The Demon Awakens (50 page)

Avelyn, huffing and puffing, and too weary to attempt another stone use, moaned and complained that the others should leave his fat body behind. Elbryan would hear none of that, of course, and neither would Bradwarden. The powerful centaur was still carrying the sack with the kicking powrie, and somehow managing to put his great bow to use every so often, but he still had enough strength to allow the fat monk up on his back.

The horse trail continued to the east, but Elbryan called for a turn to the south, leading his group, more sliding than running, down a thickly wooded hillside that ended in a half-frozen stream and a field covered with snow beyond that. They splashed across and ran on, the powries coming in furious pursuit now that their prey was in the open.

“Why’d we go this way?” one villager cried out in desperation, seeing the stubborn, untiring dwarves gaining steadily.

The man got his answer as grim-faced Pony, sitting tall atop Symphony; came out of the trees across the way, flanked on each side by a score of angry villagers and their spirited mounts.

Elbryan’s group ran on; the powries skidded to an abrupt halt and tried to turn.

Pony led the thunderous charge and not a dwarf got off that field alive—except for the unfortunate one kicking futilely in Bradwarden’s sack.

The encampment that night, closer to Dundalis than to Weedy Meadow, was filled with a bittersweet atmosphere. More than sixty of the village’s eighty folk had escaped, but that meant that nearly a score had died, and all their homes were lost.

“You sent him away?” Pony asked Elbryan as the ranger approached the campfire she and Avelyn shared.

“I could not tolerate that in the camp,” Elbryan explained.

“How could you tolerate it at all?” Avelyn asked.

“How could I stop it?” Elbryan was quick to reply.

“Good point,” the monk conceded. “Ho, ho, what!”

Elbryan looked at Pony, and each shuddered, thinking of brutal Bradwarden and his planned meal. Elbryan had interrogated the captured powrie, getting no information of any value, and then the centaur had claimed the dwarf as his catch—and as his dinner.

He had promised Elbryan that he would kill the wretched creature quickly, at least.

The ranger had to be satisfied with that; he and the refugees were in no position to take on a prisoner, especially one as fierce and stupidly bold as that powrie.

“We did well,” Avelyn remarked, handing a bowl to Elbryan and motioning to a cauldron not so far away.

The ranger held up his hand, having little appetite this night.

Avelyn only shrugged and went back to his meal.

“You did well,” Elbryan remarked to the man. “Your fireball opened the way for Symphony—and even the help of the horses would not have been possible without the magic of the turquoise. And your lightning bolts saved many lives, my own included.”

“And mine,” Pony added, rubbing the fat monk’s back.

Avelyn looked at her, then at Elbryan, his expression truly content. He even forgot his food for a moment, just sat back and considered the events and the role he and his God-given stones had played.

“For years I have wondered if I chose correctly in taking the stones,” Avelyn explained a moment later. “Always have I been followed by doubts, by fears that my actions were not truly in the spirit of God but only in my own misguided interpretation of that spirit.”

“Today proves you right, then,” Elbryan said quietly.

Avelyn nodded, feeling truly vindicated. A moment later, he caught the look that passed between Elbryan and Pony, and politely excused himself. There were many wounded in the encampment that night, including some who might need further help from Avelyn and his hematite.

“I could not save Weedy Meadow,” Elbryan said to the woman when they were alone.

Pony looked all around, leading Elbryan’s gaze to the men and women, to the children who would have surely died this day had not the ranger and his friends ushered them away.

“I am satisfied,” Elbryan admitted. “The town could not be saved, but so different this is from the day of our own tragedy.”

“We did not have a ranger to look over us,” Pony replied with a grin.

That smile could not hold, though, lost in the bittersweet blend of tragedy present and tragedy past. The two moved closer together, huddled in each other’s arms before the fire, and said not another word, each lost in their memories of their own loss but with the satisfaction that this day, they had been the difference.

>
CHAPTER 40

>
Nightbird the Leader

“They are not burning the town,” Elbryan remarked as he, Pony, Bradwarden, and Avelyn looked toward Dundalis.

“Why would they?” the centaur asked. “The place was empty before they ever got there.”

“True enough,” Elbryan replied, for the folk of Dundalis, with sixty-three witnesses from Weedy Meadow and a score from End-o’-the-World telling tales of utter disaster, had not been hard to convince. All of Dundalis’ folk had followed Elbryan into the woods to the camps the ranger and his friends had constructed, hidden deep and far from the trails.

“But neither did they burn Weedy Meadow,” Pony observed, “nor End-o’-the-World before that.”

Elbryan looked grimly at Bradwarden.

“Supply towns,” the centaur said, his tone grave.

“That means they are continuing south,” Avelyn remarked, his voice cracking on the words. “How far?”

“Few villages south of here,” Bradwarden said. “Nothing much all the way to the great river.”

“Palmaris,” Avelyn muttered helplessly.

A long, silent moment passed as the gravity of the situation settled more deeply over the four friends.

“We can do little to stop such an army;” Elbryan declared. “But our duty is threefold: to hurt the monsters in any way that we can, to send word ahead so that the villages and even the great city are not caught unaware, and to care for those who have fallen under our protection.”

“A hundred and sixty,” Bradwarden said. “And I haven’t yet counted them all. Worse, no more than a third o’ them’re able to fight against the likes of a single goblin.”

“We must work with them, then,” Elbryan declared, “usher those who cannot fight to safety and use those who can and will do battle to our best advantage.”

“A huge task, ranger,” Bradwarden remarked.

Elbryan stared at him long and hard.

“I’m with ye,” the centaur grumbled a moment later, “though not for the taste o’ powrie, I tell ye. Tough little bugs!”

“Ho, ho, what!” Avelyn howled.

They went to the task that very day, sorting the refugees into those who would stay and fight with Elbryan, and those who would be sent to safer havens, into caves that Bradwarden knew of some distance to the east of Dundalis or even into the more human-controlled southlands, if a route could be found. When they finished the initial round, Elbryan found that he had more than seven score who would need to be relocated, leaving him just over twenty able-bodied warriors. And they were indeed a ragtag band; the best among them, other than Pony, Bradwarden, and Avelyn, was probably unreliable Paulson or the always-irritating, disagreeable Tol Yuganick.

Pony pointed out that very fact to Elbryan when they sat together that evening. “You should send him south with the refugees,” she noted, indicating the grumbling Tol, who was walking about the encampment, bullying any who crossed his path.

“He is strong and good with a spear,” Elbryan countered.

“And he’ll fight you all the way,” Pony said. “Tol will demand control, and his continuing rage will certainly put him, and any who follow him, into a position from which there will be no escape.”

Elbryan couldn’t really disagree. At least with Paulson, the ranger had some idea that the man was willing to follow directions; Paulson and his two companions, after all, had laid traps on the hillsides east of Weedy Meadow exactly as Elbryan had bade them.

“Send him off with the unfit,” Pony said again, more forcefully. “Let Belster O’Comely deal with the brute, else I fear that you and Tol will cross swords, and it would not do for you to be killing one of our own in front of the others
.
”

Elbryan thought she was perhaps being a bit overdramatic, but he had to admit that he and Tol had come close to blows several times over the previous few months—and then in situations not nearly as tense as the one that surely lay before them.

“When will you send the band south?” Pony asked, wisely giving Elbryan some breathing room before he was forced into such a difficult decision.

“Paulson, Cric, and Chipmunk are off scouting the area even now,” the ranger replied, “swinging west to confirm the occupation of Weedy Meadow and End-o’-the-World and then south to see what roads lie open. When they return in a few days, we might decide what to do with the refugees.”

Pony nodded, considering the plan. “If they will soon return, then they will not go far to the south, not to the next villages in line, Caer Tinella and Landsdown, and certainly not to Palmaris,” she reasoned. “You must send an emissary soon if the southland is to be properly warned.”

Elbryan sighed deeply, agreeing fully with her observation. He knew the proper course before him, knew the perfect choice, a person possessed of both tact and skills, battle and horsemanship, but it was a decree the ranger did not wish to utter.

Pony did it for him. “Symphony will bear me?” she asked, drawing the ranger’s gaze to her own.

Elbryan paused and looked long and hard at the woman, at his love. They had been reunited for so short a time, how could he bear to part with her again? Despite that turmoil, Elbryan found himself nodding. Symphony would indeed carry Pony; the great stallion had already indicated as much to Elbryan.

“Then I will be away before the dawn,” Pony said firmly.

Elbryan sighed again, and Pony took his face in her hands, turned him to her, and pulled him close, kissing him gently.

“I will go all the way to Palmaris, if I must,” she promised, “and then I will return to your side. Symphony will see me there and back again. No goblin, no powrie, no giant will catch me.”

Elbryan, who had felt the wind, the rush of Symphony’s run, didn’t doubt that for a minute. “And you must return to me,” he whispered, “to fight beside me and to lie beside me in the quiet night, when all the troubles of the day must be put to peace.”

Pony kissed him again, longer and harder this time. All around them, the camp was settling down, save the occasional grumble from ugly Tol, and the pair slipped away sometime later into the forest to a private place.

True to her word, Pony was riding hard to the south as the sun crested the eastern horizon. She had not gone without two meetings, though, one a very private discussion with Elbryan and the other, unexpectedly, with Brother Avelyn, who was waiting for her when she walked out of the camp.

“Symphony is not far,” the monk explained. “I saw him on that ridge just a few minutes ago. Waiting for you, I should guess.”

Pony gave a crooked smile, her wonderment at the continuing intelligence shown by the animal—now seeming to be so much more than an ordinary horse—clearly displayed on her features.

“As I was waiting for you,” Avelyn huffed.

“Symphony would not carry us both,” Pony said dryly.

“What?” asked Avelyn. “Ho, ho, good laugh, that!”

The man’s mirth disappeared almost immediately, and the suddenly grim set of his heavy jowls made Pony believe he was concerned for her safety.

“I will return,” she promised.

Avelyn nodded. “And all the faster,” he explained, holding forth a silver circlet, “with this.”

Pony took the band tentatively, knowing as soon as she saw the gemstone set in the silver in front that this was much more than something ornamental. The gem was unlike anything she had seen before, yellowish-green with a black streak down its middle.

“Cat’s eye,” Avelyn explained. He took the circlet back from her and set it about her forehead.

“With it, you will see clearly in the dark of night,” the monk explained.

Indeed, the mounting light of dawn still a while away seemed suddenly brighter to Pony. Not brighter, exactly, but every object became much more distinct. Pony looked at Avelyn, suddenly very appreciative of the training he had given her with the magical stones but somewhat surprised that she could call forth the magic of this cat’s eye so readily.

“How is it that the stone will work so easily for me?” she asked. “And am I now ready to unleash fireballs and bolts of lightning as you did in the battle in Weedy Meadow?” Pony’s expression grew sly. “Is the power, then, wholly of the stones?” she asked. “And if that is so, then why is Avelyn so blessed?”

“Ho, but that hurt!” the good-natured monk bellowed. “Ho, ho, what! Blessed indeed, say some, but cursed, say I, with such a supportive friend as this!”

“Ho, but that hurt!” Pony echoed, imitating Avelyn’s voice, and they shared a much-needed laugh.

“The power comes from both stone and user,” Avelyn explained in all seriousness, a lesson he had explained to her many times during their weeks on the road. “Some stones, though, such as the turquoise I gave to Elbryan and he to Symphony, can be altered to perform their magic continually, whoever their holder might be. Stones become magical items, so to speak, useful to the layman. I have seen such minor charms, and so have you, I would guess, among the farmers or the minor seers of the lands.”

“And you prepared this one,” Pony reasoned, tapping the cat’s eye.

“For you,” replied Avelyn, “or for myself or perhaps for Elbryan. Ho, ho, what! Wherever it is most needed, I say, and now, that will be with you. Take it and use it to guide Symphony well through the night when our enemies will not be aware.”

A snort from the side caught their attention and they turned to see the magnificent stallion standing again atop the nearby ridge, eager to run, as if he had been eavesdropping on their conversation.

“I doubt Symphony will need much guidance,” Pony said, “day or night.”

“Use it to keep your head from smacking into low branches, then.” Avelyn laughed, drawing a short-lived smile from Pony.

Short-lived, because it was time for the woman to go.

Avelyn turned her around suddenly as soon as she had started away. The monk held his hand out to her, and when she took it, he gave her another stone, a piece of graphite, the stone used to create lightning.

“Perhaps you are ready,” Avelyn said with respect.

Pony clenched the graphite tightly, nodded once, and walked away.

The day was, clear and crisp but bitterly cold, the north wind blowing steadily, and Elbryan had to wonder if winter would ever give up its grip upon the land.

Later that morning, the ranger gathered together the men and a few women who would remain with him as his fighting force. “We cannot defeat the enemy that has come to our homes,” he told them bluntly. “They are too great in number.”

That brought a few grumbles, including a sarcastic, “Inspirational,” from Tol Yuganick.

“But we can hurt them,” Elbryan went on. “And perhaps our efforts here will make the war—”

“War?” Tol demanded.

“You still think this no more than a raiding party?” Elbryan scolded. “Ten thousand goblins have passed through Weedy Meadow since its fall, passed through and continued south.”

Tol snorted and waved his hand dismissively.

“Our efforts here will make the war easier on those in the south,” Elbryan said loudly, to quench the rising dissent, “to help Caer Tinella and Landsdown, and even Palmaris, where we believe this army to be headed.”

“Bah!” Tol snorted. “The words of a fool, I say! The goblin scum have taken Dundalis, so to Dundalis we must go, to drive them far.”

“To die,” Elbryan put in before the big man could gain any momentum. “Only to die.” Elbryan walked over to stand right before Tol, the tension mounting with each step. They were about the same height, but Tol, with his barrel-like torso and ample belly, was heavier.

The man puffed out his chest and glared hard at the ranger.

“I’ll not stop any who wish to follow Tol Yuganick into Dundalis,” the ranger said after a long and tense moment, “or into Weedy Meadow or End-o’-the-World or wherever else you choose as your graveyard. These woods have many places I can camp so you’ll not be able to betray me when the goblins pull off your fingernails or hold you down and smash your privates with hammers.”

Even Tol blanched a bit at that notion.

“No, you’ll not betray me or my cause, but neither will I cry for your pain, neither will I risk those who wisely choose my way, to rescue those who willingly went to such a death.”

It was enough for one day, Elbryan decided, for the first day of putting his soldiers in line, so the ranger slowly walked away from Tol, then off the field to the edge of the forest, where stood an amused Bradwarden.

“Oh, nice touch with the hammer story,” the centaur greeted him.

Elbryan gave a wry smile, but it couldn’t last. He was too concerned with Pony’s opinion of Tol as a troublemaker and with the fact that Pony was probably already many miles away.

“We’ve—ye’ve a long way to go to get them in line,” the centaur remarked.

Elbryan was all too aware of that grim fact.

‘”But I gave ye little credit when ye didn’t kill the three rogues,” Bradwarden offered.

“You said I should have killed them,” the ranger reminded, drawing an embarrassed snort from the centaur.

“So I did! So I did!” Bradwarden replied. “And the three’ve proven themselves worthy o’ yer mercy ten times over!”

“They are valuable allies,” Elbryan added.

“Ye’ll have a tougher time with that one,” Bradwarden remarked, lifting his bearded chin toward Tol Yuganick, who was still standing in the small field, looking none too happy. “He’s not for respecting ye, ranger. Might that ye should take him into the woods and beat him about.”

Elbryan only smiled, but Bradwarden’s suggestion did not seem like such a bad idea.

The mood of all the encampment brightened considerably that night when a dozen stragglers—more refugees from End-o’-the-World and mostly under the age of fifteen—wandered in, seeming dazed and sorely hungry; several had minor wounds, but otherwise all were physically sound. They told their remarkable tale to the group, and then their two leaders, a middle-aged couple, repeated the story in depth to Elbryan and Avelyn.

They had fled the town with the others as the goblin horde descended upon it, heading for the forest. But they had not gotten away cleanly and were forced to separate from the main group. Later that night, they had found themselves cornered in a rocky ravine by powries and a pair of giants, but, as the woman explained it, “The air came alive, like the buzzing of a million bees,” and when the confusion ended, all their would-be murderers lay dead, the victims of many small puncture wounds.