DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (211 page)

Nightbird figured that the goblins would all be dead in a matter of moments anyway; Bradwarden and more than a dozen elves were nearby in the forest.

Shamus Kilronney sat astride his horse, fixated by the image of Jierdan and Tymoth Thayer, brothers who had served with him through all the war. Jierdan, covered in blood, much of it his own, knelt beside his prostrate brother, working furiously to hold a wound closed. But the tear across half the man's belly was too big, and blood and guts and gore spilled out around Jierdan's hands. He cried out for his brother repeatedly, fought with the wound a bit longer, then threw his head back and screamed helplessly. Gasping for air, Jierdan fell back over Tymoth, cradling his head, putting his face close to his brother's as if to breathe life back into him. "Don't ye die," he said over and over, rocking back and forth. "Don't ye die!"

Rage boiled through Shamus. He glanced all about, seeking some outlet.

"Ride to town and find a man named Braumin Herde," he heard Nightbird say, and only after the ranger repeated himself did Shamus realize that he was speaking to him. By that point, the captain had found a focus for his rage, a pair of goblins scrambling up the ridgeline and into the trees. Shamus dug his heels in hard and his horse leaped away.

"Shamus!" Nightbird called after him, but it was obviously futile, for the captain didn't even look back. The ranger instructed another man to go and find Braumin, then he ran back to Symphony and took up pursuit of his friend.

Shamus crashed into the treeline, shoving away branches, ignoring the scratches and prodding his horse forward. He couldn't see the goblins any longer, but knew they were still running —in a straight line away from the fight. The brush thickened about his mount; the horse resisted a push through a tangle of pine branches, so Shamus jumped down and, sword leading, charged on. He came to the edge of a narrow ravine, ten feet down—unless the snow was deeper than it appeared—and perhaps twice that across, with sides so steep that they did not hold much snow.

A single, new trail led down through the snow, so down the captain charged, stumbling, falling, but scrambling back to all fours and scaling the other side. He tripped over a stump just past the far lip of the ravine, but continued his wild scramble on hands and knees, hands and feet, then up again in a run, ignoring the bloody cuts on the knuckles of his sword hand and the cold numbness of his fingers. Another pine grove loomed before him. He put his head down and charged, meaning to go right through.

But then he heard a groan and the sharp crack of bone, and he went ahead cautiously, pulling the branches aside, peering into the gloom.

A goblin flew through the air and smashed into a tree. Shamus' eyes widened when he looked back the other way and made out the huge form of a centaur, one hand clasped tightly around a goblin's throat, bending the creature backward, while the other hand, holding a huge cudgel, was raised above the centaur's head.

Shamus winced as that club descended in a sudden, savage attack, and the goblin's skull shattered. With what seemed to be no more than the flick of his wrist, the centaur sent this monster, too, flying away. The centaur then picked up a huge bow —the largest bow Shamus had ever seen, and one that explained the enormous arrow that had come as a prelude to the goblin attack—and trotted off into the forest the opposite way, never looking back.

A hand grasped Shamus' shoulder and he, so unnerved by the sight of the centaur, nearly jumped out of his boots. He spun to find Nightbird standing beside him, Hawkwing in hand.

"There is another enemy in the forest," Shamus declared.

"Many, likely," replied the ranger, "for the goblins have scattered. Let them run, my friend. If they remain in the area, we will find them soon enough, though it seems far more likely to me that those who survive will run all the way back to their dark holes in the mountains."

"Another enemy," the captain said more forcefully, drawing a curious look from Elbryan, "a larger foe, and one more dangerous by far."

"Giant?"

"Centaur," said Shamus, his eyes narrowing.

That set the ranger back on his heels. He looked past the captain and noted the closest dead goblin. Shamus had seen Bradwarden, and the secret hadn't even lasted until the soldiers had entered Dundalis.

"No enemy," Elbryan corrected, his voice firm.

"There is talk of a centaur outlaw," Shamus said, "one who is reported to have come to this region. Few centaurs, I would guess, survive in this age."

Elbryan and Shamus stared hard at each other for a long time. The ranger understood that he was making a stand here that could destroy his friendship with the captain, that indeed could bring the two to blows, and mark him more clearly as an outlaw. But he also understood that he was standing up for Bradwarden, so unjustly accused, Bradwarden, whom he numbered among his most trusted, dearest friends.

"One and the same," he said, jaw set firm, growling the words. "The centaur you have seen is Bradwarden, who was taken to St.-Mere-Abelle unjustly. The centaur who fired the arrow into our midst to warn us of the attack was that same Bradwarden who is rumored to be an enemy of the Abellican Church."

"His actions against a goblin band, a common enemy, do not excuse —" Shamus began.

"I have wounded to tend," Elbryan interrupted, and he turned and walked away.

Shamus Kilronney stood among the trees for a long while, considering all that he had seen. He was an officer of the King, and an officer of the Bishop, and certainly not empowered to judge the justice or injustice afforded this centaur.

The captain closed his eyes and remembered De'Unnero's instructions and warning. Certainly the mere presence of Bradwarden in this region, and the fact that he was obviously a friend of Elbryan, gave credence to the Bishop's words.

This warrior, Nightbird, this man he had known as ally and friend, was indeed the outlaw who had invaded St.-Mere-Abelle.

By the time Elbryan came back over the ridge, the fighting was finished, and all wounded goblins had been put to the sword. Now the soldiers were tending their own wounds, and the ranger had to pause and draw a deep breath when he saw three bodies covered by cloaks.

Many more goblin dead littered the field, he realized. Though this was not the first time Elbryan had seen men fighting beside him die, the cost of this battle had been too high, by his estimate, and would have likely been far higher had not Bradwarden given them a few extra seconds of warning.

But where were the elves? Elbryan wondered. In searching the battlefield, he found only a couple of goblins who had been wounded by elvish arrows. More than a score of monsters had ambushed them, but Dasslerond's band, if it was as large as Roger had insisted, could have cut that number down before the first of the goblins got near the riders.

It made no sense, nor did Elbryan understand why the elves —the finest scouts in the world, creatures who knew the ways and sounds of the forest better than any, centaur and ranger included—had not given more of a warning.

Still, Elbryan blamed himself; he had known about the goblin encampment, but had not believed these creatures would attack them, even after Ni'estiel's warning that the goblins were on the move. Thus, he and the newly arrived soldiers had been taken by surprise.

And they had paid a heavy price.

A short while later, Roger Lockless, Braumin Herde, and the other monks came running down the road with the rider the ranger had dispatched.

A fourth man had died by then.

"But you are not thinking clearly, girl," Belster said, more loudly than he had intended. He put his finger over his pursed lips and glanced all around nervously. The Way was crowded and noisy this night, and apparently no one had heard.

Pony leaned heavily on the bar, twiddling her thumbs impatiently.

"How many of these folks do you think will join with the dark skins?" Belster asked earnestly, using the common synonym for the Behrenese.

"Of course," Pony replied sarcastically, "we are in a secure enough position to ignore possible allies. The odds are so overwhelmingly in our favor already, after all."

"You know what I am saying," Belster grumbled back. "The Behrenese are not —have never been—loved by the folk of Palmaris. In that above all else, Bishop De'Unnero has plotted well. Not hard to make of them an enemy, and now you are coming along and saying that we might fight beside them. No, a mistake, I say. We shall lose more allies than we gain if you follow this path beside this Captain Almet."

"Al'u'met," Pony corrected. "As honorable a man as I've ever met."

"His skin color alone will stop many folk from seeing that."

"Then they are misguided," Pony insisted, and then she looked questioningly at Belster. "Is this what you truly fear, or are you also unreasonably prejudiced against the Behrenese?"

"Well ..." Belster mumbled, caught off guard by the blunt accusation. "Well, I've not known enough of them to make a judgment. I met one once, but only for a short —"

"Enough said," Pony said dryly.

"Oh, but you are twisting my words and my thoughts!" the innkeeper wailed.

"Only because you know that those thoughts are without merit," Pony retorted. "Al'u'met will stand with us, if it comes to that, and so will the Behrenese. They are allies we cannot ignore."

"You believe in this man?" Belster asked for the fourth time since they had begun this conversation.

"He could have killed me," Pony replied.

"And so he chose right in letting you go," Belster agreed, "but to his own gain, by my thinking."

"He gave me back the magical gemstones," Pony added, "every one."

Belster gave a great sigh and threw up his hands in defeat. He shook his head, but his smile widened, until at last he looked at Pony helplessly.

Only to find that she wasn't even looking at him, but rather past him, her expression worried. Belster turned back toward the door and saw a pair of soldiers entering —town guard and not the King's warriors who had been common, too common, in Palmaris of late. Belster noticed that one of them—a woman, an officer with fiery red hair—held Pony's attention.

"You know her?"

"We fought together in the northland," Pony replied softly. "Colleen Kilronney by name. I know her and she knows me."

"Your disguise is well done this night," Belster replied, trying to allay some of the panic he saw creeping over her. Both he and Pony knew his words for a lie, though, as Pony had come in only recently and, since Dainsey Aucomb was not in, it had been up to Belster to help with the finishing touches.

Pony silently cursed her foolishness; she knew this predicament was no bit of bad luck but rather the result of a dangerous trend. As the situation had grown more critical in Palmaris, as Pony had become more and more involved in organizing resistance to De'Unnero, her attention to her own security had lessened. She had gotten careless and understood now, quite clearly, that such inattention could ruin everything.

She turned back to the bar and lowered her head as Colleen Kilronney and her companion approached and passed right by her, the woman warrior pausing a moment to take a closer look, but then moving on.

"It might be better if you went out and took in a bit of the night air," Belster whispered.

Pony glanced around doubtfully at the crowded room.

"I'll get Prim O'Bryen to help me," Belster said, referring to a regular customer, a money counter employed at Chasewind Manor. "He's run up a bill of near to forty gol' bears and will be happy for the chance to bring it down since De'Unnero has not been as generous as Baron Bildeborough. And Mallory's about, or soon to be."

His attempt at levity brought only a hint of a smile to Pony. She glanced around again, head low, then stood and turned abruptly toward the door —away from Colleen—and started off at a quick pace.

Her departure was not unnoticed, Belster realized as the red-haired woman got up from her chair and started off in Pony's wake. The innkeeper stood up to intercept her, smiling widely. "Good soldier, are you leaving already?" he asked, then turned to the bar. "Prim O'Bryen," he called, "you go back there and get a drink for the woman soldier, one of Palmaris' heroes!"

That brought a couple of cheers and lifted glasses from some folk nearby, but as Belster reached to put his arm around the woman, he saw that his diversion would not work. She slapped him away forcefully and pushed past him, her eyes on the door and the departing Pony.

Belster gave a sheepish grin at the woman soldier's companion. He thought briefly of going after the woman but realized that he would only be causing a disturbance that would bring even more unwanted attention. No, he decided, Pony was on her own. "Well go on back, Prim," he instructed loudly. "Certainly there is another in the Way this night deserving our drink."

"And too many for Belster to handle hisself," Prim O'Bryen commented, grudgingly crawling over the bar. "I'll be looking for some gol' bears off me tab."

Belster waved him the rest of the way over the bar, again trying hard to make as little commotion as possible. Despite his determination, he glanced toward the door more than once.

It was no accident or coincidence that brought Colleen Kilronney to the Way that night. The woman was no fool by anyone's measure, and she had always been among the most attentive of Baron Bildeborough's house guards. While Colleen had not been good friends with the Baron's nephew, Connor, she had seen him many times, including on his wedding day.

And she had seen his bride.

Something had struck Colleen as familiar when she had met the woman companion of the one called Nightbird, though Connor's wedding had been years before. At first Colleen had assumed Pony merely resembled Connor's bride, Jill, daughter of the former proprietors of the Fellowship Way.

As time passed, other clues had begun to fall into place for Colleen, particularly the familiar-looking hilt of the sword Pony had carried belted at her hip. Colleen had hardly noticed it up north, but as she considered the meeting, replaying it in her keen mind, that sword hilt had become more and more tantalizing.

It resembled, to no small degree, the sword of Connor Bildeborough, a celebrated family weapon, Defender by name.

Now, in the Way, the resemblance between Belster's wife and the woman Pony was harder to dismiss. Though Belster's wife appeared older, the way she had moved belied that. She moved like a warrior, like the woman who had accompanied Nightbird, the woman who had resembled the wife of Connor Bildeborough.

Colleen stood in the street outside the Fellowship Way collecting her thoughts, putting all the clues together. All the area was quiet and dark, save one burning streetlamp and a pair of men sitting against the wall of the next building.

"A woman," Colleen asked of them, "a woman who came out of the Way —did ye see her?"

The two men shrugged and went on with their conversation.

It made no sense to Colleen; there was no way Belster's wife could have gotten that far ahead of her. She turned back toward the tavern door, wondering if, perhaps, the woman had not really left the place. She even started that way but stopped then, remembering something else about Connor's wife, something she had once overheard. Connor had been talking to a friend, another of the Baron's house guards, when he had mentioned a special place that he had shared with his Jill, a quiet place within the city, yet removed from the city. .. .

Pony sat on the back roof of the Fellowship Way, staring up at the stars and wondering if Elbryan was looking at the same night sky. She missed her lover dearly, and had been looking forward to seeing him at their appointed rendezvous in early spring. Her belly would be thicker then —it already was starting to show, and so she would have to share her secret with him. The thought pleased her immensely, for she so wanted to share this with Elbryan. As she sat and watched the night sky, her fingers gently swirled about the sides of her belly, a truly comforting feeling, and she wanted Elbryan's hands there, too, wanted him touching their child, perhaps to feel its first movements.

But Pony knew in her heart that it would not be. The events in Palmaris had changed her plans, for she could not think of leaving the city at this critical time. Her duty was clear to her: to somehow bring together all the factions, even the Behrenese, who would oppose De'Unnero and the Church. Simply thinking of that duty replaced her feelings of contentment with rage. Images of her dead —her murdered!—parents, their bloated bodies lifting up in demonic inspiration, assaulted her, pulled her hands up to cover her face. She would pay back the demons parading about as leaders of the Abellican Church, every one! She would take her vengeance all the way to the Father Abbot himself and make him answer for his crimes against Graevis and Pettibwa, against Grady and Connor. She would. . .

A great sadness washed over her then, an overwhelming despair, and she could not hold back the sobs.

Thus, she did not hear the approach as someone climbed up the gutter to the roof behind her.

The sadness passed quickly —Dainsey had warned her of these abrupt changes of mood in pregnancy—stolen by a renewed determination that she would find her revenge. She leaned back against the warm bricks of the chimney and studied the night sky once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Halo, hoping that its beauty alone would bring her back to a place of peace.

"A bit of a climb for the wife of Belster," came a voice behind her, freezing her, thought and body. She knew the voice all too well —and Pony was growing more than a little tired of people sneaking up on her!

"Not so much a lift," she replied, laying on a thick Palmaris street accent, a fair imitation of Pettibwa Chilichunk, she thought.

"Not for the companion o' Nightbird, no," said Colleen, "one who's somehow hurt her eye since I saw her last in the north."

Pony's heart sank. She slipped a hand into a pocket, where she held several gemstones, the deadly lodestone and graphite among them. Mustering her nerve, she turned and saw Colleen standing three feet away, hand resting on her sword hilt. Pony eyed her cautiously. She thought to stand up. If she could get on even footing with the soldier, she had little doubt that she could take her down, despite the fact that the larger woman had a weapon.

But as Pony moved as if to rise, Colleen edged closer, and her hand tightened about her sword.

Pony slipped back to an unthreatening posture. "No nightbirds about, by me own seein'," she replied, "but if ye've seen a few, might be that I've a bit of crumb for the tweeters."

"No nightbirds," Colleen replied firmly. "They'd be farther north, I'm thinkin', runnin', and not flyin', about the forest."

A long, uncomfortable moment slipped past.

"Ah, but I left me Belster all alone in the Way," Pony said. "He'll be a screamin' fool when I get back."

"Belster has help," Colleen replied, "as you arranged."

Pony painted a puzzled expression on her face, but she was beginning to understand from the woman's ready posture that the masquerade was at its end. She clenched the magnetite, knowing that with a thought she could drive it through the woman's metal breastplate, but then she moved her fingers to the graphite instead, settling on the notion of a stunning, hopefully nonfatal, lightning blast.

"Enough useless banter," Colleen declared. "I know who ye are, Pony friend o' Nightbird, Jill wife o' Connor. I'm not a fool, and I have heard enough and seen enough to know ye."

Pony started to protest but stopped short, pulling her hand from her pocket and holding it extended in Colleen's direction. "Have you, then?" she asked, dropping the put-on accent. "And do you know enough of me to understand that I can take your life with but a thought? "

That set Colleen back on her heels, but only for a moment. She was a warrior, battle hardened, and with a well-earned reputation for fearlessness. "Truly ye're the rogue that De'Unnero painted ye to be," she spat back.

But Pony caught an inflection in Colleen's voice, less than complimentary, as she pronounced the name of the bishop.

"You mean Bishop De'Unnero," Pony goaded, "the rightful, lawful ruler of Palmaris."

Colleen did not reply, but her sour expression spoke volumes.

"Are we to fight, then?" Pony asked bluntly. "And am I to use magic and destroy you, or would you prefer it, would you think it more fair, if I went and retrieved my sword?"