Authors: R.A. Salvatore
“St. Gwendolyn is undefended,” Juraviel explained. “It is practically deserted, for though Marcalo De’Unnero is working hard to fill the void of Abellican monks, most of whom will not go over to Aydrian’s side, he has few at his disposal, and most of those travel with the armies, training in the gemstone magic as they go.”
“Why would any go over with the dog De’Unnero?” Pony asked, her voice gravelly and angry at the mere mention of the man.
“Aydrian’s soldiers have set the appearance of defense along the coastal regions about St. Gwendolyn,” Juraviel went on. “But the appearance only, for the fortifications are truly undefended. Also, they have altered the two guiding light towers along the rocks near to the abbey, hoping to scuttle any approaching ships on the rocks, no doubt. But some of my people will be there with torches, to guide your landing correctly.”
“Your value to my cause cannot be overestimated, good Juraviel,” Prince Midalis remarked. “This information and guidance gives me hope.”
“Retake St. Gwendolyn in five days’ time, and we will meet again there,” the elf finished. “I hope then to have news of Brynn’s breakout from Dharyan-Dharielle and her march to Jacintha, and we can coordinate the next movement.”
“First Pireth Tulme will fall,” said Prince Midalis. “But St. Gwendolyn it will be, in five days.”
Juraviel rose immediately and bowed. “I am off, then, back to Brynn Dharielle,” he explained. “Go with speed and go with strength, Prince Midalis. The hopes of more than your people rest upon your able shoulders.” With another bow, the elf lifted his hand, the shining emerald in his palm, and in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.
Pony felt the sudden tension within Prince Midalis, an eagerness to be done with all of this. She put her hand on the man’s shoulder. “Patience,” she counseled. “Patience.”
“Y
our agent is quite effective,” Lozan Duk told Brynn. “Whatever Pechter Dan Turk has said to Yatol De Hamman has had an immediate effect. Those who already departed the Behrenese force have moved farther back—beyond half a day’s march already. And more have left the Behrenese line, moving to the original position taken by those first departed.”
“What of the Abellicans?” Brynn asked. “And the dragon-hunter ballistae?”
“Still in position, except that the leader of the Abellican contingent has long flown—for Jacintha, I would guess.”
Brynn mulled over the report. She knew exactly what Pechter Dan Turk had done, for she had coached him in full before sending him out of Dharyan-Dharielle. The agent had told De Hamman that the To-gai-ru would not relax their guard with those supposedly departed warriors close enough to return quickly. He had told De Hamman that if the defenders of Dharyan-Dharielle came to fear that the Behrenese were merely buying time to reinforce their lines, they would come forth with all their strength. In effect, Pechter Dan Turk had merely told Yatol De Hamman the truth, but he had done so with the misleading representation that the To-gai-ru fears could be minimized to the point of inaction.
So Yatol De Hamman had stretched his line, but he had erred, Brynn believed, for he had moved a significant part of his force beyond the range of immediate reinforcement. Whereas before, the Behrenese could have held strong against the attempted breakout from Dharyan-Dharielle with the comfort of knowing that support was well on the way, now those still encircling the city would understand that they would have to win out against the fury of Brynn unleashed.
But she would have to strike fast, Brynn knew, to take advantage fully of the situation, and so she was quite relieved later that same day when Belli’mar Juraviel returned from Honce-the-Bear, bearing with him the good news that her allies opposing Aydrian in the north were making some gains and bearing, too, the emerald that would allow her attack to become more swift and more deadly.
That same night, the sun barely gone behind the plateau divide, the first stars coming to life above, Belli’mar Juraviel began the magical transport. He took Pagonel out first, depositing the mystic alongside a group of Doc’alfar behind the lines of De Hamman’s main force and near to the tents that housed the Abellican monks. Next came Agradeleous, to join Pagonel and the Doc’alfar infiltrators.
Juraviel made three dozen trips, before sheer exhaustion from magic use forced him to relent. He did manage to join up with Pagonel, the dragon, and his Doc’alfar kin, though, wanting to be in on the most important assault of the night. He remained with the mystic and the dragon while the Doc’alfar set off, quieting the various sentries scattered about the encampment.
Just before dawn, the southern and eastern gates of Dharyan-Dharielle flew wide, and out came the charge of the To-gai-ru, led by Brynn on the east and Tanalk Grenk on the south. At that same moment, Pagonel, Juraviel, and several of Cazzira’s kin burst into a tent of Abellicans, cutting them down even as they tried to scramble out of their beds. It pained Pagonel to be a part of that type of
assault, for they were in no position to take prisoners. He tried to hold back his strikes so that they would incapacitate rather than kill, but still, before the group rushed back out, four of the five monks were dead, and the other’s hold on life was tenuous at best.
In the tent to the side, Agradeleous was even less discriminating. The dragon tossed aside the lone guard at the tent flap, hurling the poor man a full thirty feet. Then the dragon tore through and leaped upon the startled, and still half-asleep, Abellicans. Agradeleous wasn’t in his great dragon form, but even in his humanoid, lizardman form, his power proved overwhelming. A single swipe of his arm across one monk shattered half the bones in the man’s chest, a kick with one scaly leg disemboweled a second.
The dragon emerged even as Pagonel, Juraviel, and the others were coming forth, to the sound of blowing horns and the mad scramble of the encampment coming to life and running to defensive positions.
Pagonel surveyed the scene and noted the efficiency of the more professional soldiers, particularly the men of Honce-the-Bear. But this force was as much comprised of impressed peasants as trained soldiers, and those frightened peasants surely got in the way of the preparations.
And the two fierce regiments of To-gai-ru came on straight and fast.
“I take to the air!” Agradeleous declared, and there came the popping of bone and the ripping of scaly skin as the dragon reshaped into its natural, beastly form.
Only then, with the spectacle of the dragon rising behind them, did the Behrenese seem to realize that they had been infiltrated from behind. Screams and shouts went all through the ranks, many calling for the turning of the ballistae. Desperate pleas to destroy the dragon echoed through the still-dim morning.
But those ballistae crews did not respond, for the Doc’alfar had slipped in among them, working with deadly precision. Wooden staves and spears made whistling sounds as they whipped through the air, before landing hard upon defenseless artillerymen, laying them low.
The To-gai riders crashed through the forward lines with little resistance, cutting down with impunity the Behrenese, most of whom seemed more concerned with fleeing than with fighting. Brynn’s group did come to a stall, though, as they were met by two squares of Bearmen, shields locked and spears leveled.
But then Agradeleous flew past, fiery breath strafing the confused Bearmen, immolating the central ranks and defeating the integrity of the formation.
Still the ballistae didn’t let fly at the great wurm, despite the cries and despite the attempts at reinforcing the crews.
For the Doc’alfar were still there, hiding, slipping out and killing any who neared the devastating war engines.
Agradeleous flew without fear, brushing aside the few arrows that reached up for him and returning every shot with a gout of flame or a slashing claw as he flew past.
A
stride Runtly, Brynn moved to a high vantage point as the sun crested the eastern horizon. Pechter Dan Turk had done his job very well, she realized, for the Behrenese had been caught completely by surprise. Without any answer to the dragon, or this force of assassins that had somehow landed strategically behind them, and with their Bearman allies torn apart, all semblance of a defensive stance had flown. The Behrenese were scattering to the desert sands.
Down the eastern road, a second force approached swiftly, but those too soon turned and scattered, for they found themselves unexpectedly outnumbered, and by To-gai-ru warriors, as fierce and mighty as any in the world. And worse, the approaching Behrenese saw the dragon, the mighty beast of To-gai, flying free with no countermeasures leaping up to stop him.
Pagonel joined Brynn on that higher ground soon after, escorting a tearful Pechter Dan Turk and an outraged and bound Yatol De Hamman.
“Treachery!” the Yatol screamed at Brynn. “We declared a truce!”
“You assumed the posture of a truce, but only so that you could purchase the time to strengthen your line for the assault on Dharyan-Dharielle,” Brynn calmly corrected.
“You have no evidence of this!”
“I need none, beyond what my scouts and my sensibilities have shown to me.”
“Prepare for war, Brynn Dharielle,” the outraged Yatol fumed. “For you have brought this on!”
Brynn slid down from Runtly and moved to stand right before the man, locking stares with him and not blinking at all. “You brought this on, as the lackey of Abbot Olin of Honce-the-Bear,” she said evenly. “Feign innocence as you will, but I know the truth of it.” She moved even closer, so that there could be no misunderstanding, so that Yatol De Hamman could feel her hot breath on his face. “Know that To-gai is free, and that Dharyan-Dharielle is mine. I will defend my people, even if I have to kill every Behrenese man, woman, and child. Even if I have to loose the power of Agradeleous upon a defenseless Behrenese village. You should have learned the lessons of the last war, Yatol De Hamman.” She looked out over the field as the sunlight grew, drawing the man’s gaze with her own.
To row after row of Behrenese dead and wounded. To the buzzards, already landing on the hard sands, awaiting their morning feast.
She turned back to regard De Hamman, and saw that the man seemed suddenly broken, the fight torn from him by the realization of his horrific defeat. “Abbot Olin sends you to conquer To-gai even as he strengthens his hold over Behren,” she explained.
“You fought beside him against Yatol Bardoh!” the man protested.
“I fought against the dog Bardoh, in support of Yatol Mado Wadon,” Brynn corrected. “Had I been offered the honest choice of Bardoh or Abbot Olin, I would have turned my power against Honce-the-Bear that day in Jacintha, do not doubt.”
“Abbot Olin is friend to …”
“To King Aydrian, and not to Behren, and you know the truth of it,” Brynn
argued.
Yatol De Hamman gazed out to the east, to the flight of his remaining force. There was neither organization nor defensive posture driving them, just sheer terror, and that seemed quite fitting to him at that terrible moment.
“Behren will fall to chaos,” he lamented. “Without strength from Jacintha, the tribes will revert to rivalry and warfare.”
“Better to that than to the Abellicans and their imperialistic king,” Brynn added.
She motioned to Pagonel, who pulled the defeated Yatol away, leading him to the other prisoners being assembled on the field. As soon as they were gone, Brynn offered a sympathetic look to poor, torn Pechter Dan Turk.
“You have chosen wisely,” she assured the man. “For the good of your people, ultimately. I know that you do not see that at present, not with so many of your countrymen lying dead—”
She stopped as the man leaped aside suddenly, his hand coming out from under his cloak, revealing a long and slender dagger.
“Free them!” Pechter Dan Turk yelled at her.
Brynn went into a defensive stance immediately, shaking her head, pleading with the man not to force her to use her sword.
Pechter Dan Turk did not advance, however. “Free them,” he said again, quietly this time. “On your word.”
Brynn stood straighter, lowering her blade, fully confused.
Pechter Dan Turk gave a resigned little shrug. Then he plunged the dagger into his own chest and stumbled backward.
Brynn ran to him and grabbed him by the arm, trying to ease his fall to the sand. She started to cry out for some assistance, but recognized at once the futility of that course. She hugged the man’s head close to her own, and whispered her promise that Behren would be free. She wasn’t sure if Pechter Dan Turk heard her, though, for when she moved back, the life had flown from his vacant eyes.
Brynn put aside her own tears with a deep breath. She laid the man down gently, then moved to Runtly and leaped astride.
The day was young; the march to Jacintha had only just begun.
A
s soon as the morning light revealed the size of the force arrayed against them, the unfortunate soldiers stationed at Pireth Tulme threw down their arms and surrendered the fortress.
Exacting only the promise that they would not take up arms against him, Prince Midalis put them on the road and set them free. Then the great fleet pillaged Pireth Tulme fully, filling their holds with foodstuffs, weapons, and armor. They were gone before the sun had reached its midpoint, sailing fast on the tailing winds of the departing storm, around the tip and down the eastern coast of Honce-the-Bear.
The weather held favorably, and three days later, the fifth day after Belli’mar Juraviel’s departure for the southland, they approached the coast just to the north
of St. Gwendolyn Abbey. As Juraviel had promised, torches waving on the bank guided them in under the cover of night, and soon enough, the army of Vanguard and Alpinador was ashore once more, forming up and marching at once to the west, off the beach, then to the south.
Unlike at Pireth Tulme, the soldiers and monks who had been left in control of St. Gwendolyn tried to resist the approach of the prince and his army. They had little to offer in the way of defense, though, especially since repairs on much of the destruction Duke Kalas had wrought upon the battered old abbey had not yet even begun.