DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (300 page)

“In that case, he could just march for Vanguard,” the prince warned.

“And you could debark your seaborne forces behind him, anywhere along
Honce-the-Bear’s long coastline, and begin eroding his base of support and supply,” the elf countered.

“We become more elusive if we gain uncontested control of the seas,” Pony agreed.

Prince Midalis looked at her, silently pleading with her, she knew. She had gained his trust long ago, on Mount Aida, and he needed to trust in her again. She offered him a warm smile and a determined nod.

“To the Mirianic we go,” Prince Midalis announced. “Tell Captain Al’u’met to organize the sail.”

Soon after, Pony accompanied Midalis to the tent of Bruinhelde in the Alpinadoran encampment northeast of Pireth Vanguard. The two were surprised indeed—and so was Andacanavar, who was also in attendance—when the Alpinadoran chieftain announced that he would accompany the prince on his southern sail, with many warships and the hopes of a great victory.

“You have sown the seeds of trust and friendship,” Pony said to the prince, as they rode back toward Pireth Vanguard later that day.

“A crop more fruitful than I ever imagined,” said Midalis.

“Because you sowed them honestly, and without any ulterior design,” said Pony. “Bruinhelde knows that you came to him in sincere friendship for the benefit of both your peoples. When he followed you to Mount Aida, he found that his acceptance of your offers of friendship in the time of the dactyl were well-founded. And so he is willing to stand beside you.”

“All the way to Behren,” Midalis said with a helpless laugh.

“All the way to Behren,” Pony echoed.

Chapter 36
 

“L
ITTLE DID WE REALIZE HOW FAST AND GREAT OUR RISE WOULD BE WHEN LAST
we passed this city’s gates,” Aydrian said triumphantly to De’Unnero and Sadye as they and Duke Kalas rode beside him into the city of Entel. The ride across Honce-the-Bear had been easy and most gratifying, with crowds lining every way to cheer for the new king. What a testament to Duke Kalas’ influence and strength, Aydrian had realized, for the man had securely locked up the entirety of the southern kingdom in Aydrian’s name, with but two notable exceptions: Pireth Tulme to the north, upon which Duke Kalas’ armies were even then descending, and St.-Mere-Abelle, to the north and west.

The side trip to Entel had been Kalas’ idea, mostly to check on Abbot Olin’s progress in the south and to ensure that this great city, more populated than Palmaris, even, remained firmly under control during Abbot Olin’s absence. The Abellican Church had always been strong here, but strong in two separate factions. St. Bondabruce, the great abbey, had long held firm under Abbot Olin and his preoccupation with Behren, while the smaller and older abbey, St. Rontlemore, had stayed more a friend to the line of Ursal and the Abellican Church proper, more closely tied to St.-Mere-Abelle.

Duke Kalas had feared that St. Rontlemore might be using Olin’s absence to gain a stronger foothold in Entel, but if that was in any way the case, then the welcome for King Aydrian did not show it! Thousands turned out, the whole city it seemed, waving red kerchiefs, as had become the custom for greeting the young king, and all the state flags flying over the main houses of power, the lords’ mansions, St. Bondabruce, and St. Rontlemore, were the newer version, the bear and tiger rampant, facing off over the evergreen symbol of the Church.

“St. Rontlemore has shown great wisdom in this,” De’Unnero remarked when he noted that banner over the ancient abbey.

“Because Duke Kalas has so completely cut them off from St.-Mere-Abelle,” Aydrian replied. “Their mother abbey has deserted them, as far as they can tell.”

“I do not trust in their loyalty,” Duke Kalas admitted. “The brothers of St. Rontlemore might be pragmatic more than wise, and if that is so, they likely hold the old flag of the Ursal line ready to hoist should the situation change.”

“We need not worry over that once St.-Mere-Abelle has fallen,” Aydrian remarked, and he looked to De’Unnero, who nodded his agreement and couldn’t hide just a bit of a grin.

“I have long sent word to Duke Bretherford in the south,” Duke Kalas said. “I expect that Abbot Olin will be here to greet us, or that he will soon arrive.”

“Not soon enough, if he is not already here,” said De’Unnero. “We have left a
dangerous foe behind us in St.-Mere-Abelle, and with spring fast warming the winter trails, Prince Midalis might not be far behind.”

“Palmaris is well defended, as is Ursal,” Duke Kalas strongly replied, as if he had taken the words as an affront.

“Nothing would please me more than to hear that Midalis and St.-Mere-Abelle were both now attacking Palmaris,” said Aydrian. “Let them play their hands.”

“Midalis will not be without support, wherever he arrives,” warned De’Unnero.

“Wherever that may be, I will crush him,” Aydrian assured the man. Aydrian didn’t miss Duke Kalas’ slight grimace at that remark; he understood the duke’s reluctance. Prince Midalis had been his friend for a long time, after all, and the brother of the man who had been Kalas’ dearest companion for many years. But it did not matter, Aydrian knew. Duke Kalas would not flee his side when Midalis arrived.

“And the sooner we are rid of him, the sooner I can secure the kingdom in total and turn my attention toward helping Abbot Olin finish off the Behrenese,” Aydrian went on. “Then where, I wonder? To To-gai in the far southwest? To the cold lands of Alpinador?”

He stopped as they pulled their horses up in front of the great iron gates of the fence surrounding St. Bondabruce. They were warmly welcomed by a host of eager brothers and led into the main audience chamber of Abbot Olin. It was a vast and airy space, not as cavernous as the audience halls of Castle Ursal perhaps, but actually more so than the tighter quarters of St.-Mere-Abelle, with its huddled architecture keeping it warm from the cold Mirianic winds. St.-Mere-Abelle was many times the size of St. Bondabruce, and held more than ten times the number of brothers. The treasures of the mother abbey were priceless, with gold-trimmed tapestries and ornamental chalices and artifacts from every age of the Abellican Church, and many more that even predated the old religion! In terms of wealth, gemstone cache, library, and artworks, St. Bondabruce did not come close to comparing to St.-Mere-Abelle, nor did the Entel abbey have any of the more spectacular architectural items, like the ornate stained-glass window that looked out on All Saints Bay from the main keep in great St.-Mere-Abelle. But with the more hospitable southern climate, St. Bondabruce did not need the low ceilings of its northern sister abbey, so the place was anchored by soaring minarets. The ceiling in this audience chamber was no less than fifty feet high, all painted in the bright colors and designs more typical of Behren than Honce-the-Bear.

The furnishings also showed great Behrenese influence, with rich, brightly colored fabrics and airy net weaves across the wide backs of chairs. Abbot Olin had done much to influence that, they all understood, and seeing the place again only reminded Aydrian of how fully he had put Olin out of the way by sending him to his favored haunts in the south.

“King Aydrian,” greeted an older, neatly trimmed man, moving out quickly from a side door in the audience hall. He rushed up before Aydrian, dipped a deep and polite bow, and motioned for the young king to take the abbot’s throne seat
as his own.

“Greetings, Master Mackaront,” Aydrian replied, recognizing the man from their journeys to the southern waters, when De’Unnero and Aydrian had secured the services of the pirate, Maisha Darou, and his fleet. “Pray you go tell your Abbot Olin that we have arrived, and that time is of the essence.”

Mackaront shifted somewhat nervously, a movement that none of the four visitors missed. “Abbot Olin remains in Jacintha,” the man explained. “The situation there is quite fluid, and he feared that leaving now could be detrimental to our purposes.”

Aydrian studied the man carefully, then nodded and did sit down upon Olin’s own chair. “Quite fluid?”

Mackaront glanced around and cleared his throat. “I assure you, King Aydrian, that Behren is secured,” he began, trying to appear more confident than he sounded. “At least, the newer kingdom of Behren is now secure under the control of Yatol Mado Wadon, who is no more than the public voice of Abbot Olin. The tumult within Behren is as you believed, and Abbot Olin found his services required—at any price.”

“But …” Aydrian prompted, for the words of victory hardly matched the man’s nervous demeanor.

“In Behren’s war with To-gai, concessions were made,” Master Mackaront explained. “The city of Dharyan was given over to Brynn Dharielle and the To-gai-ru, and we have found a difficult time in … in getting it back.”

Aydrian paused for a moment, then laughed aloud. “Abbot Olin has done battle with Brynn?”

“Through his emissary, Yatol De Hamman, yes.”

Aydrian laughed again.

“Yatol De Hamman’s march through the kingdom was a complete success,” the stammering Mackaront added, obviously confused by the laughter. “Every city fell to Jacintha. Concerning the new incarnation of Behren, your dreams have been all but realized, and will be soon, I do not doubt, as Abbot Olin increases his hold over the populace. But the army is weary of battle, and has great fear of Brynn Dharielle, the Dragon of To-gai. Thus, I was sent back to Entel, to find audience with you and bid you to spare more soldiers for Abbot Olin.”

“The force I have already given to him is considerable,” Aydrian countered.

“But much of it involves the fleet, and that will be of little use inland against Dharyan-Dharielle,” Master Mackaront explained. “Abbot Olin believes that with another five thousand Kingsmen, he can seize Dharyan-Dharielle within three weeks and complete the reunification of Behren.”

“And then press on?” Aydrian asked.

“If Dharyan is recovered, the To-gai-ru will have little resistance to offer,” Master Mackaront said hopefully. “If you were to send ten thousand instead of five, Abbot Olin could sweep all resistance from the steppes before the turn of the year! Such a victory, led by men of Honce-the-Bear, would also strengthen Abbot Olin’s
position in Jacintha. He could quickly make Yatol Mado Wadon fully irrelevant, and all the lands south of the Belt-and-Buckle would be yours.”

“Hmm,” the young king mused, dropping his chin into his hand. “There remains only one problem then.”

“My King?”

“The fact that I specifically instructed Abbot Olin not to go against Brynn Dharielle,” said Aydrian, his voice suddenly turning angry.

“The battle was inadvertent,” Master Mackaront backpedaled. “An error in judgment by Yatol De Hamman, whose head was doubtlessly filled with images of greater glory. But now that the fight has begun …”

“Abbot Olin will stop it, and with his sincere apologies,” Aydrian told him.

“We can defeat her, my King,” Master Mackaront assured.

“Is there something deficient in your hearing, master?” De’Unnero sternly interjected.

Aydrian waved the fiery monk off. “Please speak openly, master,” he bade.

Master Mackaront cleared his throat again. “The city nearly fell to De Hamman, and that despite the surprise return of the dragon and a second horde of To-gai-ru warriors,” he explained. “They are besieged within the city now, with nowhere to run. Never will we see so great an opportunity as this one at hand. On the open desert or open steppes, the Dragon of To-gai is a far more formidable foe.”

“Is this Dragon of To-gai a woman, or is it a beast?” De’Unnero asked.

“It is both,” Mackaront explained. “The woman, Brynn Dharielle, is called the Dragon of To-gai because of the great beast she controls.”

“A dragon?” Sadye put in. “A
real
dragon?”

“Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would not disagree with your obvious doubt,” Master Mackaront replied. “A real dragon indeed, huge and terrible. But the warriors of Behren have done battle with it for years now, and they know how to beat it. Aided by the magic of the Abellican brothers, they will bring the beast down.”

“There remains only one problem then,” Aydrian reiterated, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Yes, my King,” the master of St. Bondabruce agreed, and he lowered his eyes.

“Abbot Olin is not to battle Brynn,” Aydrian declared. “Not now. Not if all the southland was handed to me in a victory chalice. I do not wish to war with Brynn. I have other plans for her.”

That brought curious stares from the others in the room, Aydrian noted, particularly from Sadye, who seemed less than pleased. She was particularly irked by his familiar tone regarding Brynn, he realized, and he had to fight hard to keep his grin hidden.

“Abbot Olin has all the forces that can be spared at this time,” Aydrian said flatly to Master Mackaront. “The season grows warmer and our dangerous foe to the north will likely march. And there remains the issue of St.-Mere-Abelle—you and your abbot do remember that place, do you not?” Aydrian looked at De’Unnero
as he finished, though, and not at Mackaront, and he was pleased to see the eager glow in the monk’s eyes—and in those of Duke Kalas, as well.