The Demon Awakens (47 page)

Elbryan timed his maneuver, hit the dwarf once more, then spun out to the side, and the overbalanced, semiconscious powrie ran headlong into the tree, hugging it now, holding onto it dearly, for if the dwarf let go, it knew it would fall to the ground.

Elbryan walked up behind the creature and bashed his hatchet with all his strength into the back of the dwarf’s neck, splintering bone. The powrie whimpered, but held on.

Elbryan, horrified, hit it again, and the dwarf slumped to its knees, finally dead, but still hugging the tree.

Elbryan looked at his weapons, so ineffective against the sturdy powrie. “I need a sword,” the ranger lamented. He took the dwarf’s cap and gathered up Hawkwing, quickly replacing the feathered tip and stringing the weapon. As he started out of the clearing, he heard a gasp, and turned and fitted an arrow so fluidly and quickly that the newest goblin that had stumbled upon the scene hardly moved before an arrow took it through the throat, sending it stumbling backward into another tree.

Elbryan’s next shot pierced its heart and drove deep into the tree behind it, and the goblin slumped, quite dead, but standing, pegged to the tree.

The ranger ran off, arriving at the appointed spot as the moon settled behind the western horizon. Bradwarden and Symphony were waiting for him, the centaur bearing ill news. A section of the army had indeed broken off from this main group, so the tracks had shown, heading south and west.

“End-o’-the-World,” Elbryan reasoned.

“They’re near to the place already,” said Bradwarden, “if not sleeping in the village itself.”

Elbryan hopped up on Symphony. There would be no sleep for him this night, he knew, nor the next.

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CHAPTER 38

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Mercy Repaid

“Remain here,” Elbryan bade Bradwarden when the pair reached the diamond-shaped grove, “or in the region, at least. See what the news is from Weedy Meadow and prepare the folk of Dundalis for the decision that will soon be before them.”

“The humans aren’t much for talking to the likes of a centaur,” Bradwarden reminded the ranger. “But I’ll see what I can see and set me animal friends about to the north and west, looking for goblin sign. Ye’re for End-o’-the-World, then?”

Elbryan nodded. “I pray that I arrive in time, or that the three trappers got word to the folk.”

“Pray for the second, for hoping for the first, I fear, will be a waste o’ yer time,” Bradwarden replied. “And for the trappers, pray instead that the folk’re smart enough to heed their words.”

Elbryan nodded grimly and tugged his reins, swinging Symphony about. The stallion was already lathered from the long run south, but Symphony had more heart than any other horse and understood his rider’s urgency. Off the stallion pounded through the predawn forest, running on all through the next day. From one high hillock, Elbryan noted hopefully that no smoke appeared in the west, that End-o’-the-World apparently was not burning.

Elbryan first noticed the ghostly figures moving through the mist as twilight descended. The ranger still had a dozen miles before him to get to End-o’-the-World, and so shapes moving through the forest, moving eastward, did not bode well. He brought Symphony up behind a thick tangle of white birch and strung Hawkwing, ready to fight all the way to the westernmost village if need be.

Somewhere not far ahead and to the side, a small shadow glided through the trees, a slender form not much higher than Elbryan’s waist. The ranger put up his bow and drew back, finding the mark. He saw the form stumble out of some brush and stagger along the trail. It was the right size for a goblin—a small one—but the way it moved did not seem right to the perceptive ranger. This was not a lead soldier in an army’s march, but one exhausted, in desperate flight. The ranger waited a few moments longer as the figure neared, as it came out into a clearing under the moonlight.

A young boy, no more than ten years.

Elbryan prodded Symphony into a short gallop, too quickly for the frightened youngster to scramble away. The ranger bent low to the side and caught the fleeing boy under the arm, easily hoisting him up into the saddle, trying to quiet his cries.

A movement from the other side caught the ranger’s attention. He pushed down hard to secure the squirming youngster and swung about, Hawkwing in his free hand, ready to fend off an attack.

The would-be attacker skidded to an abrupt stop, recognizing the man.

“Paulson,” Elbryan breathed.

“And to yerself, Nightbird,” the large man replied. “Be easy on the boy. He’s been through the fighting.”

Elbryan looked down to his diminutive captive. “End-o’-the-World?” he asked.

Paulson nodded grimly.

Other people walked into the small clearing then, dirty, many with wounds, and all with that hollow, shocked expression showing that they had just come through hell.

“Goblins and giants hit the place two days after we arrived,” Paulson explained.

“And dwarves,” added Cric
,
coming into the clearing beside Chipmunk. “Nasty folk!”

“Powries,” remarked Elbryan, holding up the cap he had procured.

“We got some o’ the folk on the road south before the fight,” Paulson went on, “some smart enough to hear our words o’ doom. But most stayed. Stubborn.”

Elbryan nodded, thinking of his own village. Few in Dundalis would have left even if they knew a goblin force was coming to avenge the goblin that had been killed by the hunting party. They would have stayed and fought and died, because Dundalis was their home and, in truth, they had nowhere else to go.

“They came in hard, Nightbird,” Paulson went on, shaking his head, “and in numbers I’d not’ve believed possible had I not seen the army in the north for meself. We got out, me and Cric and Chipmunk, and we took about a score of folk with us, running blind through the woods these few days, thinking that we’ve got goblins on our heels all the way.”

Elbryan closed his eyes, sympathetic to the tale, understanding completely the plight of these people, the horrible emptiness that some of them now felt, the complete hopelessness.

“There is a sheltered meadow two hundred yards from this spot,” Elbryan told Paulson, the ranger pointing back the way he had come. “Take your band there and huddle together to fend off the cold. I will scout out the lands west and return quickly, that we might make our choice.”

Paulson gave a quick nod. “We could be using some rest,” he admitted.

Elbryan let the boy down to Paulson’s waiting grasp, and the ranger was touched by how gently the bearish man handled the youngster. He sat for a while atop Symphony, regarding the refugees, wondering what he might do for these people.

Then he set off, riding hard through the moonlit woods. He was out an hour and more before he decided that there were no goblins in the area, no dwarves, and certainly no giants. Elbryan thought that a curious thing; why hadn’t the wretched humanoids pursued the fleeing humans? And why, he wondered, had the western sky been clear of smoke? Surely the goblins would have burned End-o’-the-World, as they had burned Dundalis years before.

Back at the sheltered meadow, Elbryan gave his permission for the refugees to start a couple of low fires. It was risky setting a light in the dark forest, but these folk sorely needed the warmth.

Elbryan slipped down from Symphony at the side of the meadow, bade the horse to stay in the area and listen close for his call, then he went into the small encampment and found a place about the fire with the three trappers.

“I would have thought that you three would take the south road with those who were wise enough to flee,” Elbryan remarked after a short, uncomfortable silence. The ranger noted then the way Cric looked hard at Paulson, the way Paulson kept his own gaze low to the fire.

“Wasn’t time,” the big man replied unconvincingly.

Elbryan paused for a long while, studying Paulson, trying to find some clue to this uncharacteristically chivalrous action. Finally, Paulson looked up, locking stares with the ranger.

“So we’re with ye, then,” the big man growled. “But don’t ye think for a moment that we three give a beaver’s damn for Honce-the-Bear or any town between here and Ursal!”

“Then why?” Elbryan asked simply.

Paulson looked down at the fire. He stood up and kicked a stick that had fallen from the flames, then walked off.

Elbryan looked at the man’s companions. Cric motioned across the way to the boy Elbryan had captured.

“Paulson had a boy once,” Cric explained, “about the same years as that one. Fell from a tree and breaked his neck.”

“That one there lost his folk, by me own guess,” Chipmunk added.

“You could have gotten away,” said Elbryan, “to the south.”

Cric started to respond, eagerly and angrily, it seemed to Elbryan, but the tall man went silent as Paulson stormed back over to the fire.

“And I’m not liking smelly goblins!” the large man snarled. “I mean to get me enough goblin ears so that a single gold piece bounty’ll put me in a big house with a dozen serving wenches on a hundred acres o’ land!”

Elbryan nodded and smiled, trying to calm the brute, but Paulson only kicked the dirt again and stormed away. It was more than any bounty, the ranger knew. And, given the fact that Cric and Chipmunk had remained, it was more than the tale of a child lost. These three, for all their faults and all their vocal protests, carried some degree of humanity within them. Whatever complaints Cric and Chipmunk might offer, they had remained in the area because of the refugees, out of simple compassion.

In the end, Elbryan hardly cared what reason Paulson or the others gave for staying. Given the increasingly desperate situation about him, Elbryan was only glad to have these trappers, fierce fighters who knew the area as well as—or even better than—he, on his side.

The next day, Elbryan set the refugees on their way—for Dundalis, if possible, though he gave Paulson several alternate choices, caves and sheltered vales. Then the ranger set off, riding hard for End-o’-the-World, looking for answers or hints of what might yet come, and hoping to find more refugees.

The forest was perfectly quiet as he neared the town. Still, he saw no smoke blackening the sky. He left Symphony in the forest and moved tree to tree, crossing past goblin sentries undetected, at last finding a good vantage point on the edge of the village.

Goblins, dwarves, and giants swarmed in the place, moving as if this were their home. Elbryan saw the bodies, dozens of dead, human and humanoid, thrown in a ditch on the western edge of town, but this was not as the sack of Dundalis had been. The buildings showed very little damage; none had been burned. Did the humanoid army mean to settle here? Or, as the ranger thought much more likely, did they mean to use End-o’-the-World as a base camp, a supply depot?

Elbryan didn’t like the prospects. From End-o’-the-World, this force could swing south and then east, cutting off the roads for any people fleeing Weedy Meadow or Dundalis, the next obvious targets. And if the humanoids didn’t sack the town, that indicated they meant to continue on.

Elbryan recalled the image of the vast encampment. The humanoids could indeed advance, and the ranger had to wonder if all the men of Honce-the-Bear could even slow them.

He could do nothing here, so he thought, and he turned to leave, picking the course that would get him back through the forest to Symphony.

Then the ranger heard the cry, a child’s cry, from a house nearby.

Elbryan squatted low and considered his options. He could hardly leave such a desperate wail, but if he was caught here, then the information he possessed might never reach Weedy Meadow or Dundalis. There was more at stake here than his own life.

But the cry sounded again, seconded by another whimper, that of a woman.

Elbryan dashed across the clearing between two houses, held still long enough to survey the area, then ran on to the house in question.

“A meal for a dog!” he heard inside, a harsh voice, like that of the powrie he had killed. “You get me some proper food or I’ll eat the arm from your ugly son!”

The woman cried out again, followed closely by the sound of a sharp slap, then of a body falling hard to the floor. Elbryan moved along the side of the house, finally spotting a small window.

The powrie advanced on the sobbing woman, its hand raised to deliver another heavy blow. It stopped, though, a couple of feet from its intended victim, looking down at the woman curiously.

And she looked at the dwarf, not understanding—until the powrie toppled forward, an arrow deep in its back. The woman looked past it, her eyes wide, to the window, where stood the ranger, motioning to her and to her son to be quick.

The three got from house to house, then across the short clearing to the woods. As they entered the shelter of the trees, they heard a scream from the town.

Elbryan looked back upon End-o’-the-World to see another powrie come running out of the house, shouting that there was an archer about.

“Run!” Elbryan whispered urgently to his companions. They scrambled through the woods desperately, hearing horns from the town. Elbryan realized that the goblin sentries would soon be all about them, swarming about the forest.

He saw the shapes of two such goblins paralleling the movements of his group. Up came Hawkwing, and two shots later, the immediate threat was ended.

But there were more, many more, and the pursuit from the town was organized and systematic, calls from sentries gradually narrowing the possible area.

The three came upon Symphony, the big stallion pawing the ground and snorting warnings. Elbryan hoisted the woman onto Symphony’s back, into the saddle, then placed the boy behind her.

“Tell the centaur what you have seen in End-o’-the-World,” he instructed the woman, who only shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Tell Bradwarden—remember that name!—and all the others that the goblins will likely move south and east to cut off their escape.” The ranger’s tone was adamant, so forceful that the woman finally nodded her consent. “I will join you as soon as I can.”

“Run,” the ranger instructed the horse, “all the way to the grove to Bradwarden!”

“What of you?” the woman asked, grabbing the ranger’s hand. “How will you get away from this place?” Elbryan had no time for answers. He pulled his hand free, and Symphony leaped away, thundering down the trails, slamming down two goblins that foolishly jumped in his path to intercept.

Elbryan watched for a moment, confident that the woman and boy would be safe enough with Symphony carrying them. Then the ranger turned his attention to his own predicament, looked about at the many shapes moving among the shadows of the trees, and listened to the many calls of goblins and dwarves and the fearsome bellows of giants.