DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (116 page)

“Shut yer mouth!” the big brute demanded.

“Duh, yes, master,” Jojonah responded. Truly, the heavy jowls and heavy limbs proved an awkward experience for the monk as he tried to talk and pull himself up from the ground.

The big giant hit him again and he lowered his head submissively. “I be quiet,” he said softly.

That seemed to mollify the leader for the time being, and the group moved along, back into their place in the formation, oblivious to the fact that they had picked up an extra spirit in the process.

The dozen monks on each side of the valley stood in a line, hands joined, the fourth and tenth of each group holding a graphite, and Brother Francis, in a concession made by Jojonah to quiet the man’s outrage, holding a small diamond. Francis was the guide-post to both groups, the one who would select the time. The monks had to strike hard and unerringly; any retaliation from the monsters could cost them dearly.

Francis let the front rim of the goblin semicircle pass below him. The key to victory, they had all agreed, was to destroy the powries quickly and to hurt the giants enough to steal their heart for the fight. With the leaders eliminated, the reasoning went, the cowardly goblins would show little desire for any battle.

Francis was the only one in his line with his eyes open, the rest falling into the magic of the two graphites. He saw the goblins passing, some less than twenty yards away, and he could make out the towering silhouettes of a handful of giants. Francis took a deep breath and called forth the power of the diamond, flashing a brief signal to waiting Brother Braumin across the way.

“Now, brethren,” Francis whispered. “It is time.” And then Francis, too, fell into the communal magic, transferring his energy through the line to the graphites.

Brother Braumin’s words to his group were nearly identical.

A split second later the first thundering bolt erupted from the hand of the fourth monk in Francis’ line, followed by a blast from across the way, and then from the tenth in Francis’ line, and then again from across the way. Back and forth the lightning barrage went, each monk in sequence loosing his energy into the combined pool of power of his respective line. Many of the younger monks could not even use such stones on their own, but in their mental joining with Francis and Braumin and the older students, their energy was tapped, each in turn.

The whole of the valley trembled with the thunderous report; each successive searing flash revealed fewer monsters scrambling about.

In the center of the enemy formation, powries scrambled and were thrown down repeatedly, staggered and jolted. The giants, larger targets by far, took even more hits, but their great forms withstood the assault much better, and four of the five were still standing after the first complete volley, with only one taken down—and that one by a falling tree, not by a direct hit of magical lightning.

The largest of the giant group, ignoring its trapped and screaming companion, pointed up the northern slope and called for a boulder retaliation. Its intent and its expression changed quickly, though, when the giant beside it lifted a huge rock high into the air and then smashed it down upon its head.

Master Jojonah felt the sudden protests of the possessed giant’s true spirit.I kill him and we be leader! he telepathically improvised, and that calmed the stupid giant considerably. Still, for all the giant’s efforts to remain in the background and let what it believed to be the dactyl control its corporeal form, it simply didn’t know how to let go. Thus, the giant was giggling louder than ever as Jojonah instructed the arms to hit the giant leader again and again, finally beating the dazed creature to the ground.

The two remaining giants howled and moved to restrain him.

Jojonah tucked the boulder into his chest, then flung it out into the face of the nearest attacker, staggering the giant. The other hit him with a flying tackle, though, the pair squashing one of the few remaining powries as they tumbled to the ground.

Hey,the possessed giant’s spirit protested, and Jojonah sensed that the dim-witted creature was finally catching on.Hey!

The giant’s will took up the struggle for dominance anew, attacking Jojonah. And then the second lightning volley began.

Jojonah forced the giant form to its feet and ran right in the path of the searing lightning. Then, as he felt the burning energy blast against his chest, he relinquished the battered body to its rightful owner and his spirit flew free, hovering in the empty air to regard the scene.

The largest giant, blood pouring from its head, somehow managed to stagger back to its feet—only to be hit by the next lightning bolt, and then another right after that. The behemoth tumbled to the ground again, all strength and resilience gone, and waited for death to take it.

The lightning continued to roll in, each blast weaker than the previous, as the monks expended their magical energy. But there would be no significant retaliation, Master Jojonah recognized, for all that remained of the monstrous force were less than half of the goblins, a dozen powries, and a single giant, and all of those were too frightened, too battered, and too surprised to even think of continuing the fight. Scattered torches marked their flight back to the west, back out of the valley the way they had come in.

In their retreat, the monsters made their way past one other silent observer, a man who had thought to come in for quiet attacks at the rear of the formation. Any who inadvertently ventured too close to the ranger found death at the end of a huge sword. And when Andacanavar discovered that one of the giants remained alive, he moved in on the limping behemoth, hitting it a series of fierce blows that laid it low before it even realized that the man was there.

When at last the valley fell silent, Brother Francis led his monks quietly across the way to rejoin their peers. Then the whole of the group moved back from the southern ridge, back to the wagons and Master Jojonah, where they quickly formed up their train and started away, not wanting to be discovered by either monster or Alpinadoran.

Andacanavar watched it all with a mixture of hope and confusion.

“So it is true!” the portly man cried, seeing Elbryan and Pony as they walked into the encampment beside the returning archers.

“Belster, my old friend,” the ranger replied. “How good it is to see you faring well.”

“Well indeed!” Belster declared. “Though we’ve been a bit short of rations of late.” He patted his ample belly as he spoke. “You will see to that, I am sure.”

Both Pony and Elbryan chuckled at that remark—ever did Belster O’Comely have his priorities in order!

“And where is my other friend?” Belster asked. “The one whose appetite rivals my own?”

A cloud passed over Elbryan’s face. He turned to Pony, who was even more distressed.

“But the reports from the forest spoke of great stone magic,” Belster protested. “Magic such as only the Mad Friar used to hurl. Do not tell me that he died this very night! Oh, what tragedy!”

“Avelyn has passed from this life,” Elbryan replied somberly. “But not this night. He died in Aida, when he destroyed the demon dactyl.”

“But the reports from the forest…” Belster stuttered, as though trying to use logic against the ranger’s words.

“The reports of the fighting were correct, but spoke of Pony,” Elbryan explained, putting his arm across the woman’s shoulders. “It was she who put the stones to their powerful use.” He turned to his love and lifted his other hand to stroke her thick golden mane. “Avelyn taught her well.”

“So it would seem,” Belster remarked.

The ranger pulled himself away from the woman and struck a determined pose, staring back at Belster. “And Pony is ready to carry on the work where Avelyn finished,” he declared. “In the bowels of smoky Aida, Avelyn destroyed the demon dactyl and turned the tide of this war, stealing the binding force from our enemies. Now it lies before us to finish the task, to rid our lands of these wicked creatures.”

To all those around, the ranger seemed to grow a bit taller as he spoke, and Belster O’Comely smiled knowingly. This was the charm of Elbryan, the mystique of Nightbird. Belster knew that the ranger would inspire them all to new heights of battle, would guide them as one pointed and focused force, striking hard at every weakness among their enemy’s ranks. Despite the news about Avelyn, despite his mounting fears about the missing Roger Lockless, it seemed to Belster that the world got a bit brighter that night.

The tallies of the victory proved impressive. The forest was littered with the bodies of dead goblins and powries, and several giants. Six men had been wounded, one gravely, and three others were missing and presumed dead. Those who had carried in the worst of the wounded did not expect the man to live through the night—indeed, they had only carried him back that he might say his farewells to his family and be properly buried.

Pony went to him with the hematite, working tirelessly hour after hour, willingly sacrificing every ounce of her own energy.

“She will save him,” Belster announced to Elbryan a short time later, when he and Tomas Gingerwart found the ranger as he tended to Symphony, wiping the horse down and cleaning the hooves. “She will,” the former innkeeper repeated over and over, obviously trying to convince himself.

“Shamus Tucker is a good man,” Tomas added. “He does not deserve such a fate.”

All the while he was speaking, Elbryan noted, Tomas looked directly at him, almost accusingly. It seemed to Elbryan that Tomas considered Pony’s work with the wounded man to be some kind of a test.

“Pony will do all that is possible,” the ranger answered simply. “She is strong with the stones, nearly as strong as was Avelyn, but she used most of her energy in the battle, I fear, and has not much left to give to Shamus Tucker. When I am done with Symphony, I will go to her to see if I can be of any assistance.”

“You tend to the horse first?” There was no mistaking the open accusations in Tomas Gingerwart’s tone.

“I do as Pony instructed me,” the ranger replied calmly. “She wished to start the healing process alone, for in that solitude she might find deeper levels of concentration, and thus a more intimate bond with the wounded man. I trust in her judgment, and so should you.”

Tomas cocked his head, regarding the man, and gave a slight and unconvincing nod.

A nervous Belster cleared his throat and nudged his stubborn companion. “Do not think us ungrateful—” he started to apologize to Elbryan.

The ranger’s laugh cut him short and he blustered with surprise. He looked to Tomas, who was obviously angry, thinking he was being mocked.

“How long have we lived like this?” Elbryan asked Belster. “How many months have we spent in the forest, fighting and running?”

“Too many,” Belster replied.

“Indeed,” said the ranger. “And in that time, I have come to understand much. I know why you are mistrusting, Master Gingerwart,” he said bluntly, turning from Symphony to stand directly before the man. “Before Pony and I arrived, you were one of the unquestioned leaders of this band.”

“Do you imply that I cannot see the greater good?” Tomas asked. “Do you believe that I would place my own desire for power above—”

“I speak the truth,” Elbryan interrupted. “That is all.”

Tomas nearly choked on that proclamation.

“You are fearful now, and so you should be,” the ranger went on, turning back to his horse. “Anytime one in your position of great responsibility senses a change, even a change that appears to be for the good, he must be wary. The stakes are too high.”

Belster hid his smile as he studied the change that came over Tomas. The ranger’s simple reasoning, honesty, and straightforward manner were truly disarming. Tomas’ agitation had passed its peak now, with the man visibly relaxing.

“But understand,” Elbryan went on, “that I, and Pony, are not your enemies, nor even your rivals. We will help out where we may. Our goals, as are your own, are to rid the land of the dactyl’s evil minions, even as we helped rid the world of the demon itself.”

Tomas nodded, seeming somewhat placated, if a bit confused.

“Will the man live?” Belster asked.

“Pony was hopeful,” the ranger replied. “Her work with the hematite is nothing short of miraculous.”

“Let us hope,” Tomas added sincerely.

The ranger finished tending to Symphony soon after, then sought out Pony and the wounded man. He found them under the shelter of a lean-to, the man sleeping comfortably, his breathing steady and strong. Pony was asleep, too, lying right across the man, one hand still holding tight to the soul stone. Elbryan thought to take the hematite and try to do some healing of his own on Shamus Tucker, but changed his mind, reasoning that sleep might be the best cure of all.

The ranger moved Pony slightly, trying to make her more comfortable, and then he left them. He went back to Symphony, thinking to make his bed there, and to his relief found Belli’mar Juraviel waiting for him.