take the seat to Agronguerre’s left, while the ranger slid easily into the seat to the abbot’s right.

That scene fit in well with what Midalis had told him about the Alpinadoran leaders, Agronguerre realized. The Prince had indicated that the ranger Andacanavar was by far the more worldly and friendly of the pair; and that Bruinhelde, though obviously an ally, was more set in the ways of his northern people and far more suspicious of the Vanguardsmen, and particularly of the Church, whose precepts were not in any way in accord with the Alpinadoran perception of God—or, in their case, of the gods, for their pantheon of deities was quite extensive.

When the pair were seated, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, Prince Midalis began to speak, but Agronguerre, as the host, interrupted him immediately.

“A glorious victory on the field this morning,” the abbot said, nodding in turn to each of his guests, “though we grieve for your losses, as we grieve for our own.”

“Temorstaad died bravely,” the stern Bruinhelde answered, his voice halting and accented, revealing his lack of command of the language. “I hope I may die as well.”

Agronguerre widened his eyes at that for just a moment, until he realized that Bruinhelde wasn’t calling for his own death, but was merely indicating that he hoped he would die as honorably as had Temorstaad.

“We do not grieve for those killed in battle as you might,” Andacanavar tried to explain.

“We, too, pray that we might die honorably,” Midalis put in.

“Though we surely pray that more of our enemies will find such a fate,” Abbot
Agronguerre dared to chime in, somewhat lightheartedly. He thought he had just committed his first blunder of the meeting when Bruinhelde fixed him with a confused stare, but then the barbarian leader chuckled and nodded.

With the tension alleviated, for the moment at least, Agronguerre bade Andacanavar and Midalis to lead them to the purpose for the meeting, a discussion concerning their continued alliance in the effort to rid the region of the minions of the demon dactyl. It went well for some time, rolling along, with plans for future tactics interspersed with reminders of the victory that day on the field, and even a remark from Bruinhelde that he thought Midalis and his riders had performed bravely and honorably.

It didn’t slip past Agronguerre, though, that the barbarian seemed reluctant to offer any thanks or praise for the efforts of the monks; and that, the wise abbot feared, would be the true test of the depth of this unlikely alliance.

“With strength of sword and strength of magic, we will sweep the land of the goblins,” the excited Brother Haney remarked at one point. The room fell silent, and Agronguerre could sense Bruinhelde tightening at his side. He turned slowly and deliberately to face the proud Alpinadoran, held up his hand to ward off attempts by both Andacanavar and Midalis to try to deflect the conversation back to more common ground.

“You mistrust my Church and our use of the gemstone magic,” he said bluntly to Bruinhelde. Before the barbarian could respond, he added, “As we, who do not know of or understand the ways of the folk of Alpinador, mistrust many of your traditions and beliefs. That is ignorance, on both our parts, and it is something, I fear, that neither of us will be able to overcome at a meeting or in any short amount of time.”

Bruinhelde’s expression became more curious than angry, and he looked past Agronguerre to Andacanavar, who immediately translated the abbot’s words and sentiments into the Alpinadoran language.

“Given that, we both must put our suspicions and even our anger aside,” the abbot went on. “You need not trust our techniques, as we do not trust yours, but trust only that our goal is the same as your own: to rid the region of goblins and powries and giants. Take faith, my ally, that our magic and our ways will not be turned against you, that we are your allies in this and that we truly value that alliance.”

He paused and let Andacanavar translate again, just to make sure that there would be no misunderstanding between them on this most crucial point, and he took some hope as Bruinhelde nodded, his stern expression beginning to brighten.

“I know that I overstepped my bounds as an ally when I tried to use the gemstone magic on your fallen companion,” the abbot said. “And I do not agree with your decision to refuse such treatment for Temorstaad.” Brother Haney gasped at the admission, Prince Midalis widened his eyes in surprise that Agronguerre would even bring up such a difficult subject, and Bruinhelde surely tightened once again at the mention.

The abbot, though, pressed ahead. “But I respect your decision and assure you
that neither I nor any of my brethren will make such an intrusion against your ways as that again,” he said. The ranger beside him was quick to translate. “However, Bruinhelde, my ally, should you see a different course as time goes along, as we each become more used to the other’s ways, I, and all of my brethren, would accept any change of mind on your part. If you come to believe that the gemstone magic is a valuable tool for healing the wounded, as it is a tool for battling our common enemies, then I will work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of Alpinadorans, as I try now to do for the men of Vanguard, the men who claim allegiance to my Church.”

“And you expect that we, too, will make such a claim of allegiance?” Andacanavar interjected before Bruinhelde could.

“I do not,” the abbot answered sincerely. “I expect, and have seen, that your people will battle for the sake of my own, as my own will battle for the sake of yours. I ask no concessions, no abandonment of ways or traditions, no premise that the Abellican Church is superior and correct.”

“Abbot!” Brother Haney blurted, but Agronguerre merely laughed.

“Of course, I view the Abellican Church as the true way to paradise, and hope that everyone in all the world will come to see the same light of truth as I,” Agronguerre admitted, his tone lighthearted and not in the least intimidating. “But that, I fear, is a personal decision, a choice that must come from within, and not through any pressure applied by brothers. Missionaries should spread their views with tolerance of difference, my friend.”

“And they should listen as often as they speak,” the ranger replied.

“Indeed,” agreed Agronguerre. “And even more than that, I assure you that in this common cause, the brothers of St. Belfour are not missionaries. Certainly not! We believe that the joining of our forces against the common enemy will be to the betterment of both Vanguardsmen and Alpinadorans. This is not about who serves the correct God.”