"You could have slaughtered them," Yatol De Hamman said to Brynn as they looked down into the windswept and sandy valley where a splinter of De Hamman's army was in full flight from the To-gai-ru forces who had circled about them and turned them back to the southwest. All around this northeastern side of the circular valley loomed the silhouettes of To- gai-ru horsemen, awaiting a signal from Brynn to sweep down upon the helpless Behrenese.
But that signal would not come.
"I have no desire to slaughter Behrenese, or Bearman, or any people,"
Brynn replied.
"Your attack upon my forces outside of Dharyan-Dharielle would indicate otherwise."
Brynn walked Runtly around to put her directly in front of the Yatol, who sat upon a yellow nag, a horse too old to run away even if De Hamman had had the courage to try such an escape.
"You and I both understand the truth of that situation," the woman said with unnerving calm. "My information about your intentions - to reinforce and overrun the city - was correct. Your inability to admit as much is your failing, Yatol De Hamman, and not mine."
Yatol De Hamman chewed his bottom lip and pointedly looked away - but he could not maintain that distant stare for long and kept glancing back at the imposing woman.
Brynn never took her eyes off him, and neither did she even blink.
Behind the Yatol and to the side, Pagonel cleared his throat. "I will take Agradeleous back to the skies to seek out any other groups intent on retreating to Jacintha," he said.
"Turn them," Brynn agreed. "None are to reinforce Abbot Olin's garrison."
Such had been the plan all during the week-long march out of Dharyan- Dharielle. Brynn and Pagonel had taken Agradeleous up scouting, and with the great dragon flying about with impunity, their advantage had proven tremendous. One by one, they had encountered the pockets of fleeing Behrenese, and one by one, they had turned the men from the eastern road, often scattering them to the desert sands, or driving them like cattle toward the nearest city or oasis. There had been only a trio of minor battles, routs for the To-gai-ru, and even in those, Brynn had quickly stayed her hand, minimizing the enemy losses. In fact, since the Behrenese retreat from Dharyan-Dharielle, the largest number of casualties among the defeated force's ranks had been in the accompanying force of Bearmen, many of whom had been turned upon by the outraged Behrenese and slaughtered in the sands.
"Do you believe that you can defeat Jacintha?" Yatol De Hamman dared to say.
"I believe that Jacintha will defeat herself - if she has not already done so."
Yatol De Hamman put on a quizzical look.
"You would surrender your country to Bang Aydrian?" Brynn continued. "You would surrender your heritage and your ways to the imperialist northmen?"
She could see from the man's expression that she had touched a nerve here. Yatol De Hamman understood the truth of Abbot Olin, Brynn believed.
"What gain, Yatol De Hamman?" she asked. "Or more to the point, what sustained gain?"
"What do you mean?"
"Yatol Mado Wadon's position becomes secured," Brynn reasoned. "He assumes the mantle of Chezru chieftain. That is what we all desired when Yakim Douan fell and our war ended at the gates of Dharyan-Dharielle."
"A goal that was realized!" the Yatol argued.
"Not so, because the title of Chezru chieftain became subordinated to the desires of Abbot Olin," said Brynn. "I know that you understand the truth of this, as surely as I know your true intent in overrunning Dharyan- Dharielle. So tell me, was the attack upon my city the order of Yatol Wadon, or of Abbot Olin?"
"It was an error."
Brynn gave a helpless laugh. "You are a fool. Hold fast to your pride and your lies, if you so choose. I will rescue the identity of Behren from the designs of King Aydrian of Honce-the-Bear with or without your help."
"You believe that you can defeat Jacintha," the Yatol said derisively.
Brynn looked around at her considerable force, some thousand To-gai-ru warriors. In the open desert, she could take on an army twice, perhaps even thrice, her size, but against a fortified city, she knew that many of her greatest advantages, primarily the mobility and skill of her forces, would be for naught. "I could not hope to defeat Jacintha," she admitted. As she watched Yatol De Hamman's shoulders square, she added teasingly, "Alone."
That put a fearful expression on the man's smug face.
"Not even with my dragon friend," Brynn admitted.
"Have you resurrected the spirit of Yatol Bardoh, then?" the Yatol spat.
"Do you think to pit Behrenese against Behrenese."
"An imperialistic king makes many enemies," was all that Brynn would say.
She held her expression sly and walked Runtly away.
Leaving a flustered De Hamman sputtering on his ugly yellow nag.
"Those few who managed to return..." Yatol Wadon stammered, hardly able to get the words out. Not that he needed to say them, in any case, for his audience - Abbot Olin, new Yatol Paroud, and Master Mackaront just returned from Entel - understood the message quite clearly. De Hamman had been routed outside of Dharyan-Dharielle. Brynn had pulled yet another trick on them, and the Behrenese force, already so tentative about doing battle with the infamous Dragon of To-gai, had broken ranks and fled, and were still fleeing, by all accounts, in ever-shrinking numbers.
Yatol Wadon's inability to express his outrage was certainly understandable.
"Your losses were not so great, by every report," Abbot Olin replied, seeming unperturbed by it all.
"Not so great?" Wadon yelled at him. "Hundreds, perhaps thousands, have been slaughtered, and worse, the remaining thousands are scattering to the four winds. You cannot begin to understand the depth of this; Behren is not like Honce-the-Bear."
"The victory has lured Brynn Dharielle out of her hole," Abbot Olin calmly replied.
"The To-gai-ru are more dangerous on the open sands," Yatol Paroud dared to interject.
"Not against Abellicans," said Abbot Olin.
"A shrinking number," Paroud dryly reminded, and Olin shot him a hateful look.
"Enough!" demanded Yatol Wadon.
"Where will Brynn carry the fight?" Abbot Olin said. "Will she run across the desert, striking haphazardly against the smaller towns? Will she attack Jacintha? Surely that would be the purest folly."
"In the open desert, then," reasoned Yatol Wadon.
"To what gain?" Abbot Olin asked, and he rose from his seat and moved about the room, more animated than any had seen him in a long while.
"Time does not work in favor of Brynn Dharielle. She has few resources, and the toll on her army will be great. She cannot defeat us, so likely she will sate her warriors' hunger for revenge and then retreat into her hole. All we need do is regroup our forces and wait her out."
Yatol Wadon glared at the man.
"So we do not reunite Behren at this time," the abbot went on. "Dharyan will have to wait until King Aydrian can fully turn his attention to Behren. It will not be long."
"Even when reinforcements from Honce-the-Bear arrive, Brynn will be within her secure walls, and with her dragon beside her," Yatol Wadon argued. "That is no minor thing!"
"In the face of King Aydrian, it is indeed," said Abbot Olin. "If the dragon arrives on the field before the king of Honce-the-Bear, he will destroy it, and with ease. You see the fight at Dharyan as a disaster, my friend, but you are not scrutinizing the details well enough, I fear."
Yatol Wadon's glare softened just a bit, showing some intrigue.
"My monks stung the dragon profoundly," Abbot Olin explained. "Their lightning knocked it from the sky, and yet all of their bolts combined are minuscule compared to the power of Aydrian."
"All of your monks are dead," Yatol Wadon reminded.
"They were minor brothers, I assure you, and easily replaced. We must hold strong and pick our fights with this impudent wench of To-gai carefully until King Aydrian can come more fully to our side. Brynn may gain victories over small towns, but she will lose warriors with each win, and those will not easily be replaced. The strain on To-gai will prove too much, and she will turn for home, then we will send out a second army to ensure that Behren is secured, and then, when King Aydrian arrives, we will destroy the woman and her pitiful forces."
Yatol Paroud was nodding, his eyes verily glowing as he listened to the promises of ultimate victory. But Mado Wadon was a long way from sharing that enthusiasm. Did Abbot Olin not even care that thousands of Behrenese citizens were surely to be slaughtered? Did he not appreciate the divisive power of the various Behrenese factions, ancient tribes, and bloodlines, that demanded allegiance to traditions that went beyond the kingdom or even beyond Chezru itself? For hundreds of years, Behren had been united as a kingdom in theory, but even in the last days of Yakim Douan, the political structure had often been more tribal in nature.
"The last reports put Brynn Dharielle near to Dahdah Oasis," Yatol Wadon offered. "And moving eastward, toward Jacintha."
"With how many warriors?"
"Perhaps a thousand," Yatol Wadon answered honestly, and in truth, when he spoke the words aloud, they seemed almost laughable. It would take an army many times that size to have any chance at all of overpowering present Jacintha, with nearly ten thousand Honce-the-Bear warriors supporting their ranks. "And she has her dragon."
"Then let her come on," said Abbot Olin. "Let her grow too confident with that beast of hers and charge our walls. Master Mackaront brought a score more brothers on his return, all of them armed with graphite and serpentine, the stone of lightning and a shield that will defeat even dragon fire. Her confidence, if she approaches as you believe, will be her undoing, and horribly so. How tall will Yatol Wadon stand in the eyes of his countrymen when he emerges from Jacintha victorious over the Dragon of To-gai?"
Yatol Wadon considered the words, then nodded slowly.
"Our only vulnerability here is my fleet, and thus I have ordered Duke Bretherford to put out farther from shore and to the north, out of sight of Jacintha harbor. If Brynn and her beast pursue him into Honee-the-Bear waters, she will invoke the immediate wrath of King Aydrian, and not a flight of a hundred dragons could save her then.
"Fear not," Abbot Olin finished as he headed for the room's door, Master Mackaront in tow, "for Brynn Dharielle's moment of opportunity is fast slipping away, and she knows it. She will run for home if she is wise, but she knows, as do we, that she cannot win in the end."
"Whatever the cost?"
Abbot Olin turned as he reached the exit, showing Yatol Wadon his smirk.
"Of course."
"She cannot take Jacintha, master," Yatol Paroud remarked.
"She can create great dissension," Yatol Wadon warned. "She already has.
It may take us months to regroup the remnants of Yatol De Hamman's force, and without them..."
"We are even more dependent on Abbot Olin," Yatol Paroud finished, and the words seemed to surprise the man even as he spoke them, as if a great revelation just then came over him. "My Yatol, you do not believe - " he stammered.
"That this is proceeding exactly as Abbot Olin had hoped?" Yatol Wadon interrupted. "No, I do not think this to be his design. I believe that he laments the defeat at Dharyan-Dharielle - he would have liked nothing more than to report to his king that the city had been taken."
"Our spies were set in place behind the bookcase when returned Master Mackaront met with Abbot Olin," Yatol Paroud reasoned. "They heard the edict of King Aydrian that the Bearmen were not to do battle against Brynn. Their inference from the tone and wording was that King Aydrian meant to strike an alliance with Brynn."
Yatol Wado Madon turned to the window overlooking Jacintha harbor, his lips growing very tight. He tried hard not to believe Paroud's suspicions, but he found it hard to make a logical argument.
"My master, is it possible that Abbot Olin came here to oversee the destruction of Behren?" Paroud asked, and Yatol Wadon winced. "Is it possible that he helped us in our fight with Yatol Bardoh only because he perceived Yatol Bardoh to be more of an obstacle standing before his King Aydrian?"
Again Yatol Wadon had no answer for the man. He knew that Behren was in serious trouble - more so than Abbot Olin seemed to believe. Yatol De Hamman's army had very likely split apart into its tribal factions, and those bands of warriors were running free across the countryside, afraid and angry. It was possible that while he sat here in secure Jacintha, Behren was already beginning to tear itself apart across the desert sands.
And if the country fell into complete turmoil, particularly with Brynn Dharielle and her dragon running free about the land, Yatol Wadon would be powerless to put it back together - without the dominating assistance of Abbot Olin and his eager young King Aydrian.
Yatol Wadon continued to stare out at the harbor, where the Honce-the- Bear warships were still anchored. He almost hoped that Brynn and her dragon would swoop across his field of vision then, and lay waste to that fleet.
That foreign fleet.
Within the hour, Duke Bretherford's warships unfurled their sails and pulled up their anchors. The half dozen Honce-the-Bear ships sailed northeast, going out from the coast and back toward the safety of Honce- the-Bear waters, while Maisha Darou's pirate fleet headed out along the coast to the south, cut free of their duties for the time being. With bags of precious gems in hand, Darou set his course, as instructed, for the safety of the pirate shoals, and the promise of a well-deserved rest.
For Duke Bretherford, departing Jacintha was no hardship. The man had heard the reports of the disaster at Dharyan-Dharielle, and while the vast majority of that routed force had been Behrenese and not Bearman, some of the reports filtering in from the retreating forces spoke of retribution against the northerners by the fleeing Behrenese.
Duke Bretherford couldn't care less for Behren; he was more concerned with the turmoil in his own land. He planned to stop at the island of Freeport to resupply, then to put into Entel for news of King Aydrian and Prince Midalis.
Early the next morning, just east of the easternmost peaks of the Belt- and-Buckle, word came to the duke in his cabin that a second fleet was sailing south to intercept. With news that these were caravels, Bretherford wondered if Aydrian was sailing to Abbot Olin's aid. As soon as he arrived at the prow of Rontlemore's Dream, though, the duke understood differently.
For this approaching armada sailed under the bear rampant of the Ursals.
"Battle sails!" Duke Bretherford called, and the message was relayed across the decks to the other warships.
The duke continued to stare out as more and more ships came visible.
"What are those?" asked the sailor at Duke Bretherford's side.
"Alpinadoran longboats," the old seaman replied. "The prince has brought some friends."
The approaching warships similarly dropped to battle sail, except for one, a sleek schooner that Duke Bretherford recognized as Saudi Jacintha, the pride of Palmaris' merchant fleet. "Captain Al'u'met," he muttered, for he knew of the man, and knew him to be an old and dear friend to Queen Jilseponie.
Saudi Jacintha ran a white flag of truce up her guide line and continued her approach until she was within a hundred yards of Rontlemore's Dream.
There, she banked low in a sharp turn and tacked against the sea breeze, holding her position.
"Signal for them to approach under agreed truce," Duke Bretherford told his signalman.
"We would expect nothing less from honorable Duke Bretherford," came a voice from behind them, and the duke nearly leaped out of his boots and overboard. He swung about, as did everyone else in the area, to see three people - a diminutive TouePalfar, Queen Jilseponie, and Prince Midalis - simply step as if out of nowhere onto the deck. All three held hands, and all were covered with a bluish white glow.
The crew stumbled all over themselves, going for their weapons; from the back of the deck, several archers leveled their bows.
Pony held a ruby for Bretherford to see. "I could put your ship to the flame," she said quietly. "Do not make me do that, I beg."
"The flag of truce holds," Prince Midalis added. "We are here to parley."
Staring at the ruby, Duke Bretherford hardly heard the prince. He was not ignorant of Jilseponie's prowess with the magical gemstones, and he well understood that devastation her fireball would wreak. He motioned for his archers to put up their bows, and for the rest of the crew to stand down.
"My cabin," he said, motioning to the door across the deck.
"Right here," Prince Midalis corrected. The prince looked at Pony, then stepped away from her, releasing her hand, and immediately emerged from the serpentine fire shield.
"I am Prince Midalis, brother of King Danube Brock Ursal," he began powerfully, and he paced about so that he could look into the eyes of each man on deck. "You know me. You served my brother well. And you know, too, that this young man who has seized the throne of Honce-the-Bear is not your rightful king. I claim the throne as my own, and demand fealty! "Astonished looks came back at him, and more than a few doubtful whispers. From the front, Duke Bretherford heard the name of King Aydrian whispered more than once.
"Aydrian is king, by your brother's own words," the duke argued.
"Those words were twisted, and errantly spoken, and you know the truth of it," Pony retorted.
The duke merely shrugged. To him, the point was moot.
"I will have your fealty, or I will have your surrender, Duke Bretherford," Prince Midalis remarked, and when Bretherford squared his shoulders defiantly, he added, "I have fifty warships at my disposal, as well as Queen Jilseponie and her gemstones, Andacanavar, the ranger of Alpinador and his mighty warriors, and..." He paused and pointed to Juraviel. "And other allies whose powers you cannot begin to understand.
Do not make me kill my misled countrymen, I beg of you."
"Aydrian has claimed the throne," Duke Bretherford replied. "The entire southland of Honce-the-Bear is his, and you cannot hope - "
"What I hope and do not hope is of no consequence to you, Duke Bretherford," Prince Midalis cut him short. "As you were friend to Jilseponie and Danube, I offer you this opportunity to put aright your ill-chosen course."
"He has Kalas and all the Allhearts, and all the Kingsmen, and a merce- nary army that at least equals their size," Duke Bretherford replied. "Do you believe that you have any chance at all of defeating him?"
"Was I given a choice in the matter?" Prince Midalis asked him. "Would you have me surrender my courage and virtue and all that I hold dear to acquiesce to this upstart usurper who has stolen my throne?"
"You cannot defeat him," Bretherford said again.
"And you cannot defeat me, not here and now," said Midalis. "Nor can you hope to outrun me. I will have your ships, or I will sink..."
Pony walked beside him and touched his shoulder, silencing him, then walked past to stand right before Duke Bretherford. "I know you," she said. "I understand your sense of honor."
"And you know your son Aydrian," Bretherford argued. "You know his power!"
"I do, and perhaps all of this resistance is folly."
"Then find another way."
"No, and I beg of you to join with us! Aydrian has Honce-the-Bear, from Palmaris to Ursal to Entel to Pireth Tulme, but we own the sea."
The duke began to shake his head slowly.
"Join us!" Pony said again.
"Am I to switch allegiance whenever a force mightier than my own comes against me?" Duke Bretherford roared at her. "I am a duke serving the king of Honce-the-Bear!"
"And that king is rightfully Midalis Dan Ursal!"
"What would you have me do, woman?" the flustered Bretherford cried.
"Would you so demand dishonor from me?"
"I would ask of you only what I have asked of myself," Pony quietly replied. "I would ask that you follow that which is in your heart."
Bretherford leaned back against the rail and rubbed his ruddy face.
"If you fight me, I will show no mercy," Prince Midalis warned. "We have not the time."
"We sail to Jacintha to help Brynn Dharielle defeat Abbot Olin," Pony explained, and the duke's jaw dropped open with astonishment.
"How could you know?"
"The movements are not independent of each other," Prince Midalis assured the man. Again, Bretherford could only rub his face and ponder.
Pony moved next to Prince Midalis and whispered into his ear. After a moment, the prince nodded his agreement.
"I grant you this alone, out of friendship and faith," he told the duke.
"Poll all of your men. Offer them the choice of King Midalis or King Aydrian. Those who hold allegiance to the line of Ursal will sail with me in glory. Those who side with the usurper, Aydrian, will be put ashore in Entel. AH of your warships are mine in any case."
"Follow that which is in your heart," Pony said again.
"We cannot win," Bretherford lamented, and he noted the smiles widening as his mention of "we."
"Then we will die in a righteous cause," said Prince Midalis, and he pulled a flag from a sack hung on his belt, the pennant of Ursal, and tossed it to the duke. "And five others inside," he explained, and he took the sack from his belt and tossed it to the deck at Bretherford's feet. "We await your decision."
As he spoke, he stepped back between Pony and the diminutive elf, who held up his hand to reveal a shining emerald gemstone.
And then they were gone.
The startled Duke Bretherford spun about to regard Saudi ]acintha, which was even then finishing her turn in the water, swinging her sails to fill them full of wind, and moving away, while the rest of Midalis' considerable fleet closed fast, with a line of Alpinadoran longboats swinging wide to the east.
"We will sink them all, my Duke!" one sailor cried, and others cheered and ran for their weapons.
Duke Bretherford looked at the flag in his hands, then up at the pennant of King Aydrian waving in the wind overhead. He ordered his sailors to stand ready and quickly moved to his private cabin, pouring himself a jigger of rum. He held the small glass up before him, swirling its contents about, losing his thoughts.
And then he swallowed the contents in one great gulp, and in frustration and rage, threw the glass across the room. It hit the wall hard, but at an angle that offered the strength of the thick glass, and so it did not shatter, but tumbled down to bounce across the floor. Then it went into a roll, and it seemed to Duke Bretherford like the roll of the uncertain sea below him, and like the uncertain emotions rolling within him.
Most of all, Jilseponie's parting words echoed within his thoughts.
Follow that which is in your heart.
For that was the truth of it, was it not? In the end measure, that was all that any man could do.
Duke Bretherford had never been taken in by the grandeur that was Aydrian, or by the resounding accolades of the young usurper offered by Duke Kalas. Duke Bretherford had known King Danube well, and had loved the man dearly. And Bretherford, above all the other of Ursal's nobles, knew well that the temperament of Prince Midalis was akin to that of the dead king.
Bretherford looked down at the small glass, settled now and rolling no more, save the occasional shift as the boat rolled in the sea.
Settled, too, were the duke's emotions. At long last settled, though he believed his epiphany now, his decision to follow Prince Midalis would likely deliver him soon enough to the netherworld.
So be it. He would die knowing that he held intact his honor and his loyalty to the line of Ursal.
He would die knowing that he had indeed followed that which was in his heart.
"They will arrive soon after midday, by Duke Bretherford's estimation,"
Belli'mar Juraviel informed Brynn.
The warrior woman stood up and walked to the edge of the rocky outcropping. Below her to the southeast, Jacintha spread out wide. "This Duke Bretherford, he will prove a valuable ally?" she asked.
"Better that he fight with us than against us," Juraviel replied. "The number of forces he brings with him is small - more than half of those who sailed with his small fleet opted to be put ashore in Entel, as per Jilseponie's offer in the terms of surrender, to continue their service to King Aydrian. But he is a nobleman of Honce-the-Bear, and well regarded among his peers. Perhaps his decision will cause others to recognize their folly, or to find their courage."
"You do not believe that," Brynn remarked.
"No, I do not," the elf admitted after a short pause. "My scouts place King Aydrian in firm control of the vast majority of Honce-the-Bear's population and military. But with Duke Bretherford's conversion, our allies in the north command the seas, and that is no small thing."
Brynn nodded, not wanting to further a pointless argument. She and Pagonel had discussed this at length and had come to the conclusion that the cause in Honce-the-Bear was not promising. The numbers of the prince's army could not carry him across the land, nor even very far inland. He seemed in danger of becoming to Honce-the-Bear what Maisha Darou was to Behren: a thorn and elusive irritation, and little more.
To their cause in Behren, though, and in To-gai by extension, Prince Midalis and Duke Bretherford might prove invaluable.
"Your journey through Jacintha last night was fruitful?" the woman asked.
Juraviel motioned for Brynn and Pagonel to follow around the side of a boulder, where the burning torch had been set, sheltered from any eyes looking out from the city. He produced the map of the city that Brynn had provided and carefully spread it out on a rock. "The stable and supplies," he said, pointing to an area in the northeastern corner. "The soldiers of Honce-the-Bear brought tons of hay with them and the bales are piled floor to ceiling in several buildings."
Brynn's expression tightened; it went against all of her To-gai-ru instincts to attack a stable. The nomadic people loved and appreciated their horses above all else.
"Not far from there lies a warehouse of pitch," Juraviel went on, sliding his finger more toward the center of the city.
"You can identify these structures from the air, in the dark of night?"
Pagonel asked, and the elf nodded.
Both went quiet then, and stepped back from Brynn. She felt their eyes upon her, and knew that her tearing emotions were playing out clearly on her face.
"I hate this," she remarked.
"But you hate the alternative even more," Pagonel reminded.
Brynn looked up from the map to regard her trusted advisor. In her mind, she could hear the screams of men and woman, and the shrieks of terrified horses. In her mind, she could see the flames leaping high above Jacintha. The orange flames, the purest of destructive forces.
"Aydrian plans to conquer the whole of the world," she heard Juraviel remark.
"Aydrian destroyed Lady Dasslerond, and meant to bring complete ruin to Andur'Blough Inninness," the elf added a moment later.
Brynn didn't disagree with the reasoning, nor with the point that her former companion had to be stopped. But it wounded her to her soul to know that she would have to go through the bodies of innocents to get near to him.
"Let us light the way for our allies," the woman said.
Two hours before the dawn, Brynn, Pagonel, and Juraviel climbed onto the shoulders of mighty Agradeleous. From on high at the southeastern peaks of the mountain range, the dragon leaped out and spread his wings wide, catching the updrafts rising up the cliff facings from the warm ocean water. Agradeleous went very low, under the fog that clung to the sea, and soared out across the dark waters, gradually turning to the south, then all the way back around to the northeast. He came over Jacintha's docks in a sudden rush, eliciting cries of terror from those few people awake and about. That call did not rally the soldiers along the city wall facing the docks nearly quickly enough, though, and so barely a bow was lifted against the passing dragon as he rushed overhead.
Juraviel pointed out the pitch warehouse first, and though the building was constructed mostly of stone, Agradeleous' fiery breath found its way in through the cracks and ignited many of the piled kegs.
The next target loomed before them as they continued their flight back toward the black silhouettes of the mountains in the north, and this time the strafing run showed more dramatic and immediate effects. Mounds of dry hay exploded to fiery life in Agradeleous' wake.
Brynn didn't, couldn't, look back, but the screams caught up to her almost immediately.
The dragon, obviously enjoying the destructive spectacle, banked as if to turn back, but Pagonel yelled to him to hold fast his course, reminding him that the weapons and the Abellicans were no doubt already being raised against him.
Among the rocks of the mountains a short while later, Brynn Dharielle did step forward and look down upon the spectacle of Jacintha and the huge fire leaping into the predawn air along the city's northern wall. All the horizon glowed orange from the flames and a cloud of the blackest smoke lifted into the air and spread wide, blocking out the stars.
Brynn put the implications firmly out of her mind. "We approach at first light," she informed her companions. "We must keep their attention to the west."
The soldiers on Jacintha's western wall, their ranks thinned by the many pulled to fight the raging fires, were greeted at the dawn's light by the horsed ranks of the Dragon of To-gai. Astride their pinto ponies, short bows in hand, the To-gai-ru warriors stretched that line long and thin, just out of reach of the Jacintha archers.
Not so the catapults, though, and one by one, they sent great missiles arcing toward the To-gai-ru.
But the riders were too mobile to fall victim to such an attack and they dodged the missiles with impunity, all the while hurling taunts and insults back at the city.
"It is a common Ru ruse," Yatol Wadon said to Abbot Olin. "They try to goad us out from behind our walls that they can slaughter us on the sands."
"Horsed demons," Abbot Olin growled. "They strike in the dark of night and flee. Cowards one and all!"
"Cowards who win when they should not, time and time again," Yatol Wadon warned.
"Against the Behrenese," Abbot Olin snapped back contemptuously. "They do not appreciate the might of the Bearmen."
"With their bows and astride their fine ponies, they are unmatched."
"And how will their feeble bows fare against Bearman armor?" the abbot fumed. "Or against Abellican magic?"
The Yatol merely shrugged.
"I will be done with this troublesome wench here and now," Abbot Olin declared. "And she is all the more troublesome because your people fear her! It was fear alone that shattered the ranks on the field outside of Dharyan. Had Yatol De Hamman re-formed his forces, he could have won a great victory."
"We have been given good reason to fear her," the Yatol put in.
"Then let us reverse that, here and now. If Brynn Dharielle will stand against the might of Honce-the-Bear, then I will slaughter her people wholesale. If she turns and flees, as she must, then let your soldiers witness the rout and know that the reality of the Dragon of To-gai does not match the legend!"
"I fear such a course."
"You fear everything," Abbot Olin retorted. He stormed out of the room, calling to his commanders to organize a charge.
"You have securely removed the dragon?" Pagonel asked Brynn, as he stood with Belli'mar Juraviel near the center of the To-gai-ru line beside Runtly and the woman.
"I sent him to Dharyan-Dharielle to deliver news of the battle," Brynn explained. "He will return along a course south of the city and will seek us out, wherever we are."
Pagonel patted her leg and nodded his agreement. It was vital to keep the bloodthirsty dragon out of the battle at this time.
"This will work," Brynn said determinedly.
"And if it does not?"
"Then I will ride across the desert sands to Alzuth and sack the city,"
the woman answered. "And to every town between Alzuth and Dharyan- Dharielle. And the mercy I have extended to those fleeing Behrenese soldiers will be no more."
Again the mystic nodded.
"But this will work," Brynn added.
Pagonel recognized it to be a question and a desperate plea, more than a statement. "Even Yatol De Hamman has come to agree," he assured her.
Only a few moments later, the great gates of Jacintha burst open and the Bearman army flowed forth.
"Shoot well and shoot high," Pagonel said to Brynn, and he offered his hand to Juraviel.
In an instant and with the green flash of an emerald, the two were gone.
The soldiers of Honce-the-Bear formed their ranks and began their charge, centered by a line of heavy cavalry that shook the ground.
With precision unmatched in all the world, the To-gai-ru waited until the last possible moment, until lightning bolts began to reach out and even take some down, then turned and rode off. As one, it seemed, they lifted legs over saddles and turned about, standing straight in one stirrup and facing backward, bows coming to the ready.
Their first volleys flew away, perfectly aimed.
Not a Honce-the-Bear soldier, nor a Honce-the-Bear mount, was struck.
Having Pagonel, Brynn Dharielle's closest advisor, stride from the shadows at the side of his audience chamber, was not something that Yatol Wadon could have expected at that moment.
The Yatols at Wadon's side gave a communal shriek and the guards charged forward to their leader's defense.
But Pagonel stopped far short of the throne and held up his hands in a sign of unthreatening greeting.
Old Yatol Wadon leaped up from his chair and ordered his guards to stop, but then turned an angry eye upon the mystic.
"The fires rage in Jacintha," Yatol Wadon stated. "This is hardly the time for parley."
"If I were still allied with Brynn Dharielle, I would agree with you,"
the mystic replied. "But I have abandoned her cause, as I scorn the cause of Jacintha."
That curious statement had Yatol Wadon squinting and shaking his head.
"Those causes are one and the same," Pagonel insisted.
"Brynn attacked Jacintha last night," Yatol Wadon argued.
"And brilliantly so," the mystic replied, "following the specific instructions of Abbot Olin."
Yatol Wadon fell back in his seat and those around him gasped and looked to each other in confusion. "You lie," the old man said.
Pagonel dipped a low bow. "Only of late has Brynn Dharielle discovered that this was all a ruse," the mystic explained. "And by that point, her land was too threatened for her to deny the call of Abbot Olin and King Aydrian, who was once her friend.
"Honce-the-Bear will have Behren, without opposition, when this is ended," the mystic went on. "The reign of the Yatols and Chezru will be ended, buried beneath a version of the Abellican Church that will satisfy the needs of the desperate people. Abbot Olin of Behren will sign a treaty with To-gai, granting the To-gai-ru their sovereignty - though in truth, they will be subjugated under the will of King Aydrian."
"This is impossible!" one of the other Yatols cried out.
"The Bearman army are being welcomed back into the city?" Pagonel asked.
"Yes, triumphantly so, after chasing the devil Rus away!" the Yatol answered.
"And in their charge out from Jacintha, how many were slain?"
That brought a curious look upon the face of the man, and several others.
"Their fine armor..." the man began tentatively.
"Then how many horses were shot out from under them?" Pagonel asked, and the man went silent. The mystic turned to Yatol Wadon. "Have you ever known the To-gai-ru to shoot so poorly?"
Yatol Wadon considered it all for a moment, then stubbornly shook his head. "This is impossible!" he roared. "What you speak of is - "
"Even now a great fleet of Honce-the-Bear approaches your docks," the mystic interrupted, and he motioned toward the room's eastern-facing window.
Men bristled and turned about, several running over to view the harbor.
Their cries of dismay were all the confirmation Yatol Wadon needed.
As luck would have it, Abbot Olin and Master Mackaront stormed into the room at that moment, followed by one of the guards who had slipped out at the appearance of Pagonel.
"What is the meaning of this?" the old abbot demanded.
Yatol Wadon, his eyes burning with fires of outrage, looked at Pagonel, then back to Olin. He motioned to his guards. "Arrest him!" he commanded.
Abbot Olin's face twisted in confusion. "Are you mad?"
"If you mean angry, then know that I have never been so mad in all my life," the Yatol replied, and his soldiers surrounded the pair and roughly grabbed them.
Abbot Olin cried out and his own soldiers charged into the room then, and Yatol Wadon's remaining guards leaped upon them. As did Pagonel, the mystic flowing through the ranks, taking down soldier after soldier with devastating blows.
Soon enough, the room was secured for Yatol Wadon.
"Take that lying fool away," Yatol Wadon instructed the men holding Olin.
He turned to Master Mackaront. "Release him," he instructed, and he walked forward to look the man in the eye even as the screaming and protesting Olin was dragged from the room.
"I will have your head on a stake!" the abbot shouted, the last words he said before the butt of a spear smashed him in the face, silencing him.
"Your plans are known to me," Yatol Wadon said to Mackaront. "And they have failed."
The man started to respond, but Wadon slapped him across the face.
"You would sacrifice all of Behren in the name of your King Aydrian,"
Yatol Wadon spat.
Mackaront glared at him.
"Go back to your foul king," Yatol Wadon told him. "Turn your fleet aside."
"My fleet?" Mackaront asked, and Yatol Wadon slapped him across the face again.
"Begone from Jacintha with all of those who would follow you!" Yatol Wadon yelled at him. "There is no room in Behren for your King Aydrian!"
Master Mackaront stiffened and continued to glare, but he said nothing.
He gave the slightest of bows and turned away.
Word spread quickly from Chom Deiru, and fighting erupted throughout the city, Bearman against Behrenese and Behrenese against Behrenese. From the audience chamber, Pagonel and several of the Behrenese leaders watched it all. Yatol Wadon was there, as well, and in great distress.
At one point, as the great fleet neared the docks, Yatol Wadon turned to his advisors and ordered them to secure against the invasion.
But Pagonel stopped him, pointing excitedly out the window. "They fly the flag of Ursal!" he cried, pointing out toward the armada. "And the Alpinadorans are beside them!"
Yatol Wadon stared at him incredulously.
"Prince Midalis has won out at sea!" the mystic cried, and he clapped the old Yatol on the shoulders - a movement that nearly incited the nearby guards to violence. "That was my one fleeting hope!"
Wadon's expression became even more incredulous, like a man caught in a whirlpool that was beyond his comprehension.
"Do you not understand?" the mystic asked, becoming far more animated than usual - and in that arm-waving, he flashed a subtle and predetermined signal to Belli'mar Juraviel, who was still hiding in the shadows at the far end of the hall, to go out to Prince Midalis with news of the turn of events. "These are not enemies who sail into Jacintha, but allies!"
"How much of a fool do you take me to be?" Yatol Wadon demanded.
"Prince Midalis himself, the rightful king of Honce-the-Bear and the sworn enemy of Aydrian and Abbot Olin is on those ships, I do not doubt.
The rescue of your city is at hand, Yatol Wadon, and by an outside force that will not remain to question your rule."
So flabbergasted was Yatol Wadon that his knees buckled beneath him and he would have fallen to the floor had not Pagonel caught him by the arm.
So many thoughts rushed through his mind. He knew that he had been badly deceived, but he wasn't sure whether that deception had come from Abbot Olin or Pagonel! He thought of retrieving Olin at that time, but he knew that it had already gone past that point. When the vicious man had claimed that he would see Yatol Wadon's head on a stake, he had meant it.
"Chezru, what are we to do?" asked one of the confused Yatols at Wadon's side.
Yatol Wadon looked down at the tumult that was sweeping across Jacintha.
He had no idea.