DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (295 page)

Behind her came the thrum of catapults, and the swish of flaming pitch balls soaring overhead, to fall hissing into the water.

Above all the tumult, the woman heard one voice clearly, that of Prince Midalis ordering all who had secured their ships to put out at once. Accompanying that voice came the piping of Bradwarden, spurring the men on with a rousing tune.

Pony held her position in the dark, off to the side from the three burning ships, and watched. She winced as one of the ships putting out got hit squarely by a
flaming missile, and a moment later, she keenly heard the screams echoing across the dark waves. Off to the side, another ship went up in flames, this time from something that happened on the deck itself, likely in the struggle for control of the vessel. Soon after, she heard calls for help and many splashes as men abandoned the burning ship, and heard Alpinadorans calling out directions to retrieve their swimming kin.

Another ship got hit from a shore battery, the flagship Midalis had pilfered, and at that terrible moment, Pony wondered if this expedition had been worth the effort and the cost!

But all the moored ships save three were still moving away from shore, gliding out into the darkness toward a distant beacon—the signal fire burning atop the mainmast of Al’u’met’s
Saudi Jacintha
, the assigned rally point. One ship held in the water, burning badly and sure to go under, and another, apparently controlled by her original Honce-the-Bear crew, was gliding in fast for shore.

Pony couldn’t let that happen. She ran along the water to intercept, crossing dangerously close to a rowboat that carried several of the men from the ship she and Midalis had taken. If they noticed her, though, they said nothing, and the woman ran on, coming up in front of the warship. She fished in her pouch for a malachite, then brought forth its powers of levitation, lifting her over the prow and forecastle. Even as she set down on the deck, soldiers came at her, but Pony drew out her sword and met the charge.

One man thrust straight in. An inner downward circle from Pony’s blade brought it over then down beside the thrusting sword and she easily turned it out wide. Pony went right past the man as he stumbled, overbalancing from his unexpectedly clean miss. The warrior woman stopped short and parried the attack of a second man while she kicked out hard at the first, pushing him along farther toward the rail. He hit that rail and caught himself, then turned about.

But there was Pony, charging in, her sword stabbing, stabbing, left and right, forcing him to retreat where there could be no retreat.

He went over the side into the dark water.

Pony swung about, her sword coming across hard to ring against that of her second attacker. A sudden thrust had him in fast retreat, and a second forced him to turn and dive down and roll away. But then Pony had to do likewise as a spear flew past. She came back suddenly, hitting the swordsman with a series of sudden thrusts, some of which got through to stick the man hard.

Up came the blue-white glow. “Off this ship!” Pony cried to her enemies. “Begone, says Queen Jilseponie! For I bring forth the fires of the ruby, and take this ship with flames as I burned those three at the shore!”

She thought her words effective, particularly when the man nearest her threw his sword to the deck and ran to the rail, diving overboard into the dark waters. But then she felt the stabbing pain suddenly as an arrow zipped across the deck to slam her hard in the side, so near to the scar left by her last grievous wound.

Pony lurched and felt her hold on the serpentine diminish suddenly. She tried
to reengage it, but had no time to be sure of anything other than the power of the ruby.

She brought forth a fireball—not a large one, but an effective blast that had all the front of the ship burning.

From a distant place, Pony heard the screams and shouts of protest from the sailors still aboard. She stumbled along, feeling the intense heat, nearly collapsing from the pain, her mind straying.

She could smell her hair burning.

She had to hold her focus. She had to find the amber and be gone.

She knew all of that, of course, but it was hard, so hard, to know anything at all beyond the burning agony of the arrow wound and the conflagration closing in all about her …

Then she was out on the water, walking somehow, stumbling about toward the distant ships. And then she felt the numbing cold again, and it took her several moments to realize that she had lost her concentration, that she was not atop the water anymore, but
in
the water.

And she was not moving out after Prince Midalis and her friends, but was being pushed back toward the rocky island.

It was all dark and all cold and she had no energy left to offer the gemstones. She felt no more pain in her side, though, and strangely so. She just felt … somehow at great peace, as if she had moved beyond all sensation of pain.

Chapter 33
 

“W
E SURPRISED AND WOUNDED THEM
,” P
AGONEL SAID TO
B
RYNN AND THE OTHER
leaders of Dharyan-Dharielle as soon as the courier from Yatol De Hamman had gone. The man had come in under a flag of truce, and had insisted that the battle had all been a terrible mistake, a result of a miscommunication between Jacintha and Dharyan-Dharielle. The courier had expressed apologies from Yatol De Hamman, Yatol Mado Wadon, and, pointedly, from Abbot Olin.

“Too many of De Hamman’s soldiers remember the last siege of this city,” the mystic reasoned.

“It took them weeks to bury their dead the last time!” Tanalk Grenk added. “And if they press the attack once again, there will be none of them left alive to bury the stinking corpses!” The man’s typically fierce words brought nods and cheers from all the others in the room.

Brynn shot Tanalk Grenk a look of sincere admiration. He had grown in stature over the last few months, from the warlord of a single tribe to a spokesman for all the warriors of To-gai. She trusted in him implicitly, and had given him the most important and delicate missions to perform, always with complete confidence that he would accomplish the tasks beyond her wildest expectations—as with his ride to the rescue of Dharyan-Dharielle when De Hamman had attacked. Brynn had sent Grenk and his force out along the plateau divide to make sure that there were no easily exploitable weak spots along the border. As ordered, Grenk had solidified the defenses of every possible route over the plateau divide into central or northern To-gai; he had had the wisdom to go beyond that. When his scouts had informed him of De Hamman’s move to the north, Grenk had assembled a crack corps of elite riders and shadowed the Behrenese army’s movements, secretly putting his force into position in the shadows of the plateau divide a short ride from the city. When De Hamman had attacked, Grenk’s cavalry had come in at exactly the right time, and at exactly the right place.

Even more impressive, Grenk had set up a line of communication, using the sun reflection system that the To-gai-ru had long ago perfected, and was now orchestrating the arrival of yet another secondary force, one ready to strike hard at De Hamman’s flank yet again if he persisted in attacking the city. It was a daring move, perhaps even desperate, for in shifting so much of To-gai’s forces this far north, the warrior leader had badly exposed their southern flanks.

But Brynn agreed with his reasoning, especially when he had given her all assurances that he had sent many scouts into the desert to the south. As far as he could tell, De Hamman’s army was the only organized Behrenese force in all the region.

“Their admission that Abbot Olin was intimately involved in this march does not bode well,” Brynn remarked. “Particularly in light of our guest Lozan Duk’s information. King Aydrian of Honce-the-Bear looks beyond his borders, it would seem; and all of our suspicions about Abbot Olin’s true role in coming south of the mountains seem confirmed.”

“Are we to war with Behren
and
the Bearmen north of the mountains?” one of the other leaders asked.

A cloud passed over Brynn’s face—and Pagonel’s as well—at that dim prospect. To-gai was not a heavily populated country. The To-gai-ru possessed no magic other than Brynn’s sword, little in the way of true armor, and few resources with which to build engines of war. Their one advantage, other than fierce riders and fine ponies, would be Agradeleous, and the Behrenese had learned effective countermeasures to the dragon. In all practicality, Brynn understood that she could not raise an army strong enough to defeat a united Behren alone on even ground, and had, in fact, only survived against the forces of Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan because Pagonel had turned the Chezru court against their leader and thrown the country of Behren into chaos. If Abbot Olin and Mado Wadon were uniting Behren once more with an eye toward To-gai, Brynn would find the defense of the city impossible, and the defense of her entire country improbable—and all of that with only minimal involvement from the northern kingdom. If Honce-the-Bear threw in her weight with Behren in full, To-gai would surely be crushed. Brynn knew that, so did Pagonel, and so did every other warrior in the room, even proud Tanalk Grenk.

“I fear that Abbot Olin is biding his time,” Brynn said. “The army has not decamped and begun their march home in any meaningful way.”

“He expects that King Aydrian will come and strengthen him,” Lozan Duk reasoned when the woman translated her thoughts into elvish.

Brynn nodded and explained the elf’s words to the others.

“Or Abbot Olin believes that he must strengthen his hold over Behren more completely before throwing his army at Dharyan-Dharielle,” Pagonel said. “No doubt many of Yatol De Hamman’s warriors were not pleased at the thought of doing battle with the Dragon of To-gai yet again. But if he holds Behren secure, then the force he can muster against us will be much more impressive and truly overwhelming. Sheer numerical advantage will bring strength to the Behrenese morale, and we will be hard-pressed.”

“Then are we to attack?” Brynn asked. “Or to continue to strengthen our defenses in the hopes that we will wound our enemies so greatly that they will reconsider their designs on the city?”

“I will go to Jacintha as your emissary,” Pagonel decided. “Let me fathom better the intentions of Abbot Olin and your friend King Aydrian.”

“You will be gone a month at least,” Brynn argued. “Do we have such time?”

To the side, Lozan Duk put a quizzical look over her, and the woman translated the mystic’s intentions.

“I will call to Belli’mar Juraviel,” Lozan Duk offered. “We will get your friend to Jacintha and back again in short order.”

Later on, the Doc’alfar sat cross-legged on the flat roof of a small tower, the blue sapphire of his people in his lap. He put his thoughts into the gemstone and envisioned the emerald held by Juraviel.

And then he felt the contact, and he called to his golden-haired cousin. For a long while, Lozan Duk held that meditative state, guiding Juraviel with his thoughts.

Less than an hour later, Lozan Duk blinked open his eyes, to see Belli’mar Juraviel standing on the tower top before him, magical emerald in hand.

W
ith the pressing business at hand, the reunion between Brynn and Juraviel was kept short; the two had barely an hour together while Pagonel prepared for the journey to the east. Juraviel offered his promises that they would speak at length about the events in the northern kingdom when he returned, then he led the mystic up to the top of the city’s eastern wall and bade Pagonel to take his hand.

Juraviel called to the emerald, and Pagonel watched the ground distort suddenly, folding as if it were a rolling wave. He followed Juraviel’s lead in stepping forward off the wall, then the ground unwound suddenly and Pagonel found himself standing far to the east of Dharyan-Dharielle, east even of the line of Behrenese warriors.

“An amazing feat,” Pagonel congratulated.

“The emerald’s powers are few, but the stone is powerful in that which it does,” the elf answered. “The distance distorts for the wielder and those in the immediate area alone, and only those for whom the wielder wishes the distance distorted. Only you and I could have walked from that wall, for only you and I could even see the distortion.” Juraviel closed his eyes and called again and the land rolled up. He and Pagonel took their next mile-long step.

They found themselves in the foothills outside of Jacintha with still several hours to go before the dawn. Pagonel bade the elf to wait for him there, and started off toward the city.

“If I have not returned to you by sundown, then return to Brynn,” the mystic instructed.

“That would be a tiding of war,” Juraviel replied. “For something so important, I will give you two days to return.”

Pagonel agreed and walked away, arriving at Jacintha’s gate even as the first light of dawn began to peek in over the eastern horizon.

Recognized by the gate guards, Pagonel was not turned away. But they made him sit in the guard tower for several hours, refusing to rouse Yatol Mado Wadon and Abbot Olin so early. Finally, Pagonel was escorted across the city to Chom Deiru, and there, in the palace, he was made to wait once more—while the lords ate their breakfast, it was explained.