Mortalis (The DemonWars Saga #4) - Page 19

I hadn't thought we'd be seein' our home again so soon," Liam O'Blythe remarked to Prince Midalis as they trotted their mounts at the lead of a long column making its way through the muggy air of the Vanguard forest. They had gone north with Bruinhelde and his clan only to be met by barbarian scouts reporting that southern Alpinador was clear of monsters, that not a sign of any goblins or powries had been seen in many, many weeks. And so, with Bruinhelde's approval and a knowing wink and a nod from Andacanavar, the men of Vanguard had turned about, heading back to their homes to erase the scars of the demon war.

Andacanavar had come back to the south, as well, though he had taken a roundabout route and they hadn't seen him in a couple of days. With Midalis' blessing, the ranger had decided to haunt the region of Vanguard for the rest of the summer, to learn what he could about his southern neighbors in the hopes that he could further bridge the chasm between the two peoples. The ranger had also elicited from Midalis the Prince's promise that, when he returned home in the autumn, Midalis would accompany him.

There remained the not so little matter of the blood-brothering.

"Pireth Vanguard!" the point scout called back.

"Well, she is still standing, then," Midalis remarked. A few moments later, rounding a bend and cresting a rise in the trail, Liam and Midalis came in sight of the fortress, its towers stark against the heavy gray sky hanging over the Gulf of Corona behind it.

Before they entered the fortress, the pair noted that a trader was in port, but it wasn't until Midalis saw Warder Presso running toward him that he realized something unusual was going on. The battle-weary Prince was relieved indeed to learn the Warder's news, to learn that nothing sinister had happened in the days since their departure.

Still, a monk visiting from Palmaris, come to take Abbot Agronguerre back to St.-Mere-Abelle, was no small matter; and though he was tired and hot and dirty, Prince Midalis decided that he should go straight to St. Belfbur to meet the man. Liam, of course, willingly followed; and the two were joined by Captain Al'u'met, who was riding Warder Presso's own fine horse. On the trails to the abbey, Al'u'met told of the happenings in Palmaris yet again; and as they nodded, hanging on every word, both the Prince and his adviser came to understand why Midalis' brother, the King, had not responded to their request for soldiers.

"I had heard rumors that the Father Abbot had died," Midalis said when Al'u'met finished. "But never would I have believed that such turmoil and treacherous circumstance surrounded that tragic event."

"The kingdom will be long in recovering from the scars of the demon dactyl," Al'u'met said grimly. "Perhaps the Church will choose its next leader wisely, to the benefit of us all."

"Ye're seein' benefit in anythin' the Abellican Church's doin'?" Liam O'Blythe asked the dark-skinned southerner bluntly.

"I am Abellican," Al'u'met explained, "and have followed that path to God for many decades."

"I only meant-"

Al'u'met stopped him with a smile and an upraised hand.

"When will they convene the College of Abbots? " Midalis asked.

"I am bid to transport Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and any entourage the abbot chooses to bring, to St.-Mere-Abelle in the autumn," Al'u'met explained. "They will convene in Calember, as they did last time."

Midalis started to answer, but then paused and considered the words carefully. "This Brother Dellman," he asked, "who sent him? "

"Abbot Braumin of St. Precious."

"I do not know the man," Midalis replied, "nor have I ever heard Abbot Agronguerre mention him. He is young? "

"For an abbot, very much so," Al'u'met explained. "Abbot Braumin has earned his rank by deed, and not by mere age. He stood with Nightbird and Jilseponie, even under promise of torture by the Father Abbot. He would not renounce his beliefs, though his refusal seemed as if it would'surely cost him his life. Brother Dellman, too. A fine young man, by my estimation."

Al'u'met started to take the conversation that way, but Midalis would not let him, more concerned with the one thing that nagged at him, just below his consciousness, about this visit.

"Why have you come so early? " he asked plainly.

"It is a long voyage, and one unpredictable," Al'u'met explained. "The weather was not so foul, and yet we had to put in at Dancard for repair."

"You could still be in Palmaris dock," Midalis countered, and he noticed the concerned expression come over Liam's face, and realized then that he might be giving away his suspicions. "You could have waited out the rest of the month in the south and still have had more than enough time to come up here, fetch Agronguerre, and return to St.-Mere-Abelle."

"I could not chance the weather," Al'u'met answered, but Midalis saw right through that excuse. Every sailor along the gulf knew well that the late-spring weather was much more treacherous than that of late summer and early autumn. Not only had Al'u'met come up prematurely, but he had done so against the conventional wisdom of the gulf sailors.

What was it, then? Prince Midalis wondered. Why had this protege of the new abbot come running all the way to Vanguard with an invitation that could have been delivered by any one of the many traders that would venture here over the next month and a half? And certainly a man as prominent as Abbot Agronguerre would have had little trouble in finding his own passage south. Following that same line of thought, it struck Midalis that it made more sense for the abbot to use one of Midalis' ships, and not go south with Al'u'met, that he might return before the winter season set in deep.

Unless Abbot Braumin and his cohorts weren't expecting Agronguerre to return to Vanguard any time soon, Midalis reasoned; and it occurred to him then that this was much more than an invitation. He had a difficult time holding his smile in check all the rest of the way to St. Belfour.

They arrived late in the afternoon, and met immediately with Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and the ever-present Brother Haney. Dellman told his tale yet again, more quickly this time, since the Prince had already heard all ofAl'u'met's contributions. What most interested the Prince, and what he made Dellman repeat several times and elaborate on, were the parts concerning his brother's actions in the city.

Brother Dellman took care to paint King Danube in a positive light, and it was not a hard task for the young monk. He explained that Danube had wisely held back to allow Elbryan and Jilseponie to settle their war with Markwart. "He understood that this fight was about the soul of the Church more than any threat to his secular kingdom," Dellman explained. "It was the proper course for him to take."

Midalis nodded, not surprised, for ever had his older brother been wise in the ways of diplomacy; and one of the primary lessons they both had learned at a young age was never to engage the kingdom in a fight that did not directly involve them.

"His wisdom after the battle was no less," Brother Dellman went on, resisting the temptation to offer the glaring exception of Danube's choice for the new baron, installing the hostile Duke Kalas instead of a more diplomatic soul. "He begged Jilseponie to take the barony."

That raised Prince Midalis' dark eyebrows and those of Liam O'Blythe, as well. "If you knew the woman, you would better appreciate the correctness of that choice," Captain Al'u'met put in.

"Then I will have to make it a point to meet this most remarkable woman," Prince Midalis sincerely replied.

"You will not be disappointed," said Warder Presso, which caught all of the Vanguardsmen by surprise. "If she is the same woman, Jill, who served with me at Pireth Tuime many years ago, then you will be duly impressed."

"A pity that she'll not be at the College of Abbots," Agronguerre remarked.

"An invitation will surely be extended," said Dellman. "And just as certainly, Jilseponie will refuse. She has gone north, back into the Timberlands, to heal her heart. Better will all the world be if that process is successful and Jilseponie returns to us soon!"

His obvious enthusiasm and sincerity had all the heads bobbing in agreement, and had all of those who had not met the woman-including Warder Presso, who had not seen her in years-anxious indeed to gaze upon this growing legend.

They talked long into the night, informally, mostly trading anecdotes of their experiences during the war. Abbot Agronguerre excused himself from vespers, and allowed Brothers Haney and Dellman to do likewise, so that they could continue this most productive and enjoyable meeting. When finally they ended, past midnight, there had been forged an honest friendship between them all, and all the secular guests were invited to remain at the abbey for as long as they desired.

Still, Brother Dellman was surprised indeed when Prince Midalis bade him to hold back a moment while all the others filed out of the abbot's audience chamber.

"I find it curious that you have come up here so early," the Prince explained.

"We simply wanted to make sure that the message of the College of Abbots was properly delivered and in a timely enough manner for Abbot Agronguerre to make his preparations," Brother Dellman replied.

"That could have been done in an easier and more convenient manner," the Prince observed.

Brother Dellman shrugged, having no practical answer and not wanting to get into the discussion at that time.

"You are a good and trusted friend of the new abbot of St. Precious," Midalis observed.

"Abbot Braumin Herde," Dellman replied. "I traveled with him across the land, running from Markwart and running toward Avelyn. I was beside him at the miracle of Aida, and again beside him when he was taken captive by Markwart, and by the King's soldiers." "And now, with Markwart dead and discredited, the new abbot of St. Precious, your friend Braumin Herde, will have a strong voice at the College, yes?"

Brother Dellman considered the strange question for a moment, then just shrugged.

"The tide flows in his favor," the Prince observed. "He who was instrumental in the fall of Father Abbot Markwart, he who leads those of the other philosophy, Avelyn's philosophy, will certainly be heard clearly at the College of Abbots."

"If the other abbots and masters are wise, they will listen to Abbot Braumin's every word with great care," Brother Dellman remarked.

"And does Abbot Braumin intend to try for the highest position in the Church?"

That set Dellman back on his heels. "Forgive me, my Prince, but it is not within my province to discuss such matters."

"Of course," said Midalis. "Yet you said that he was a young man-too young to be so nominated and elected, I would guess, given my understanding of your Church."

"You know much of us," replied Dellman, who was growing increasingly uneasy with this whole train of conversation.

"But perhaps Abbot Braumin has set his sights toward nominating another for the position of father abbot," Prince Midalis said. "Perhaps he, like many others, no doubt, is seeking a person who will lead the Church in a better direction."

"That would be his charge, my Prince," Brother Dellman said, "as it is now the charge of every abbot and every master."

A wry smile came over the handsome young Prince's face. "And so, given that, would not this young abbot send out his most trusted friends to study those likely candidates? " he asked.

"Again you ask of me that which I cannot answer," Dellman replied, which, of course, was an answer in itself, and one that pleased Prince Midalis greatly.

"I will say this to you without any personal motives," Midalis offered. "If you and your friend the abbot are indeed thinking that Abbot Agronguerre might be a proper selection for that most important position within your Church, then know that I second that nomination with all of my heart. He is a wonderful man, a man of diplomacy-his work in quelling the trepidations of the Alpinadoran leaders in our recent truce was marvelous and generous-and, foremost, a man of God. I have never truly considered myself overreligious, good Brother Dellman, but when I hear Abbot Agronguerre speaking-and always his words come from the truth that is in his heart-I know that I am hearing the will of God."

"Strong words," Brother Dellman gasped, for they were indeed, words that would border on heresy if Midalis were speaking them with any intent of personal gain! And yet, in looking at the man, in considering the situation faced by both Church and State, Dellman understood that the Prince was speaking from his heart.

"If you are considering Abbot Agronguerre for nomination, then look as deeply as you may," Prince Midalis went on. "For surely, the more familiar you become with Abbot Agronguerre, the more firmly you will desire him as your new father abbot. This I know, Brother Dellman, for I have served beside the man for many years and have not once found error in his ways. Oh, I have not always agreed with his choices; but even for those over which we were at odds, I knew that his choice had come from a logical and consistent philosophy, one based on the highest and most noble traditions of your Church."

"I will consider your words carefully, Prince Midalis," Brother Dellman answered.

"Then you admit that you are here for more reasons than to deliver an invitation? " Midalis asked with that wry grin again.

Brother Dellman, too, couldn't help but smile. "Forgive me, my Prince," he answered yet again, "but it is not within my province to discuss such matters."

Midalis laughed aloud and clapped Dellman on the shoulder as he walked past, collecting the man in his wake.

Dellman retired to his room soon after, but was far too excited to even think about sleep. He paced his small room, digesting all that he had learned, thinking that Abbot Braumin had been wise indeed to send him to this place, and that the Abellican Church might soon elect the leader it needed to get through this dark time.

Abbot Agronguerre hustled down to the front courtyard of St. Belfour a couple of days later, when he learned that a most unexpected visitor had arrived, seeking audience with him and with Prince Midalis, who was still within the abbey. Along the way, the abbot managed to find Haney and Dellman, and bade them accompany him, though he didn't pause long enough to fill them in on the details.

As soon as they came in sight of the courtyard, the source of the abbot's nervous excitement became clear-in the nearly seven-foot frame of mighty Andacanavar.

"Greetings, friend Andacanavar," Agronguerre said, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. "Good tidings, I pray, bring you to us at this time. You remember Brother Haney, I am sure, and let me introduce to you a visitor from the south, Brother-"

"Holan Dellman," Andacanavar interrupted, and both Haney and Agronguerre looked curiously from the ranger to their southern brother. "Greetings again, Andacanavar ofAlpinador," Brother Dellman remarked, and Agronguerre detected a bit of nervousness along with the obvious familiarity.

"We have both walked a long road, it would seem, to come to the same place," the ranger said with a grin. But it seemed to Agronguerre as if Andacanavar, too, was straining to be polite. These two had a history, he realized, and one that had not been without conflict.

Indeed, Dellman and the ranger had met first spiritually, and not physically. Dellman had gone along with Master Jojonah, then Brother Francis and other brothers from St.-Mere-Abelle on their caravan journey to the Barbacan to investigate the demise of the demon dactyl. Their road had taken them through Alpinador, and after a fight with monsters outside of one Alpinadoran village, Brother Dellman, scouting out of body, had found that they were being shadowed by Andacanavar. Master Jojonah had then sent Brother Braumin out to the man spiritually with soul stone magic, to quietly suggest that he should turn around and go home. Failing that, Braumin had been instructed to possess the man and walk his body back to the southland.

But Andacanavar, stronger of will than the monks could ever have expected, had turned the tables, had walked through the spiritual connection to possess Braumin, and then had used the monk's physical body to go into the encampment and learn more about the brothers.

The two had come to terms over their misunderstanding, but still there remained some tension between them-and between the ranger and Braumin's supporters, who had seen their leader magically and spiritually overwhelmed by the man. The act of possession was among the most distasteful products of gemstone magic, a rape of the spirit; and two who had known such intimate battle as that would never, ever forget it.

"I had thought you to be back in Alpinador, with Bruinhelde," Abbot Agronguerre remarked.

"Bruinhelde is not back in Alpinador, either," the ranger explained, slowly turning his gaze away from Brother Dellman. "We found the road clear."

"We heard as much," replied Agronguerre. "My brethren returned to us several days ago, and glad we were to learn that Alpinador was spared the trials of the demon dactyl."

"We fought our share," Andacanavar informed him. "But good tidings indeed that the threat to our homeland had ended. And yet it was tidings of further war that brought us back to the south, soon after Prince Midalis and the others left us."

A shadow crossed over Abbot Agronguerre's chubby face.

"Prince Midalis is here, by the reports," the ranger remarked. "Take me to him that I have to tell my tale but once."

They found Midalis eating his breakfast on the flat top of the abbey's northwestern tower. Predictably, Liam O'Blythe was there as well; and it occurred to everyone there, Liam included, how similar the man and his relationship to Prince Midalis was to that of Brother Haney and his relationship to Abbot Agronguerre. Both had been born peasants, and through deed alone had risen to important, if little recognized, positions, for both were sounding boards for their respective leaders, confidants who first heard the policies the men would institute. Both were younger than the men they followed, proteges of sorts: one the likely successor as abbot of St. Belfour, the other already appointed an earl, and likely in line for the duchy of Vanguard.

Midalis seemed no less surprised by the ranger's appearance than Agronguerre had been. He wiped his mouth quickly and rose from the table, moving fast to greet the man away from the plates of half-eaten food, and subtly motioning for Liam to clear up the mess.

"Tidings of war, so says Andacanavar," Abbot Agronguerre said immediately. "And Bruinhelde and some of his warriors have returned, as well."

"Trouble?" Midalis asked the ranger.

"So says one of our scouts, who spoke with one of your own," the ranger informed him. "To the east of here, in a rough bay. A boat put in, a boat full ofpowries."

"Barrelboat," Midalis reasoned.

"Not so," Andacanavar replied. "A masted ship. They put in to the bay, but did not, it seems, know the waters well, for when the tide went out, their boat came down hard to the rocks and mud. So you have got powries again, my friend, and so we came down to join in the fun of being rid of the wretched bloody caps."

They rode out in force from St. Belfour soon after, Abbot Agronguerre in his coach leading the same twenty brothers who had just returned from Alpinador, plus Dellman and Haney. Beside them went Midalis, Liam, and Andacanavar. Their numbers swelled five times over when they crossed through the town of Vanguard and the fortress, where Warder Presso and Al'u'met came out to meet them, along with many of the Pireth Vanguard soldiers. After a brief meeting to try to determine the exact location of this bay, Al'u'met returned to the Saudi Jacintha and, after bringing aboard some more of Warder Presso's archers, put out, shadowing the marching army to the east.

With Bruinhelde and his warriors already in place in the east, and another two towns to cross through, where more volunteers would join, it seemed as if this would be one battle where the odds, at last, favored Midalis' side.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" Dalump Keedump roared at his crew, and the powries did just that, tugging the heavy lines, bringing the boat up the ramp an inch, and then pegging the crank to hold it in its new position. They had come in for repairs and supplies, and perhaps a bit of sport, but-curse their luck-the tide had dropped too low for the heavy boat, and had damaged the hull.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" the powrie boss cried again enthusiastically, for they were making progress now in getting the ship repaired and in getting themselves on the way home. Dalump had led a raid upon a nearby village, a few farmhouses clustered together, and though-to the dismay of all the fierce bloody caps-there were no humans about to slaughter, they tore down the walls of the buildings and found enough rope and other supplies to come back and complete their repairs. Now, with the front half of the boat clear of the water, the crack in her hull visible and seeming not too severe, Dalump figured they could be back out to sea with the next high tide.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" he cried again and again, the boat creaking out of the water more and more. "Yach, but we'll be back to our home in short order, lads, and then we'll turn about with another army to go and pay back the dog Kalas!"

And so it went, the growling, untiring powries bending their backs and pulling hard.

Midalis was not surprised to see them, for his scouts had reported that about three families of refugees were on the road. Still, the image of his people being uprooted yet again by monsters brought a fire into the young Prince. He'd see them back to their homes and give them a few powrie heads to stake about the grounds for decorations.

"Me Prince!" cried the man trotting beside the lead wagon, a sturdy farmer of about forty winters, and he ran forward and fell to one knee before Midalis.

"Have powries so chased you from your homes? " Midalis asked.

"And would've burned us in our homes, don't ye doubt, had not some o' his kin-" he indicated Andacanavar "-come to rouse us."

Midalis gave a resigned chuckle. "It would seem that I, and my people, are in Bruinhelde's debt yet again," he remarked to Andacanavar.

"Blood-brothering erases all debt," the ranger replied with a wink.

"Come, and let us be quick," Midalis said to his men, "before Bruinhelde and his men take all the fun from us." He turned back to the farmer. "You need run no farther," he explained. "I will leave some soldiers and brothers with you for your protection. Camp here and wait-and for not too long, I would guess-before we signal you that you may return to your homes."

"If there's anything left o' them," the man remarked.

"And if not, then we will help you to rebuild them!" Prince Midalis replied with enthusiasm.

They picked up their pace after that, quick-marching all the way out to the east, to the bay. The Prince, who knew well the region, decided to take a northerly route and approach the bay heading south, where they would come in sight of the place high on a wooded cliff, overlooking the water.

"I will find you there," Andacanavar promised; and the ranger ran off, seeking Bruinhelde and his kin so that the attack might be coordinated.

"There are the beasts, and what's left of the houses," Liam O'Blythe remarked when they got to the spot, to see the powries hard at work at their impromptu, but wonderfully constructed, dry dock.

"They are cunning fellows," Prince Midalis replied, and he looked up and noted that Brother Dellman, in particular, wore a surprised expression.

"You know of them? " he asked the young monk.

"It may be that we chased this same boat across the gulf," the brother explained.

"They are trying to get home," Abbot Agronguerre remarked.

"A pity for them," Midalis said grimly. There was no argument from the soldiers and the monks or from the Van^uardsmen who had suffered so terribly at the hands of the vicious bloody caps. "Set your archers all along the cliff," he instructed Warder Presso. "Tell them to pick their shots carefully and to wait for the signal." Midalis turned to Abbot Agronguerre. "I pray you do the same with your crossbowmen and any gemstone magic you wish to throw at our enemies. I doubt that you will be needing much energy with the soul stone when this battle is finished."

Abbot Agronguerre nodded his agreement with the tactic and the assessment. As far as they could see, the powries numbered less than a score, and Agronguerre doubted that any would even survive the first volley.

Andacanavar returned to them a few minutes later, explaining that Bruinhelde and his force were in position just to the southwest of the dry dock, in the trees at the western edge of the little bay's mouth, ready to strike.

Midalis looked to Liam, who ran off at once, assembling a force to complement the barbarians'.

"Bruinhelde has more than enough men to finish this task," Andacanavar assured the Prince. "When they break from the forest edge, rain your death upon the powries, and it will be finished."

"This is Vanguard," the Prince replied. "My men should be among the attacking force."

"We've not the time," the ranger explained, pointing down to the dry dock. "It seems that we've come upon our enemies at the last moment. They are preparing to leave, and Bruinhelde will not allow that!"

"Nor will Captain Al'u'met," Brother Dellman added, and all eyes turned his way, to see him smiling widely and looking out past the bay, to the open gulf. And there, around the western lip of the bay, they all saw the sails of the Saudi]acintha, as the boat glided to intercept the powries' craft.

Apparently, Bruinhelde and his kin spotted those sails as well, and, not knowing their intent, decided to make sure that those powries already landed found no reinforcements. Or, Midalis mused, perhaps the barbarian leader was just trying to make sure that he and his brethren did indeed find all the fun!

Whatever the case, the barbarian horde came crashing out of the brush, howling wildly, launching their chained hammers.

Prince Midalis leaped up and cried out, and down went the devastating volley, arrows and crossbow bolts and streaks of lightning.

Dalump Keedump recognized his doom clearly enough when the barbarian horde, a hundred strong at least, came roaring out of the forest, and that fear was only multiplied when death rained down upon his companions from above.

Fortunately for the powrie leader and a couple of his associates, they were tucked in close to the boat at that moment, with the bulky craft between them and the archers, and thus escaped the volley.

Dalump ordered his minions-those few still standing!-to meet the charge, but he held back the two beside him and motioned for one to go up on the ship with him and for the other to run forward and cut the line.

The powrie could only hope that his foolish soldiers would keep the barbarians busy long enough for him to get out into the bay.

"They're running!" Midalis cried as the powrie boat slid down the dry dock to splash into the water. The powrie who had cut the line ran wildly along the beach, trying to keep up, and when he found that he could not, he dove down in the sand and grabbed up the rope, getting pulled along.

Midalis' archers focused their next shots on that sliding dwarf, and when he hit the water, all around him turned crimson.

Bruinhelde, too, cried out against the escape, and he rushed around those few charging powries, letting his able companions cleave the dwarves down, while he ran full out down the beach.

Already the boat's square mainsail was filling with wind, but Bruinhelde's long stride got him close enough. He dove into the water and snatched the trailing rope, pulling himself along its length.

From up above, the archers and the monks focused their missiles and their magic at the deck of the boat, but no clear targets could they see. The craft, groaning and creaking, began its turn for the bay mouth.

"Al'u'met will get them," Midalis remarked. "Keep putting arrows across the deck," he instructed Liam.

"Hold them!" Agronguerre overruled the Prince. The abbot pointed down to the water, indicating Bruinhelde, working hard to get to the boat.

"Go for the sail, then!" Midalis commanded. "And keep your shots high!" * * *

Dalump Keedump kept his head low, cursing and spitting as yet another thunderous lightning bolt flashed overhead, ripping a line in one sail. But then the ship lurched as it came about, its sail filling with a strong breeze, rushing in diagonally from behind.

"Yach, catch us if ye can!" the powrie shouted, but his words died in his mouth when he looked forward and saw the SaudiJadntha closing fast, her deck crowded with archers.

"We got to quit," the other powrie said.

"And go back to a human jail? " Dalump answered, and he slapped his companion on the back of the head. "Yach, I'll go to the bottom o' the bay afore I'll sit in a smelly dungeon again!" With that, he tied off the wheel to keep her sailing straight and rushed forward, dragging his reluctant companion beside him, howling curses at the approaching ship.

"Come on then, ye dogs! I'll give ye a hit or ten!"

Bruinhelde tugged furiously, pulling his body closer and closer alongside the speeding craft. The rope was tied off in front, but the thought of following that course daunted the barbarian, for he'd surely drown in the prow waves before he ever dragged himself out of the water. Besides, the deck was low.

Bruinhelde wrapped one arm tightly about the rope, th