the city's western gate swung open and Tanalk Grenk led his force into Dharyan-Dharielle. All about the walls, archers ran toward that area to send volleys at the pursuing Behrenese.
In truth, though, the battle was over. With the gates secured by the imposing dragon, the Behrenese retreated.
As Tanalk Grenk rode toward her, Brynn nodded her appreciation and deference, for she knew that he had played his role to perfection. He had come down with his skilled riders from their positions just along the shadows of the plateau divide, just to the southwest of Dharyan- Dharielle. With the typical and unmatched ferocity of the To-gai-ru, Grenk had struck hard at the Behrenese western flank, then immediately turned his forces in a run to the western gate, diverting many Behrenese and easing the pressure on the southern wall.
"We have won no victory here today," Brynn told Grenk and all the others nearby. "But we have held our enemy at bay and have stung them hard." She looked all around, the determination in her blazing brown eyes stilling all doubts and all confusion in a moment of crystalline clarity. "Perhaps we have stung them hard enough to make them turn back for their homes."
"If not, there is always tomorrow," said a determined Grenk.
His unabashed support touched Brynn at that desperate moment, for she knew that more than a few of her people would be privately questioning her leadership at that time. Had these attackers not come from the same man Brynn had just helped seat on the throne of Behren, after all? But she did not allow any of her doubts to cloud her eyes or her strong features.
"Shore up the gate," she instructed her warriors, then she dismounted and walked off with Runtly to shore up her own resolve, reminding herself of the peculiar circumstances and telling herself repeatedly that she had done right in fighting the wicked Tohen Bardoh, whatever treachery Yatol Wadon and Abbot Olin now offered.
She had to believe that.
Chapter 29 The Hopeful Miscalculation
Abbot Glendenhook of St. Gwendolyn crumpled the parchment in his large and strong hands. His thick brow furrowed over deep-set eyes and he clenched his huge fist powerfully, the muscles on his massive arm tightening the fabric of his brown robes. More than any other master of the Abellican Order, Toussan Glendenhook had ridden Fio Bou-raiy's coattails to power. For many years, he had walked in Bou-raiy's shadow, and willingly so. Glendenhook had accomplished much on his own, especially in the arts martial, where he had risen as one of the finest warriors to come out of St.-Mere-Abelle - not on a par with legendary Marcalo De'Unnero, of course, but Glendenhook had been the best of his class.
Still, Glendenhook had always been very aware that he had no chance of ever rising in the hierarchy beyond the rank of master - until, that is, his friend Bou-raiy had ascended the dais as the Abellican Church's Father Abbot. Glendenhook had been there every step of the way with Fio Bou-raiy, supporting his friend. When Bou-raiy had made his successful bid for the position of Father Abbot, Glendenhook had lobbied long and hard for the votes. Subsequent to gaining the seat in St.-Mere-Abelle, Fio Bou-raiy had repaid his loyal friend with this appointment as abbot of St. Gwendolyn, a monastery traditionally run by a woman.
There had been little resistance to the appointment; the then-Master Glendenhook had rushed to the rescue of St. Gwendolyn when the rogue De'Unnero had come to dominate the place, organizing his infamous Brothers Repentant from the ranks of the plague-devastated abbey. Over the last couple of years since his appointment, Abbot Glendenhook had compiled a strong record at the abbey and among the people of the neighboring villages. His abbey was among the leaders in per capita attendance and donations, and though he was not really a great follower of Avelyn Desbris and the reform that had swept the Abellican Church, Abbot Glendenhook had not reined in his sisters, brothers, and masters when they had desired to go out among the people with the healing soul stones. Like his mentor, Fio Bou-raiy, Abbot Glendenhook had adapted to the change, if not embracing it, and had brought St. Gwendolyn back from the ashes.
And now this.
The burly man looked down at the crumpled parchment, trying to find every angle between the actual words. He was not surprised, of course, to learn that Duke Kalas was fast approaching St. Gwendolyn with his enormous army; Glendenhook and all