DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (285 page)

The man assumed a pensive pose, then, as if she had caught him off his guard.

“Good lady,” he called up a few moments later, “are not the gates of Dharyan-Dharielle open to Behrenese and To-gai-ru alike? By agreement and by word, is your city not an open city?”

“It is.”

A wide smile erupted under that great moustache. “Then we bid you throw wide your gates and allow us admittance. We would rest and resupply, and commence the revelry of our great victory with our allies, the To-gai-ru!”

Brynn turned to Pagonel. “Well,” she said, “there is a twist. The aggressor wishes the gates thrown wide.”

“It would be far easier for Yatol De Hamman to send word to Jacintha that Behren’s old border has been restored if he did not have to fight his way over your
strengthened wall,” Pagonel replied.

“Then you believe that De Hamman has paid us this visit for more than a courtesy call?”

Pagonel looked back over the southern sands to the great assembled force. “If Behren is truly secured and his intentions are as his courier has stated, then why would he come here with ten thousand warriors? Dharyan-Dharielle could not resupply them all in any short order, and Yatol De Hamman knows that. Nor is Dharyan-Dharielle a considerably easier march from Avrou Eesa than Jacintha itself. He has crossed a huge expanse of open desert to come to pay you a visit, my friend.”

“Whereas his march back to Jacintha from Avrou Eesa would have been along a defined road, lined by oases,” Brynn finished the reasoning.

“So will you open wide your gates?”

“As soon as I have finished opening the horse corral for the wolf pack,” a determined Brynn replied, and she looked back out at the courier. “We have not the facilities for so large a force,” she called. “Our stables alone would be overwhelmed. Nor do we have sufficient supplies on hand to carry such a force all the way to Jacintha. Twoscore at a time, you may enter and resupply.”

The man hesitated. “My master, Yatol De Hamman wishes to be done here more quickly than that, I fear,” he called. “He bids that you throw wide your gates, as per your agreement with Yatol Mado Wadon upon the treaty between our countries that ceded Dharyan into your province. We will not tarry long about your fair city, Dragon of To-gai. We have horses needing shoeing and waterskins for dipping.”

“Indeed,” Brynn replied. “And so you shall have your needs fulfilled—twoscore at a time.”

“But my master—”

“Those are the terms, courier.”

“There is a treaty here to be considered.”

“And so I have,” Brynn replied, her voice strong and firm. “Twoscore at a time.”

The courier started to respond, but apparently thought the better of it. He motioned to his men and they wheeled their horses about and went galloping back to the Behrenese line.

Brynn looked to Pagonel and the mystic nodded his approval. Then she looked past him, to one of her guard commanders, and said quietly, “Muster all the warriors, but keep them below the wall top. Send the signalers to the towers.”

“What word shall they send?”

“None as yet,” Brynn explained. “Tanalk Grenk and his warriors are not far, nor is Agradeleous. If we need them, they will come with all speed.” The commander nodded and hustled away.

“Yatol De Hamman will waste no time,” Pagonel remarked a few moments later, when the couriers were almost back to the distant Behrenese line.

“You believe he will dare to attack?”

“Or encircle,” the mystic replied. “Yatol De Hamman would not take this initiative
on his own—particularly not with soldiers of Honce-the-Bear among his ranks. He comes here under orders from Yatol Wadon.”

“And Abbot Olin.”

“Likely,” the mystic agreed.

“But to what end? Does Abbot Olin act so boldly as to begin a war with To-gai before Behren is even properly secured? Were we not declared as allies only a few weeks ago in Yatol Mado Wadon’s own palace?”

“We do not know if our fears are correct,” Pagonel replied. “Perhaps this is, as the courier said, an honest visit.”

Even as he spoke, though, the distant forces began to stir, moving left and right with practiced precision, widening the line as if preparing a charge.

“Perhaps the leaders of Jacintha now wish to test you for themselves. I hold no doubt that Abbot Olin’s designs are imperialistic, and if that is the case, he surely desires this city returned to Behren.”

“We held off the Behrenese once before,” came a determined reply, but the woman’s gritty resolve seemed less apparent when she turned to face the knowing Pagonel once more.

“The fall of Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan precipitated the Behrenese retreat more than any victory won here,” Pagonel said quietly. “How long would you have held off Yatol Tohen Bardoh if Jacintha had not recalled her forces?”

“True enough,” Brynn admitted. “And now they are reinforced by gemstone-wielding Abellicans and the armored warriors of the northland.” She paused a moment to reflect. “I trusted Yatol Wadon. Was that my error?”

“You could not have foreseen the insinuation of Abbot Olin’s designs,” Pagonel said to her.

From the center of the Behrenese line came forth another group of riders, this one centered by the familiar figure of Yatol De Hamman.

“Brynn Dharielle!” he called when he neared the gate. “What folly is this? Was our cause not one and the same when you ventured to Jacintha to aid in the struggle against Tohen Bardoh and the dog Peridan? Was it not your own fine sword that took the head of the hated Bardoh?”

“Indeed, Yatol, it was, and we were allied as you say,” Brynn replied. “And so I am perplexed to see an army of Yatol Wadon’s Jacintha assembled before the gates of my city.”

She started to go on, but Pagonel nudged her. “Not publicly,” he whispered.

Brynn looked back to De Hamman and motioned for him to wait, then she and Pagonel moved down the tower’s staircase and out the small door set beside the city’s great gate.

The mystic noted that De Hamman did not dismount as he and Brynn approached.

“You understand that we are friends, do you not?” De Hamman asked from his seat on high. “Despite our differences in Avrou Eesa, the name of Brynn Dharielle is not known as an enemy to Yatol Wadon’s Behren.”

“And how is it known to Abbot Olin’s Behren?” Brynn replied, and Pagonel nudged her again.

“Your present kingdom is confusing to us, Yatol,” Pagonel quickly added to quell the mounting antagonism. “You have struck so quickly and decisively that we are still trying to discern the source of such momentum.”

“We wish Behren restored—is that any surprise to you, Jhesta Tu?” the Yatol replied, and he turned a rather angry look over Brynn. “Abbot Olin has aided us in that cause as an ally, as we believed that Brynn and To-gai were our allies.”

“And so we were, and so we are, if your goal is to restore your kingdom to a peaceful state under the rule of Chezru,” said Brynn.

“It is.”

“Then the peace between our peoples holds fast.”

“I shall instruct my commanders to bring in their weary soldiers,” the Yatol replied with a forced grin.

“Twoscore at a time.”

De Hamman’s expression turned sour in an instant. “That was never in the agreement that secured Dharyan for Brynn,” he reminded.

“That agreement was for open commerce and the admittance of scholars seeking the tomes of the library. I do not extend it to include an invitation for an army to enter the walls of my city.”

“Even a friendly army?”

“No army that is not under the control of To-gai will enter.”

“Dissolve the treaty at your peril, Dragon of To-gai,” the Yatol warned. “We have come as friends—”

“Then dismiss the bulk of your forces,” Brynn cut in. “Send them along the road to Jacintha and their homes, and you and your remaining commanders may enter, as friends. I am not dissolving the treaty, but neither am I willing to allow a foreign army entry. No more so than Yatol Mado Wadon would allow me to march ten thousand To-gai-ru riders into Jacintha, whatever pretense we placed upon our visit.”

“A foreign army,” Yatol De Hamman echoed. “There are many who would not consider a Behrenese army foreign to the city of Dharyan.”

“And so it would not be,” the warrior woman replied, hardly backing down. “But Dharyan-Dharielle is not Dharyan, nor is it Behrenese. This city is To-gai, by the agreement of Yatol Mado Wadon himself.”

“An agreement forged under duress, perhaps?”

“One that he has no choice but to honor, whatever the circumstances of its inception.”

“Choice,” said De Hamman, and he turned about and looked along his great line of warriors. “A curious word.” He swung back to stare hard at Brynn. “And our two kingdoms stand on a steep precipice, one whose outcome will be decided by the choices of their leaders. A precipice as sharp as the plateau divide that separates Behren and To-gai—and do note, Dragon of To-gai, upon which side of that
dividing line Dharyan resides.”

He sat up tall and crossed his hands over the horn of his saddle, assuming a posture of complete confidence as he finished, “Choose wisely.”

“I already have.”

Pagonel silently congratulated Brynn’s decisions, and the way she had handled the obstinate De Hamman. The man had gone from a pitiful and whining victim only a few short weeks ago, when Yatol Peridan had chased him all the way to Jacintha, to an overconfident warlord, sweeping across the desert sands.

He was dangerous now, the mystic understood, because De Hamman surely recognized that this battle looming before him, should he choose the course of battle, would be the most difficult by far since the fall of Peridan and Tohen Bar-doh. Had he already acquired enough hubris to actually make the attempt?

Or was he looking for an easier way to claim victory?

The mystic’s reasoning had his eyes darting about, scrutinizing all of De Hamman’s escorts, and so he was not surprised a moment later when De Hamman signaled for them to retreat back to their line and one man lifted the edge of a blanket set across the front of his saddle.

Purely on instinct, Pagonel snapped his right hand out against Brynn’s shoulder, knocking the surprised woman sidelong to the sand. Along with her grunt of protest, the mystic heard the click of a crossbow—a distinctly Honce-the-Bear, Abellican weapon!—and then felt a sudden and nasty burn in his forearm.

Hardly pausing to consider the wound, Pagonel rushed forward and leaped up, his flashing leg knifing by the horse, which was rearing and protesting as the assailant tugged at its reins. The mystic’s foot caught the would-be assassin in the gut, throwing him back and to the ground.

Yatol De Hamman kicked his horse into a swift retreat, shouting, “Attack! Attack! I am under attack!” Several of his entourage turned and charged away with him, but a trio of others came on at Pagonel and Brynn.

Brynn picked herself off the ground and drew out Flamedancer in one swift movement, lighting its fiery blade right in the face of a charging horse. The beast reared and Brynn rolled around to the side, using the horse as a shield against a second attacker.

With both hands tugging hard on the reins of the frightened horse, the rider initially offered no defense against Brynn as she came spinning around. He did manage to bring his sword out wide in an attempted parry, but Brynn slapped it away and stabbed him hard in the side. He lurched and screamed and his horse leaped away, clearing the path between Brynn and the second rider, who lifted his spear to throw.

P
agonel landed easily from his strike and leaped again, taking the vacated seat. He expertly pulled the horse around to meet the charge of one rider, a lowered spear coming in hard for him. A slight twist and lift had that spear going under Pagonel’s arm as the rider thundered by, and the mystic dropped his arm over the
weapon, locking it in place, and held on with the concentration only a Jhesta Tu could accomplish.

The rider improvised, bringing his second arm over, swinging a heavy morning star for Pagonel’s head. But the Jhesta Tu ducked the awkward assault easily and countered with three short and heavy punches. Then Pagonel spun his horse the other way and tugged fiercely on the trapped spear, and the Behrenese rider slipped from his saddle as his horse ran off. He held on stubbornly for a moment, hanging in the air off the side of Pagonel’s mount, until the mystic simply released the spear, dropping him to the sand.

To his credit, the Behrenese soldier deftly rolled with the fall, coming around and over to his feet. To his misfortune, Pagonel proved the quicker, sliding from his seat and halting and reversing his momentum as he landed, spinning a devastating circle kick just as the man tried to rise. Pagonel’s foot caught him in the side of the head and spun him over in nearly a complete somersault. He hit the ground hard and did not try to rise.

Pagonel turned his attention to the initial assailant, but the crossbowman was up and running, apparently wanting no part of the Jhesta Tu in open combat.

The mystic spun back to Brynn, who had assumed a defensive stance before a spearman poised to skewer her!

But then both Pagonel and Brynn winced and averted their eyes as a barrage of arrows overwhelmed the rider, a sudden rainstorm of death from the Dharyan-Dharielle wall. He got hit a dozen times, and was knocked right off the back of his wounded and frightened horse.

“Grab the horses!” Brynn instructed, and she went straight for the wounded one, grabbing it by the bridle and tugging straight down to steady the beast, while whispering calming words in its ear to quiet it. Behind her, Yatol De Hamman’s charge was on.

Before her, the horns of Dharyan-Dharielle began to blow, and the defenders lifted their great bows.

“A short-lived peace,” Brynn remarked, as she and Pagonel rushed through the gate.

The mystic merely sighed.

On came the Behrenese charge, the line closing fast. Back up on the wall, Brynn held the bulk of her forces in concealment, bringing them up little by little to the wall top, and keeping them crouched behind the shielding crenelations.

She looked up to the tower and motioned to the signalmen, who lifted great mirrors and put them into the sunlight, directing rays to the west and the plateau divide.