The Demon Awakens (57 page)

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CHAPTER 45

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Parting

It took Elbryan and the other leaders of the rebel force several days to get everything organized with the twenty-five warriors and eight score refugees they would leave behind. The remaining band would cease its hit-and-hide warfare and concentrate on getting all the folk to safer points in the south, trying to parallel the advancing army without engaging it.

For those few heading north to the Barbacan, it was a difficult parting, but especially so for Elbryan, who had come to feel as a father to these people, as their trusted protector. If they were found and destroyed, the ranger knew he would never forgive himself.

But the other argument was more compelling; if the dactyl could not be defeated, then there would be no safe havens, then all the world as the humans knew it would be destroyed. Pony reminded the ranger often that he had trained those warriors who would escort the refugees, that they went with not only his blessing but also his woodland skills. And, like a father who has watched his children grow beyond his protection, Elbryan had to let them go.

His course, a darker road by far, lay the other way.

They set out at an easy pace, with Elbryan riding Symphony—but only for a short distance—that he might hasten out to run a perimeter guard, and with Pony and Avelyn walking beside Bradwarden, who had pipes in hand, but wouldn’t start playing until they had put the monstrous enclaves of Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o’-the-World far behind them.

Just out of sight of the encampment, the small group came upon a party of elves—there might have been five or there might have been twenty, so fleeting were their glimpses of the ever-elusive sprites—dancing amid the budding branches of several trees.

“What says Lady Dasslerond?” Elbryan inquired of Belli’mar Juraviel.

“Fare well, says she,” replied the elf. “Fare well to Elbryan the Nightbird, to Jilseponie, to good Brother Avelyn, to mighty Bradwarden, and,” he finished with a flurry, beating his tiny wings furiously to set himself gently down on the ground, “to Belli’mar Juraviel, who will represent Caer’alfar on this most important quest!” The elf dipped a low bow.

Elbryan looked up at Tuntun, who was sitting on the branch and smiling—a grin that did not seem so sincere to the perceptive ranger. “See to him, Nightbird,” the elven female said threateningly. “I will hold you personally responsible for my brother’s safety.”

“Ho, and a mighty responsibility that is, when facing the likes of a demon dactyl!” howled Bradwarden.

“If I had my say, Belli’mar Juraviel would remain with his own,” Elbryan replied. “Of course, if I had my way, then Pony—Jilseponie—would remain with the folk of the three sacked villages, as would Avelyn, and Bradwarden’s pipes would greet the dawn each day in this forest, his home.”

“Ho, ho, what!” bellowed Avelyn. “Brave Nightbird would fight the beast alone!”

“Aye, and cut a killing swath through the army ye seen ‘tween the arms o’ the dactyl’s mountain!” added Bradwarden.

Elbryan could only laugh at their jibes. He kicked Symphony into a short gallop, rushing down the path.

“Fare well to you, Nightbird!” he heard Tuntun call, and then he was alone, riding the perimeter, glad for this newest addition to the party, despite his comments to the contrary.

He sensed a movement not far away and asked Symphony to walk slowly. He relaxed when Paulson and Chipmunk came onto the path, some distance ahead and apparently oblivious of him.

“If we missed them, I’ll beat ye silly,” the large man huffed at Chipmunk, who wisely shifted to the side, out of arm’s reach. Elbryan did not miss the fact that they were dressed for the road, though the others would not be going to join with the refugees until the next morning. The ranger moved his mount into the cover of a pair of pines and let the two approach, hoping to discern their intent, thinking that they might have had enough of it all and were striking out on their own.

Aside from Paulson’s typical grumbling, he caught no direction to their conversation.

“My greetings,” he said suddenly as they neared, startling the pair.

“And to yerself,” said Paulson. “Glad I am that we did not miss yer departure.”

“Have you plans of your own?”

Paulson eyed him directly. “What’s for us with Elbryan gone?” he wanted to know.

The ranger looked hard at the man, then shrugged. “We will need to get the refugees to the south. There can be no further delays.”

“Ye’ve got more than a score of fighters for that task,” Paulson answered.

“A score that will need Paulson and Chipmunk to lead them,” Elbryan reasoned.

“They’ll more listen to Belster O’Comely,” Paulson argued. “And the able man’s already taken charge, by all accounts from the big camp. Our job here is done.”

“Then you are free of responsibility,” Elbryan replied, “to go as you will, where you will. And to go with my thanks and the gratitude of all who survived the invasion.”

Paulson looked at Chipmunk, and the small man nodded nervously.

“With you,” Paulson said suddenly. “The way we’re seeing it, the goblin that killed Cric was sent by this Bestesbulzi—thing, so we’re holding it responsible.”

Elbryan’s expression was skeptical.

“Are ye knowing anyone better for the woods?” Paulson argued.

“Ye just said that we were free to choose,” Chipmunk added sheepishly, ducking behind Paulson’s bulk as he spoke.

The others caught up to the ranger then, Bradwarden—with Juraviel nestled comfortably on his back, the elf tucked between the heavy packs—moving up right beside Elbryan.

“Our friends Paulson and Chipmunk would like to join us,” the ranger explained.

“We decided that a small group’d get through all the better,” Bradwarden complained.

“The two of us take up less room than yerself alone, centaur,” Paulson argued.

Elbryan smiled wryly at Bradwarden before the fearsome centaur could take offense. “True enough,” the ranger agreed.

“And we’re knowing the ways of the woods,” Paulson went on, “and the ways of our enemies. Ye get in a fight and ye’ll be glad that me and Chipmunk are with ye.”

Elbryan looked at Bradwarden again, since he and the centaur had been unofficially accepted as the leaders of the expedition. Bradwarden’s hardened visage fast softened under the ranger’s plaintive look. “Come along then,” he said to the two men. “But one bad word for me piping and I’ll be eating more than the meat that’s on me back!”

So they set out then, seven strong. Seven against the tens of thousands, and—in odds that seemed even less favorable—seven mortals against one demon dactyl. At the edge of the forest surrounding Dundalis, Elbryan slipped down from his mount.

“Run free, my friend,” he said to the horse. “Perhaps I shall return to you.” The horse did not immediately run off, but stood stamping the ground, as if in protest.

The ranger sensed that the stallion did not want to remain behind, and for a moment, Elbryan entertained the thought of riding all the way. But how could he do that in all good conscience, when he knew that Symphony might not be able to cross the mountainous Barbacan, and certainly would not be able to go into Aida’s tunnels with him.

“Run on!” he commanded, and Symphony bolted out of the immediate area, but stood quiet in the shadows of some trees not far away.

So it was Elbryan, and not the horse, who walked away, when the others caught up to him. It was not an easy thing for the ranger to do.

They struck out west more than north, wanting to cut a wide circuit around the long caravan that Avelyn had magically observed. Even from several miles to the north and west of End-o’-the-World, from atop a hillock, they could see a long line of dust rising into the air, moving south, descending upon Dundalis and the other towns.

“All the way to the Belt-and-Buckle,” Avelyn remarked grimly, and from that vantage point, it seemed impossible that the monk might be wrong.

There were no roads out here once the group got beyond the logging areas of End-o’-the-World. The forest was old, with tall, dark trees and sparse undergrowth, and there were rivers to follow, some whose waters had come all the way down from the high peaks of the Barbacan. Occasionally, the group came upon a lone house or a few clustered together, the real frontier families, living beyond even the meager civilization of the three small villages. It was not a comforting thing for the seven to find that every house they chanced upon, including one whose occupants had been friends of Paulson’s band, was deserted.

They found the reason the tenth day out, when Elbryan noted a line of tracks preceding them in the muddy riverbank.

“Goblins,” the ranger informed his companions, “and a few humans.”

“Could be a rogue band,” Bradwarden offered, “and nothing to do with our enemy in the north.”

“Goblins been in this region for a thousand years,” Paulson added. “Me friends’ve fought with them often, so they telled me.”

“But do goblins normally take prisoners?” the ranger wanted to know, and that admittedly unusual circumstance tipped them off that this was no chance incident, no rogue band.

The demon will draw all the goblins from all the holes, Avelyn had warned.

How Elbryan wished he still had Symphony with him, that he could ride fast to catch up to the band!

“We slip back into the woods to avoid them,” Bradwarden said. “No problem with that.”

“Except that they have prisoners,” Pony was fast to interject.

“We’re not knowing that,” Bradwarden replied.

“Human tracks with the goblins,” Avelyn argued.

“Might be that they
had
prisoners,” Bradwarden answered bluntly.

Elbryan was about to argue the point with the centaur, to point out that, whatever their mission, they first had to see if there were people in need of their assistance, when he got some unexpected help from Paulson.

“They’re running an army,” the big man reasoned, “so they’re needing slaves, if this raiding group is in league with the dactyl, then they’re knowing better than to kill those who might be worked to death.”

Bradwarden threw up his arms in defeat, and motioned for Elbryan to run on and see what he might see. The ranger did just that, circling west of the riverbank as he made his way to the north. He came upon them at last at a bend in the river, where the goblins—many goblins!—had stopped to drink, but were keeping a score of humans, three quarters of them women and children, back from the badly desired water.

The ranger bowed his head as he considered the options. Thankfully, there were no giants or even powries to be seen, but there were at least fifty goblins down there, with several, Elbryan noted, wearing the black-and-gray insignia of the dactyl’s army. Even if he and his powerful band attacked the group, how might they stop the goblins from killing the prisoners?

Elbryan went back to report to his companions, expecting that a furious argument would ensue. Was their mission the overriding factor here, for if they attacked and were beaten back, killed, or captured, then who would go on to the smoking mountain to stand against the demon dactyl?

“Only fifty?” Bradwarden huffed. “And only goblins? I’ll warm me bow on the first score, trample the second score, and give me club a taste on the last ten!”

“How do we hit them without endangering the prisoners?” the ever-pragmatic Pony asked. The question was not meant to dissuade any attack, Elbryan knew in looking at his determined companion, but to logically guide the group in the best possible direction.

“We separate them,” Elbryan answered. “If even one or more ventures away into the woods, lags behind, or gets too far in front . . .”

Six grim nods came back at the ranger. Within the hour, they were shadowing the caravan, learning their enemies’ movement, discerning the pecking order among the goblin ranks. At one point, when the riverbank grew more narrow and impassible, the goblins sent a group of six out to find a new route.

They died quickly, quietly, cut down by bows and daggers, by flashing sword and crushing cudgel. So fast and complete was the massacre that Avelyn never used his magic. The monk did get in close enough to one wounded goblin to finish it with a flurry of deadly punches, but he kept his magical energy in reserve.

When it became apparent that the first six would not return, the goblins sent out a couple more to find them. Elbryan, Juraviel, and Bradwarden shot them down as soon as they were out of sight of the caravan.

“They are onto us,” Pony reasoned when the band of seven moved back to view the main group, goblins rushing about nervously, tightening the ropes on the prisoners, herding the miserable humans together. The worst of it for the onlookers came whenever a goblin beat a human, particularly when one slapped a small child to the ground. Gritting his teeth, holding discipline supreme to emotion, Elbryan held his companions at bay. The goblins were wary, he reminded them all; this was not the time to strike.

“We hide the bodies,” Elbryan plotted, “and let any more scouts they send out go unhindered. Let them find the paths. When they are on the move again, the forest thick about them, we hit them hard.”

“Aye,” the centaur agreed. “Give them a couple of hours to think that their miserable kin just ran away. Let them drop their guard again, and then we’ll take the lot of them and pay them back for every slap.”

Elbryan looked to Avelyn. “You must play an important role,” the ranger said. “We will cut the goblins to pieces, I do not doubt, but only your magic can protect the prisoners long enough.”

The monk nodded grimly, then looked at Pony. Elbryan did as well, sensing that the pair, Avelyn and Pony, shared a secret. The ranger’s expression grew even more incredulous when he noticed Avelyn hand a piece of graphite to her, and green malachite after that.

The goblins did indeed send out another pair of scouts, and these two moved unhindered through the woods, then went back to the main group reporting no sign of their missing eight companions. Since desertions among goblin ranks were surely not an uncommon thing, the goblin leaders seemed to relax almost immediately, and with new trails found, they soon started the caravan along its plodding way once more.