DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (292 page)

“Well thought out,” Aydrian replied. “As were your decisions to fortify the city. I plan to march with you to St.-Mere-Abelle; indeed, I plan to knock down those gates myself, if need be. But perhaps it will not come to that. Perhaps I can persuade Abbot Braumin to serve as an emissary, even if I have to take his body as my own.”

The young king didn’t miss the cloud that suddenly crossed De’Unnero’s face.

“You’ve killed him,” Aydrian reasoned.

“He escaped,” De’Unnero corrected. “A friend rescued him, though at the cost of his own freedom.”

“A friend?”

“Roger Lockless, companion of your mother,” the monk explained. “I have thrown him in a deep dungeon. He is likely already dead, but if not, then he surely wishes that he was.”

Aydrian shook his head and tried hard, but futilely, to hide his mounting anger.

“But it has proven a fair trade, I believe, for Roger Lockless was once the baron of Palmaris, and can be used as easily as was Abbot Braumin to keep the people of the city in proper order. And the man brought information with him of the whereabouts of our most dangerous enemy, the one you allowed to walk out of Ursal.”

Aydrian smiled at the monk’s unrelenting sarcasm concerning his mother. “If my mother is our most dangerous enemy, then the kingdom is already mine, I would say.”

“She moved north from the city before our arrival, to Dundalis, likely,” De’Unnero explained. “But she is gone from there, I believe, and on the road to the east. She seeks Midalis.”

“Then let her die in his arms.”

“Take heed of her, for the people love her,” De’Unnero warned. “And she is no minor force, trained in both the blade and the gemstones.”

“And I have slain her trainer,” Aydrian said.

“Elbryan was her trainer, and I claim that kill,” the monk corrected.

“His trainer, then,” Aydrian agreed.

“Ah, so you found your Lady Dasslerond and her people.”

“The Touel’alfar will be of no consequence to my reign—those Touel’alfar who remain alive, that is.”

De’Unnero stared at him for a long time, and Aydrian saw the sincere admiration on the man’s face. “Still,” the monk said, “we should not take Jilseponie and Midalis lightly.”

“And I do not,” Aydrian assured him. “It would seem that we have but one more obstacle in our path to claiming all of the southern kingdom, that of St.-Mere-Abelle. She will stand strong against us, I am certain, but at the least, we will damage and demoralize her, and hole her monks up tight behind their walls. When Midalis comes, if he is so foolish, then St.-Mere-Abelle will be of little help to him. Your Palmaris must only hold him back for the week it will take us to swing our army back here across the river and properly destroy the line of Ursal.”

“Easily achieved with but a few thousand warriors,” De’Unnero assured him. “Little magical power will accompany Midalis, other than that of your mother.”

“And if Midalis does not come, then we will play the waiting game, finishing off St.-Mere-Abelle before turning our eyes to the region north of the gulf,” Aydrian replied. “Perhaps we will have to wait until the spring of next year to begin that final march, but with all the southern kingdom secured, and Behren added to our hold, we will only grow stronger while Midalis hides among his tall trees. The ending,
it would seem, is inevitable.”

“We always knew that it would be,” said De’Unnero.

Aydrian waited for the monk to stop pacing long enough to look at him directly. “You will soon enough become Father Abbot,” he said.

“I already am,” De’Unnero countered. “St.-Mere-Abelle is isolated, if Duke Kalas completed his march, and I cannot believe that he has not. No abbey of southern Honce-the-Bear is any longer aligned with the mother abbey and Fio Bou-raiy. He has lost before St.-Mere-Abelle even falls.”

“Then I salute you, Father Abbot De’Unnero,” Aydrian said. “Perhaps we should hold a formal ceremony announcing your ascent before we march upon St.-Mere-Abelle.”

De’Unnero paused for a bit, then nodded.

“So tell me of your new Church,” Aydrian prompted. “You will not endorse the final canonization of Saint Avelyn, I would guess.”

“Of course not.”

“And you will return the Abellican Order to its cloistered roots, where the sacred gemstones are held tight by the brethren alone and their magics are not so openly offered to the common peasants?”

“Of course, as you already know,” De’Unnero said. “Indeed, in your absence, my brothers have collected many of the gemstones from the folk of Palmaris—reimbursing them, of course, as we discussed. The old order is already returning to the land, elevating the Church above the ordinary, as it once was. But you know all of this, so why do you ask?”

Aydrian stared at him long and hard, locking the monk’s gaze with his own. “I sent Sadye to Chasewind Manor,” he said bluntly. “There she will remain. With me.”

De’Unnero narrowed his eyes, sucked in his breath, and stood very still, his hands clenched at his sides.

“I offer her back to you,” the young king said. “Wholly. But only if you are willing to forsake that other prize you so crave.”

“Take care your words,” De’Unnero warned.

Aydrian rose from his chair and calmly walked to the hearth, pointedly putting his back to the monk, showing De’Unnero that he did not fear him in the least. “I am quite beyond you now. You know this. You desired the Abellican Order, and I have delivered it to you.” He turned about to face the monk. “To you alone. How convenient, was it not, that I sent Abbot Olin south to the land he most desired?”

“And in exchange, you take my wife?”

“I did not take anything that was not offered,” Aydrian replied.

De’Unnero started forward, as if to attack, but stopped himself abruptly.

Aydrian did not even make a move to defend himself.

“Allow her to become queen of Honce-the-Bear,” Aydrian said. “You know that she desires such. Of course, she does! And why should she not? I have my kingdom, I give to you yours. What life will Sadye know at your side? That of a secret consort,
to be whispered about and gossiped over by every other brother of the Abellican Order, and by the peasants, as well. What life is that for the woman who has served us both so brilliantly?”

De’Unnero trembled as he stood there, hardly seeming mollified.

“But it is not your choice, after all,” Aydrian went on. “Nor is it mine. It is Sadye’s to make, and so she has. Now I ask you to let her go without penalty. Fondly hold those times that you had side by side, my friend, but recognize the truth. Your position has outgrown her. You cannot lead the Church in its former image and glory if you openly hold a wife!

“Be sensible, my friend! You are stepping into a most delicate situation. Obviously so! You would so risk everything to hold Sadye at your side?”

“And if I would?” the monk spat.

“Then I would sooner make peace with Fio Bou-raiy than elevate such a fool to the position of leader of the Church of Honce-the-Bear,” Aydrian bluntly replied. “This is no idle threat, Marcalo De’Unnero. You desire the Church, and I hope to give it to you. But if you will not hold fast your responsibility above all else, then I will not deliver St.-Mere-Abelle!” He drifted forward as he spoke, so that he and De’Unnero were face-to-face, barely an inch apart. “Choose wisely.”

Aydrian clearly recognized the hatred that De’Unnero masked and the tension in the man’s arms that revealed his desire to reach up and throttle Aydrian where he stood.

But Aydrian knew that the monk would not strike out at him, for Aydrian understood the truth of Marcalo De’Unnero’s heart.

St.-Mere-Abelle would be his bride.

Chapter 32
 

W
HAT STRUCK
P
ONY MOST ABOUT
P
IRETH
V
ANGUARD
,
THE CITY OF
H
ONCE-THE
-B
EAR
’
S
prince for so many years, was how small the place truly was. It didn’t even seem a city by the standards of the woman who had lived the majority of her life in Ursal and Palmaris, but rather, a village surrounding a castle fortress set at the head of a sheltered bay, overlooking many long docks and wharves. There were outlying farms, but they were not huge, unlike those outside of Palmaris. Neither were the roads truly definable structures. They were cart paths and nothing more, and seemed as if they were often and easily redefinable.

Pony had once served in the Coastpoint Guards and had spent considerable time at Pireth Tulme, the southernmost of the three fortresses—Tulme, Dancard, and Vanguard—that protected the Gulf of Corona. Vanguard was surely larger than that guard tower. But still, Pony had always imagined Pireth Vanguard to be much grander than this, along the lines of Palmaris, perhaps, with a great seaside castle surrounded by many streets and houses. How surprised and dismayed she was when Prince Midalis had explained to her that the population of all of Vanguard, this vast stretch of forested land, was not equal to that of Palmaris city alone. Given that, she had to wonder how they could hope to mount any kind of a threat against Aydrian, who controlled nearly all of the southland?

The other thing that Pony noticed when she, Bradwarden, Prince Midalis, Captain Al’u’met, and Abbot Haney of St. Belfour entered Pireth Vanguard, was that the docks were nearly free of vessels. In fact, the only ship of any note that was in dock was Captain Al’u’met’s
Saudi Jacintha
, and she was fully crewed, with sails untied should she need to put out fast.

“We must be ready to strike camp and march quickly as soon as the weather breaks,” Prince Midalis opened when the group settled into one of the large tower rooms overlooking the harbor.

“In whichever direction Juraviel’s telling us to strike,” Bradwarden added.

The talk became more of the same planning that they had gone over before, and Pony tuned out of the discussion rather quickly, after inquiring of Abbot Haney about the health of Master Dellman, an old friend who had stood with her and Elbryan and Braumin Herde in the last days of Markwart.

“He is well,” Abbot Haney had replied. “Though he fears for his old friend, Abbot Braumin.”

As did they all, Pony mused, knowing full well the grave implications of having Marcalo De’Unnero returned to Palmaris. She put those dark thoughts out of mind quickly, though, and forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. They had to find a way to strike and strike hard, to win some early decisive victories
against Aydrian so that Prince Midalis could gain credibility with the common folk of Honce-the-Bear once more. As long as Aydrian seemed in complete control, Pony knew, it would be impossible to drum up any undercurrent of support for the rightful successor to her late husband.

The meeting was short, as they had little to truly discuss until they had some better idea of their enemy’s positioning. But even as Prince Midalis began to call for its end, a trio of other guests arrived, which changed the complexion of the place considerably.

“Greetings to you, fair Queen Jilseponie,” said Liam O’Blythe, the close friend of Prince Midalis. He wasn’t nearly as imposing a figure as Midalis, with his short red hair and slender frame, and a smile that always seemed about to erupt across his freckled face.

Pony gave him a warm look.

“By the gods of the high mountains, it is good to see you once more, my old friend!” boomed the second of the newcomers, the giant Alpinadoran ranger, Andacanavar. He strode into the room, moving right to Pony, and wrapped her in a great and warm hug. “Even though it seems that trouble’s always not far behind you!”

He pushed Pony back to arm’s length and the two shared warm smiles, and Pony turned to regard Bruinhelde, the Alpinadoran leader who had done so much good for his people in the time of the rosy plague. These two strong and visionary men had put aside their race’s typical mistrust of anyone who was not Alpinadoran, and had led their people in great numbers to Mount Aida in the days of the plague, saving perhaps a devastating secondary outbreak in the cold northern kingdom. The last time Pony had seen the pair was at her wedding to King Danube, when Andacanavar and Bruinhelde had accompanied Prince Midalis to the ceremony, arriving unexpectedly to the delight of both Pony and Danube.

And now here they were once again, with a large number of their warriors camped to the east and north. What a testament to Prince Midalis, Pony thought, that he had so strengthened the bond between Vanguard and Alpinador, two traditional enemies.

“So it’s your boy who’s bringing all this trouble, I’m hearing,” Andacanavar remarked. “A boy trained by the Touel’alfar.”

“A boy … a young man,” Pony corrected, “who has recently exacted his revenge upon the fair folk of Andur’Blough Inninness.”

Andacanavar’s bright blue eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Lady Dasslerond is dead,” Pony admitted. “And her people are on the run, locked from their valley by the same desperate enchantment that Dasslerond used to keep Aydrian from burning the place down.”

The barbarian ranger did a good job of keeping his expression calm and controlled, but Pony sensed the sudden surge of rage within him, an anger clear to her from the man’s great hands that were still clamped upon her shoulders. Andacanavar had seen seven full decades of life and more, but there remained within him a
strength that was frightening indeed!