DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (133 page)

His plans changed, though, when he saw the huge form of Maiyer Dek stepping over the southern wall and then running off into the woods.

Perhaps he would get his fight with the giant after all.

“We must keep them guessing,” Juraviel reasoned, lifting off Symphony’s back to fly to a nearby branch.

“You keep them confused,” Nightbird replied. “I have urgent business to the south.”

“The giant?” Juraviel asked incredulously. “He has an enchantment about him!”

“I have seen this magic before,” Nightbird answered. “And I know how to defeat it. He wishes a fight with me, and so he shall have it!”

Juraviel offered no argument as the ranger kicked Symphony into a run.

The pursuit was not organized, was just a mob of scrambling monsters, turning about in circles as often as they moved in any one direction. Many soon gave up the chase altogether, not sure of whom they were supposed to be chasing, and not wanting to get caught out alone against the Nightbird.

Stubborn Maiyer Dek did not turn back, though, just pressed on, calling for the ranger to come out and face him squarely.

Following those calls, Nightbird had little trouble in gaining ground on the giant, and he was pleased to discover that the rest of the monstrous pursuit was nowhere to be seen, that the giant leader, in its rage, had struck out alone. The ranger wondered if he should first seek out Pony. “Sunstone,” he muttered, remembering how Avelyn had brought down the magical defenses of Kos-kosio Begulne, and recalling, too, that he and Pony had not retrieved any such magic from Avelyn’s cache, that the sunstone had been lost in the destruction of Aida.

The ranger looked to his sword, to the gemstone set in the pommel, which was truly a magically constructed mixture of several types of stones, sunstone among them.

Up ahead the huge fomorian came into view, breaking through the last line of brush and pine trees onto a meadow.

“Work for me, Tempest,” the ranger whispered, and he brought Symphony around the area, stepping out of the trees on the opposite end of the field when the giant was halfway across.

Maiyer Dek stopped in his tracks, surprised that the man dared to meet him so openly.

“You came out here after me,” the ranger explained calmly. “And so you have found me. Let us be done with it.”

“Done with yourself!” came the thunderous retort. Maiyer Dek glanced all around suspiciously.

“I am alone,” the ranger assured him. “At least, as far as I know. You were trying to follow me, but I followed you.” He passed along some telepathic instruction to Symphony then, bidding the horse to be ready to come to his side should the sunstone fail. Then he slipped down from the saddle, Tempest in hand, and started a slow and steady walk toward the fomorian.

Maiyer Dek’s grin widened with each passing step. The giant suspected there would be trouble back in the town—he had thrown the powrie leader into the bonfire, after all—but wouldn’t they all, giants, goblins, and even the stubborn powries, bow down to him when he walked in with Nightbird’s head! And, to Maiyer Dek’s thinking, there was no way he could possibly lose. He wore the spiked bracers, the gift of the demon dactyl, and with their magic, no weapon could strike him.

So the giant’s surprise was complete, then, when Nightbird rushed across the last fifteen feet, fell into a balanced skip and lunged fast, stabbing him hard in the belly, the glowing Tempest tearing through clothes and leather girdle and slipping nearly half its blade length into Maiyer Dek’s abdomen.

Nightbird pulled the blade right out and slashed across, smacking Maiyer Dek across the kneecap. Then, as the giant’s leg went predictably wide, the ranger darted right between the treelike limbs, falling into a headlong roll as Maiyer Dek’s huge sword swished harmlessly behind him.

He came up in a half turn, legs tucked under him, and leaped back at the giant as it started to turn about, scoring yet another hit, this one deep into the giant’s hamstring. Then he ran out the back side of the behemoth, into the clear again, spinning on his heel to face Maiyer Dek squarely.

The giant was clearly confused and in pain, one huge hand holding tight to its spilling guts.

“You believed that your demon armor would defeat my attacks,” the ranger said. “And so the gift of Bestesbulzibar worked against you, Maiyer Dek, for my magic, the magic of the goodly God, is stronger by far!”

In response, Maiyer Dek roared and charged.

Nightbird leaped straight ahead, sword up as if he meant to block the attack. He could not hope to stop the sheer power of Maiyer Dek’s sword strike, and he knew it, and so at the last moment he leaped out to the side, then charged in behind the swish of the sword, stabbing again at the giant’s wounded abdomen.

Maiyer Dek brought the great pommel of his sword in tight fast enough to partially defeat the attack, and then, in a fluid movement, snapped that sword arm out wide, pommel clipping a dodging Nightbird on his already bruised shoulder and sending him into a roll.

The ranger came up in perfect balance, but truly his right shoulder throbbed from the heavy hit, and Maiyer Dek, recognizing a slight advantage here, was quick in pursuit, but this time with his sword at the ready, and not swinging wildly.

The giant put out a lazy swing, testing the ranger’s defenses. Tempest banged hard against the huge blade, once and then again, forcing it wide.

“You move your skinny blade well,” the giant remarked.

“Except when it is embedded in your belly,” the ranger replied.

Predictably, Maiyer Dek came on ferociously, sword slashing across at just the right height to take the ranger’s head from his shoulders.

But Nightbird was no longer standing, had dropped to his knees, then came up as the blade flashed overhead. Left, right, left went Tempest, then in a straight-ahead thrust, once and again, and then a third time, angled up for the abdomen once more.

Down went the ranger in a desperate dive, the giant reversing its swing for a sudden backhand, and this time with the blade so low that Nightbird had to fall flat on the ground.

Maiyer Dek rushed ahead, lifted his massive booted foot and stamped down, thinking to grind Nightbird into the dirt.

The ranger went over in a roll, then again as the giant continued to stamp at him. Then a third time, and when he came over, he put one leg under him. As Maiyer Dek lifted his foot and turned it yet again, the ranger sprang up, bracing Tempest, pommel in both hands, against his breast, driving it hard into the bottom of Maiyer Dek’s foot before it began its downward momentum.

The blade gored through the leather as if it were paper and drove upward, into flesh and bone. Maiyer Dek tried to pull away, but the ranger stayed with him, driving on.

All the ground shook when Maiyer Dek fell over backward, hitting with a tremendous jolt. The giant felt the ranger then, leaping atop his thigh, running up his torso. He tried to reach out with his empty hand, but Tempest slashed away, taking one finger at the knuckle and gashing the others.

Nightbird sprang to the giant’s massive chest, then leaped ahead, landing right above the behemoth’s shoulder, slashing hard with Tempest at the side of Maiyer Dek’s neck. Then he leaped again, into a backward roll, came up to his feet and ran up above the prone giant, narrowly avoiding the great sword as Maiyer Dek rolled about.

Nightbird was twenty feet away when the giant staggered to its feet. The ranger noted the blood pouring freely down the side of Maiyer Dek’s neck, and knew that the outcome was decided.

“Ah, but you’ll pay for this, little rat!” Maiyer Dek spouted. “I’ll cut you in half! I’ll—” The giant stopped and put its torn hand up to its neck, then brought the hand out in front of its face, staring incredulously at the complete bloodstain. Stunned, Maiyer Dek looked back to the ranger, to see him mounting Symphony, his sword in its sheath.

“You are dead, Maiyer Dek,” Nightbird declared. “The only thing that could save you is the magic of the goodly God, and He, I fear, will show little mercy to one who has committed so many terrible crimes.”

Nightbird turned his horse and rode away.

Maiyer Dek moved to follow, but stopped, again lifting his hand, and then, when he discerned that the blood was verily spouting from his neck, he grabbed at the wound tightly, trying to stem the flow, then ran off for Caer Tinella.

He felt the cold creeping into his body before he ever got off the field, felt the touch of death and saw the darkness growing before his eyes.

“Oh, but by yer pardon, master sir,” the woman stammered. “I’m just not knowing what ye’re wanting from poor old Pettibwa.”

Father Abbot Markwart eyed the woman suspiciously, knowing that she was not as dim-witted as she was pretending. It made sense, of course, for she was obviously frightened. She, her husband Graevis, and their son Grady, had been pulled from Fellowship Way, their small inn down in the poorer section of Palmaris.

The Father Abbot made a mental note to speak with Brothers Youseff and Dandelion concerning their rough tactics. Using brute force and threats instead of subtle coercion, they had put the three on their guard, and now garnering any information might prove more difficult indeed. In fact, had he not arrived on the scene to oversee the arrest, Markwart feared that his two overly rough lackeys might have seriously injured the three, might even have killed the son, Grady.

“Be at ease, Madame Chilichunk,” Markwart said with a phony grin. “We are searching for one of our own, that is all, and we have reason to believe that he might be in the company of your daughter.”

“Cat?” the woman asked suddenly, eagerly, and Markwart knew that he had hit a chord, though he had no idea of who this “Cat” might be.

“Your daughter,” he said again. “The one you adopted, who was orphaned in the Timberlands.”

“Cat,” Pettibwa said earnestly. “Cat-the-Stray, that’s what we called her, ye know.”

“I do not know the name,” the Father Abbot admitted.

“Jilly, then,” the woman clarified. “That’s her real name, part of it anyway. Oh, but I’d love to be seein’ me Jilly again!”

Jilly.Markwart rolled the name over in his thoughts.Jilly … Jilseponie… Pony. Yes, he decided. It fit nicely.

“If you help us,” he said pleasantly, “you may indeed see her again. We have every reason to believe that she is alive and well.”

“And in the Kingsmen,” the woman added.

Markwart hid his frustration well. If Pettibwa and her family knew no more than that old news, they wouldn’t be of much help.

“But as I telled yer fellow priest, I’m not knowing where they sent me girl,” Pettibwa went on.

“Fellow priest?” Father Abbot echoed. Had Brother Justice interrogated this woman already? he wondered, and hoped, for if that was the case, then Quintall must have also discovered the connection between Avelyn and the Chilichunks. “A monk, you mean? Of St. Precious, perhaps?”

“No, I’m knowin’ most of them from St. Precious—me Jilly was married by Abbot Dobrinion himself, ye know,” Pettibwa offered proudly. “No, this one was wearing the darker brown robes, like yer own, and his accent was o’ the eastlands. St.-Mere-Abelle, ye said ye were from, and I’d be guessin’ that he was from the same place.”

Father Abbot Markwart was pondering how he might properly identify this man—as Quintall, he suspected—without giving anything away, when boisterous Pettibwa rambled on.

“Oh, and a great big fat man, he was indeed!” she said. “Ye must be feedin’ them well at yer St.-Mere-Abelle, though yerself could be using a bit o’ fattening, if ye don’t mind me telling ye so!”

For a moment Father Abbot Markwart was confused, for there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the well-honed muscles of the first Brother Justice. But then, suddenly, he understood, and he could hardly contain his excitement. “Brother Avelyn?” he said breathlessly. “Brother Avelyn Desbris of St.-Mere-Abelle came to speak with you?”

“Avelyn,” Pettibwa echoed, letting the name roll off her tongue. “Yessir, that’s sounding right. Brother Avelyn come a’askin’ about me Jilly.”

“And she was with you?”

“Oh no, but she was long into the army by then,” Pettibwa explained. “But he wasn’t looking to find her; he was asking about where she came from, and how she came to live with me and Graevis. Oh, a nice and cheerful fellow he was, too!”

“And did you tell him?”

“Oh, but for sure,” Pettibwa said. “I’m not one to be angering the Church!”

“Keep that thought close to your heart,” the Father Abbot said dryly. It was all beginning to fit together, and quite nicely, he realized. Avelyn had met this woman, Pony or Jilly, outside of Pireth Tulme after the powrie invasion, and had traveled with her right through Palmaris and to the north, where they had then met the centaur. The woman had survived the explosion at Aida, Markwart believed, and so had this other mysterious fellow, Nightbird, whom Bradwarden had unintentionally described, and they now had the gemstones.