The Demon Awakens (40 page)

Then the shadow was gone, and Jill staggered a step and opened her eyes.

He was right in her face, leering at her. She understood then that his mental attack had been but a ruse, a distraction from which he could recover much faster than she.

She knew that, in the split second of consciousness she had remaining. She knew all of it and yet that knowledge brought only despair, for he was too close, too ready, and she could not hope to defend.

Brother Justice knifed his hand into her throat, dropping her back to the snow and dirt. A single clean blow, but a punch pulled, for the monk did not want the woman dead. Her knowledge would be valuable in locating treacherous Avelyn, he presumed, and her presence as his prisoner would certainly aid in bringing the outlaw monk to him.

He did not want the woman dead, not yet, but the monk knew that when his business with Avelyn was finished, this woman, Jill, too, would have to die.

Brother Justice cared not at all.

>
CHAPTER 33

>
The Telling Blow

Elbryan sat far in the back of the Howling Sheila, pushing his chair right into the corner that he might have the security of walls on both his rear flanks. The ranger wasn’t expecting trouble—the people of Dundalis might not like him, but they had never been openly hostile—it was simply his training at work, always reminding him to place himself in the most defensible position.

The crowd was loud this night, the tavern packed full, for a light snow was falling outside and the people feared that it might intensify. A blizzard could effectively shut the folk in their homes for a week straight.

The drinks were flowing, the conversation rowdy and mostly about the weather, except in one corner of the bar where a fat, brown-robed man and several townsfolk were arguing about the potential of a goblin raid.

“Happened before,” Brother Avelyn declared dryly. “Whole town flattened and only one—or perhaps none—survived.” The monk snorted and hoped his slip would not be noticed. Jill’s secret was his to keep, and hers—and hers alone—to reveal.

“But only after Dundalis’ hunters killed a goblin in the woods,” protested a man named Tol Yuganick, a bear of a man, though he did not seem so large next to three-hundred-pound Avelyn. “And that was nearly a decade ago. The goblins would not come back. No reason.”

“And not with Dusty on the prowl,” another man laughed, turning to glance across the room to the ranger, alone at his table in the back corner. The other three townsfolk joined in the laughter, more than willing to do so at Elbryan’s expense.

“And who is this man?” Avelyn wanted to know.

“An attentive ear for your tales of doom,” remarked Tol, quaffing his entire mug of beer, so that his lips and chin were covered in foam.

“And was it not Elbryan who took care of that marauding black bear?” asked Belster O’Comely, moving down to that end of the bar, wiping it rather enthusiastically to force two of the men away. “The same bear that sacked your own home, Burgis Gosen!”

The smaller man, Burgis, shied away at the declaration.

“Bah!” Tol snorted, a cloud of anger crossing his brutish features. The huge man had never appreciated Belster’s relationship with the strange Nightbird and had said so often and loudly.

Belster held his ground behind the bar. For a long time, the innkeeper had kept his friendship with Elbryan quiet and low-key, knowing that his own reputation might be at stake. Lately, though, Belster had begun changing that. He had recently commissioned a specially designed saddle from the local leather-worker, and had made no secret that it was for Nightbird, payment for some work the ranger had done for him.

“The bear was sick and dying anyway,” Tol Yuganick blustered on. “Doubt that Elbryan there, our lord protector, ever saw the damned thing.”

Several grunts and nods of agreement followed. Belster, understanding that he would get nowhere with this surly crowd, just shook his head and moved along with his work. He knew that any reminder of the bear incident bothered Tol, for the hunter had sworn to get the bear himself—and would have been paid a fairly substantial reward if he had!

Brother Avelyn, too, ignored Tol Yuganick’s cheering gallery. He studied the man in the distant corner, the one Tol had referred to sarcastically as “our lord protector,” with new interest. Perhaps this one understood the truth of the world, he mused.

“I should think you would all be grateful,” the monk remarked absently, more thinking out loud than any directed comment.

A moment later, Avelyn, still focused on the man across the room, felt a hard poke against his chest.

“We need no protecting!” Tol Yuganick declared, moving his contorted, though still childish, face right before the monk’s.

Avelyn looked long and hard at the man, at the cherubic features so twisted by an almost maniacal rage. Then the monk glanced back over his shoulder, to see Belster shaking his head resignedly; the barkeep knew what was coming.

Avelyn stepped back and produced a small flask from under his cloak. “Potion of courage,” he whispered to Burgis Gosen, giving a wink, and then he took a deep draw. He finished with a satisfied “Aaah!” then rubbed his free hand briskly over his face while replacing the flask in his thick robes.

Then Avelyn eyed Tol squarely, matching the man’s ominous expression with one of pure excitement. Tol growled and came forward, but Avelyn was ready for him.

“Ho, ho, what!” the monk bellowed as Tol moved to poke him in the chest again. With a single sweeping left hook, Avelyn laid the big man low.

Two of Tol’s companions jumped the monk immediately, but they were shrugged away and the fight was on.

Behind the bar, Belster shook his head and sighed deeply, wondering how many would be left standing to help him clean up the mess.

Brother Justice smiled wickedly as he approached the Howling Sheila, as he heard the commotion of a fight, confirmation that Brother Avelyn was within. The monk had shed his telltale brown robe in favor of the more normal dress of a villager. He wondered if his old friend Avelyn would recognize him without the Abellican trappings, and that thought prompted the man to pull low the hood of his traveling cloak.

Better for the surprise.

Avelyn was outnumbered five to one—and those odds were only due to the fact that three other men were fighting on his side, or at least, against the mob that was moving against the monk.

Elbryan, on his feet and ready, watched it all curiously, not quite knowing what to make of the wild monk, as Avelyn, fighting wonderfully, kept bellowing out for “preparedness,” and calling the brawl a “readiness exercise.” The ranger was not unhappy at seeing Tol Yuganick and his friends getting a beating, as long as things didn’t get too out of hand.

Elbryan allowed himself a smile when brutish Tol pulled himself up from the floor and charged the monk with a roar, only to have the huge man sidestep at the last possible second, tripping Tol over a trailing leg, then helping him along with a stiff forearm to the back of the flying man’s head.

“Ho, ho, what!” Avelyn howled in glee.

So Elbryan stood back from it all, figuring it to be one of those dangers for the villagers to work out on their own. He kept Hawkwing, unstrung, ready at his side, though, already deciding that no deadly revenge would be taken once the monk was put down.

If the monk was put down, Elbryan soon corrected his thinking, for the fat man moved with the grace and precision of a trained warrior. He dodged and punched, took a hit and laughed it away, then buried his latest attacker with a heavy punch or a well-placed knee. He flipped two men at once over his huge shoulders, laughing all the while. A chair shattered against his back, but while Belster O’Comely groaned at the hit, the monk only laughed all the louder, giving his habitual cry, “Ho, ho, what!”

Elbryan leaned on his staff, thinking this quite a show. As soon as his posture eased, he was challenged almost immediately as an enthusiastic villager used the opportunity of a general fight to take a punch at the disliked ranger.

Elbryan casually put Hawkwing out vertically in front of him, picking off the punch with the hard wood. The attacker moaned and clutched his hand, and Elbryan pulled hard down and toward himself with his upper hand so that the staff’s lower end shot up and out, right between the groaning man’s legs.

Elbryan retracted the weapon and poked it straight out, setting it firmly against the man’s chest and pushing him away to fall, clutching hand and groin, to the floor. Then the ranger went back to watching, thinking that the mad monk would soon tire. If the man made but a single mistake, the mob of villagers would overwhelm him.

Then Elbryan would step in.

The ranger smiled once more as Tol Yuganick attacked again, only to be hammered away. Elbryan’s grin faded fast, though, his expression turning to one of curiosity, as a newcomer slipped in the tavern doors, moving easily through the battling crowd. When one man turned to punch at him, the newcomer leveled him with a series of three sharp; perfectly placed blows, launched with such rapidity that the man hadn’t even moved to respond to the first when the third dropped him.

Even without the fighting display, Elbryan knew that this was no ordinary villager. The man walked with the balanced gait of a warrior and sifted through the crowd with the focus of an assassin—and like an assassin, his face was half-covered, a scarf pulled up high and tightly tied.

It wasn’t difficult for the ranger to discern the man’s target.

What enemies had this wild monk made? Elbryan wondered, as he, too, worked through the tangled crowd, angling to intercept the newcomer.

The deadly punch was headed for Avelyn’s throat, though the fat monk, already engaged with two others, never saw it coming. Elbryan’s staff picked it off in midair; deflecting the blow up high. The newcomer, his balance and timing perfect, hardly noticed, but followed with his second strike, his other hand coming across hard.

Elbryan snapped his staff down low, quite hard, stinging the man on the forearm.

Now Brother Justice did turn his sights on Elbryan, spinning to face him with the sudden knowledge that this, too, was no ordinary villager who had come to Avelyn’s aid. A man tried to jump on the monk’s back then, but Brother Justice elbowed him hard in the chest, then the neck, then the face in rapid succession, sending him tumbling away. None of those nearby who had seen the defense wanted any part of the stranger, and none in the tavern—except perhaps for Tol, who was still on the floor—wanted a fight with Elbryan. That left the two, Elbryan and Brother Justice, standing face-to-face, an island of calm in a raging sea, weirdly isolated from the rest of the thrashing mob.

The monk leaped ahead, feigning a punch and kicking straight out for Elbryan’s knee. Elbryan put his staff up high to block the expected punch, but even though he seemed to fall for the ruse, the ranger was not caught. He spun a reverse circuit off his back foot even as Brother Justice kicked, moving his leg out of range.

Brother Justice came ahead hard, trying to beat the turn, to catch his foe on the back before Elbryan could get all the way around.

Elbryan halted in mid-spin, reversed his energy, and sent the staff straight out and back. He turned right under the weapon and launched it again in a straight poke, driving his opponent backward. Then the ranger went into a flurry: poking, swishing the staff side to side, then pulling it straight across, and alternating a series of heavy blows, left hand leading, right hand leading.

Brother Justice picked every attack off, his arms waving in a blur, hardened forearms smacking against the polished wood. He tried to find some hole in the ranger’s press, some opening through which he might go on the attack once more. But Elbryan’s form was perfect, each strike following the previous too closely for any countering move.

Still, the ranger did not get through the defenses of the skilled monk, and soon enough, didn’t even have Brother Justice backing any longer.

The attack flurry played itself out, Elbryan coming to a crouched stance, Hawkwing horizontal in front of him. Now the monk did come on fiercely, chopping at the staff as if he meant to snap it in half.

Elbryan was ready, had anticipated the move perfectly. He brought the staff in close to his chest, Brother Justice’s downward swipe falling short, then rolled Hawkwing over the descending arm and snapped it down hard. In the same motion, Elbryan came ahead a step and thrust both his hands, and thus the staff, straight out horizontally, driving it under the monk’s chin.

Brother Justice fell away as the wicked strike came in. He rolled his free arm up, taking some of the momentum from the blow, then knifed his hand out straight, scoring a hit of his own.

The two staggered apart, Elbryan gasping for breath, Brother Justice trying to shake away the dizziness. Immediately the mob rolled in around them, for all the Howling Sheila was flying fists and breaking chairs.

“Ho, ho, what!” came the exuberant bellow above the din, and it was obvious to Elbryan that the fat monk was enjoying this row.

Elbryan heard the movement behind him, recognizing it as an attack. He spun, Hawkwing extended, to pick off a lumbering hook, then brought the high tip of his staff down hard diagonally, drawing blood on the face of Tol Yuganick. Seeing the huge man dazed, Elbryan let go his weapon with one hand and snapped his palm into Tol’s chin, dropping him heavily to the floor. Then the ranger began his scan again, seeking the newcomer, this skilled fighter, this assassin. The ranger elbowed through the brawl, blocking punches whenever necessary, felling with three shortened blows yet another villager who tried to pounce upon him.

Brother Justice moved in a wide circuit of the dangerous ranger. He took a small pin from the rope belt of his robe and held it in tight, against his sunstone. Sunstones were used as wards, primarily against magic but also against various poisons. The stone’s magic could be twisted, though—could be inverted.

Soon the monk spotted the ranger, predictably walking a guard near fighting Avelyn. Slowly Brother Justice closed, using bodies as camouflage.

Elbryan noted the man’s approach and was ready when the deadly monk came in. He started for Elbryan but shifted suddenly and darted fast for Avelyn, who was standing with his arms high above his head, spinning Burgis Gosen in circles.

Elbryan had to move fast, had to throw his weight to the side frantically to intercept. He noted the tiny flicker of silver in the newcomer’s hand, noted that the man held some weapon.

He caught the newcomer by the wrist, accepted a punch from the man’s other hand in exchange for his own strike with Hawkwing. Brother Justice had the better balance at that time, though, and Elbryan took the worst of it. He staggered to one knee, trying to find a defensive posture, expecting to be pummeled.

The attack never came. Elbryan saw a shadow cross before him—Burgis Gosen in Avelyn-launched flight—and when the tangle sorted out, the newcomer was not to be seen.