DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) (157 page)

Juraviel watched her as she continued her tale, her head tilted back so that her eyes were staring up at the night canopy. It wasn’t starry that night, with thickening clouds drifting in from the west. The full moon, Sheila, shone behind those clouds, sometimes seeming a pale full light, other times disappearing completely behind a dark and thick blanket.

Brynn wasn’t seeing it, any of it, Juraviel knew. She was looking across the years as much as across the distance. She was seeing the crisp night sky from a camp of deerskin tents nestled among great boulders on the high slopes of the Belt-and-Buckle. She was hearing her mother’s laugh, perhaps, and her father’s stern but loving commands. She was hearing the nickers of the nearby To-gai ponies, so loyal that they didn’t need to be tethered, as they protested the sparse grasses at the great elevation.

That was good, Juraviel knew. Let her recall the feeling of the old days, of her life before Andur’Blough Inninness. Let her remember clearly how much she had lost, how much To-gai had lost, so that her calls to her people to reclaim their heritage would be even more full of passion and conviction.

“Do they still go to the high passes?” Juraviel prompted.

Brynn’s expression changed as she lowered her gaze to regard the elf, as if one of the clouds from the sky had dropped down to cross over her fair features. “I know not,” she admitted somberly. “When I was taken by your people, the Chezru were trying to establish permanent villages.”

“The To-gai-ru must walk the land with the creatures,” said Juraviel. “That is their way.”

“More than our way. It is our spirit, our path to …” She paused—unsure, it seemed.

“Your path to what?” the elf asked. “To heaven?”

Brynn looked at him curiously, and then nodded. “To our heaven,” she explained. “There on the high plateaus. There in the autumn valleys, full of the golden flowers that bloom to herald the cold winds. There by the summer streams, swollen with melt. There, following the deer.”

“The Chezru do not see the value of such a life,” Juraviel noted. “They are not a wandering people.”

“Because their deserts are not suited to such a lifestyle,” said Brynn. “They have their many oases, and their great cities, but to wander through the seasons would not show them much beauty beyond those defined enclaves. Behren is not like To-gai, not a land of differing beauties in differing seasons. Thus they do not understand us and thus they try to change us.”

“Perhaps they believe that in giving villages to the To-gai-ru, they will be showing the To-gai-ru the path to a better life.”

“No,” Brynn was answering before the elf even finished the statement, and Juraviel knew that he would elicit strong disagreement here—indeed, that was his goal. “They want us in villages, even cities, that they might better control us. In villages, they can watch the clans, but out on the plains, we would be free to practice the old
ways and to speak ill of our conquerors.”

“But the gains,” the elf said dramatically. “The stability of existence.”

“The trap of possession!” Brynn was quick to argue. “Cities are prisons and nothing more. When they run correctly, they trap you, they make you dependent on the comforts they provide. But they take from you—oh, they take so much!”

“What do they take?” There was an unintended urgency to Juraviel’s tone. He could tell that he was getting to Brynn, driving her on, which was precisely his duty.

“They take away the summer plateaus, the mountain wind, and the smell … oh, the scents of the high fields in the summer! They take away the swollen rivers, full of leaping fish. They take away the rides, the ponies charging across the open steppe. Oh, you should hear that sound, Belli’mar! The thunder of the To-gai-ru charge!”

She was breathing hard as she finished, her brown eyes sparkling with energy, as if she were witnessing that charge—as if she was leading that charge. She finally came out of her trance a bit and looked to the elf.

“I will witness it,” came Belli’mar Juraviel’s soft and assuring answer. “I will.”

T
heir road remained fairly straight south over the next few days, and Brynn was under the impression that they had but a single goal here: to get to To-gai and begin the process of liberation.

That’s what Juraviel and the others had told her, but the elf knew that he and Brynn had other things to attend to before beginning the long process of placing Brynn at the front of a revolution. Brynn Dharielle had been trained in the rigorous manner that had produced rangers from Andur’Blough Inninness for centuries, but, as fine as that training might be, Juraviel knew that it had its limitations. Even the most difficult trials—for Brynn, one had involved shooting targets from the saddle and at a gallop—were without the greatest of consequences, and hence, without the true understanding of the disaster that could be failure. For failing a test in Andur’Blough Inninness could mean humiliation and weeks of intense corrective training, but failing a test out here would likely mean death. Brynn had to learn that, had truly to appreciate all that she had to lose.

And so, on that morning when Belli’mar Juraviel took note of some curious tracks crossing the soft ground in front of them—tracks so subtle that Brynn didn’t even notice them from horseback—he allowed the woman to move obliviously past the spot, then studied the trail more closely. Juraviel knew the tracks, had seen them many, many times during the days of the DemonWar, when he had traveled beside Nightbird and Jilseponie battling Bestesbulzibar’s minions. The tracks were like those of a human, a young human, perhaps. But those made by shod feet revealed a poorly crafted boot, and those made by bare feet showed a telltale flatness in the arch and a wide expanse at the toes narrowing almost to a point at the heels.

Goblins. Moving east and in no apparent hurry.

Juraviel looked up and studied the area, even going so far as to sniff the breeze, but then he smiled at himself and shook his head. The tracks were probably a day old, he knew. These goblins were likely long gone.

But he knew the direction.

To Brynn’s surprise, Juraviel announced that they had to turn to the east for a bit. She didn’t argue, of course, for he was her guide, and so with a shrug, she brought Diredusk in line behind the moving elf. When that day ended, the pair had put twenty miles behind them, but in truth, they were no closer to the steppes of To-gai than they had been the previous day, something that Brynn surely took note of.

“Are we to travel around the world, then?” she asked sarcastically after they had eaten their dinner of vegetable stew. “Perhaps that way, we can sneak up on the Chezru from behind.”

“The straight line is always the shortest distance, ’tis true,” the elf replied. “But it is not always the swiftest.”

“What does that mean? What have you seen up ahead?” Brynn got up and looked to the south. “Monsters?”

“There is no barrier looming to the south, but this road is better, I believe.”

Brynn stared hard at the cryptic elf for some time, but Juraviel went back to his eating and didn’t return the look. He wanted to keep the mystery, wanted to have Brynn off-balance and wondering. He didn’t want her to know what was coming, and likely coming the very next day.

Later on, when Brynn was asleep, Juraviel hopped, flew, and climbed up the tallest tree he could find and peered through the dark night to the east.

There was the campfire, as he had expected. It was a long way off, to be sure.

But the goblins, he believed, weren’t in any hurry.

B
rynn stared through the tangle of trees, sorting out the distinct and confusing lines until she was fully focused on the ugly little creatures beyond. They were diminutive—not as much so as the Touel’alfar, but smaller than Brynn. Their skin color ranged from gray to sickly yellow to putrid green, and hair grew in splotches about their heads, backs, and shoulders. Elongated teeth, misshapen noses, and sloping foreheads only added to the generally wretched mix. Brynn wasn’t close enough to smell the creatures, but she could well imagine that such an experience wouldn’t be pleasant.

She turned and looked up to Juraviel, who was sitting comfortably on a branch. “Goblins?” she asked, for though she had heard of the creatures during her stay with the elves, she had never actually seen one.

“The vermin are thick about these stretches,” Juraviel answered, “outside the borders of the human kingdoms.”

Brynn thought things over carefully, particularly their unexpected change in course of the previous day. “You knew they were here,” she reasoned. “You brought me here to see them. But why?”

Juraviel spent a long moment looking through the trees to the goblin group. Several of them were visible, and he suspected that more were about, probably out destroying something, a tree or an animal, just for the fun of it. “You do not know that I brought you here to see them,” he said.

Brynn chuckled at him. “But why?” she asked again.

Juraviel shrugged. “Perhaps it is merely a fortunate coincidence.”

“Fortunate?”

“It is good that you should view these creatures,” the elf explained. “A new experience to broaden your understanding of a world much larger than you can imagine.”

Brynn’s expression showed that she could accept that, but Juraviel added, “Or perhaps I feel it is my—our—duty to better the world wherever we may.”

Brynn looked at him curiously.

“They are goblins, after all.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change. “Goblins who seem not to be bothering anybody or anything.”

“Perhaps that is because there is no one or nothing about for them to bother at this moment,” Juraviel replied.

“Am I understanding your intent correctly?” the young ranger asked, turning back to survey the distant, undeniably peaceful scene of the small goblin camp. “Do you want us to attack this group?”

“Straight out? No,” Juraviel answered. “Of course not—there are too many goblins about for that to be wise. No, we must be more stealthy and cunning in our methods.”

When Brynn looked back to him, she wore an expression that combined curiosity, confusion, and outrage. “We could go around them and leave them in peace.”

“And fear forever after for the mischief they would cause.”

Brynn was shaking her head before Juraviel ever finished, but the elf pressed on dramatically. “For the families who would soon enough grieve for loved ones slain by the evil creatures. For the forests destroyed and desecrated, the animals senselessly slaughtered—not for food or clothing, but just for entertainment.”

“And if we murder this band, then we are no better than the goblins, by any measure,” Brynn declared, and she tilted her head back, her expression proud and idealistic. “Is it not our compassion that elevates us? Is it not our willingness to find peace and not battle, that makes us better than creatures such as this?”

“Would you be so generous if those were Yatol priests about that distant encampment?” the elf slyly asked.

“That is different.”

“Indeed,” came the obviously sarcastic reply.

“The Yatol priests chose their course—one that invites revenge from To-gai,” Brynn reasoned. “The goblins did not choose their heritage.”

“Thus you reason that every single Yatol priest took part in the atrocities perpetrated upon your people? Or are they all guilty for the sins of the few?”

“Every Yatol priest, every Chezru, follows a creed that leads to such conquest,” Brynn argued. “Thus every Yatol priest is an accomplice to the atrocities committed by those following their common creed!”

“The goblins have visited more grief upon the world than ever did the Yatol priests.”

“Being a part of that group, goblins, is not a conscious choice, but merely a consequence of parentage. Surely you of the Touel’alfar, who are so wise, can see the difference.”

Belli’mar Juraviel smiled widely at the compassionate young ranger’s reasoning, though he knew, from his perspective garnered through centuries of existence, that she was simply wrong. “Goblins are not akin to the other thinking and reasoning races,” he explained. “Perhaps their heritage is not their choice, but their actions are universally predictable and deplorable. Never have I seen, never have I heard of a single goblin who goes against the creed that is their culture and heritage. Not once in the annals of history has a goblin been known to step forward and deny the atrocities of its wretched kin. No, my innocent young charge, I’ll not suffer a goblin to live, and neither will you.”

Brynn winced at the direct edict, one that obviously did not sit well on her slender shoulders.

“I brought you here because there before us is a stain upon the land, a blight and a danger, and there before us is our duty, clear and obvious.”

Brynn glanced back as she heard the commanding, undebatable tone.

“We will search the forest about the encampment first,” Juraviel went on. “Thinning the herd as much as possible before going to an open battle.”

“Striking with stealth and from behind?” Brynn asked with clear sarcasm.

But her accusation, for that is what was obviously intended, was lost on Juraviel, who replied simply and with ultimate coldness, “Whatever works.”

L
ess than an hour later, Brynn found herself crawling through the brush south of the goblin camp, for she and Juraviel had worked themselves around the location. The ranger moved with all the stealth the Touel’alfar had taught her, easing each part of her—elbow, knee, foot, and hand—down slowly, gradually shifting her weight and feeling keenly the turf below, taking care to crunch no old leaves and snap no dried twigs.

A dozen feet before her, a pair of goblins labored noisily, one of them breaking little limbs from the trees and tossing them back to its ugly companion, who was hard at work with a small stick and bow, trying to start a fire. Brynn and Juraviel had overheard a pair of the creatures a short way back, and Juraviel understood enough of the guttural language to relay to Brynn that the goblins were planning to set great fires to flush out easy kills.

Brynn paused as she considered that conversation, for she had argued against Juraviel’s clear implication that the goblin plans proved his point about the creatures’ temperament. Humans hunted, after all—the To-gai were particularly adept
at it. Perhaps this was only a difference in method. Lying there, Brynn understood how weak her argument had been. The amount of kindling that was being piled and the sheer joy on the face of the goblin who intended to set the blaze told her that this was about much more than a simple hunt for food.