DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (186 page)

Roger was a slight man, barely over five feet tall and weighing no more than the average fifteen-year-old boy. His growth had been stunted by a disease —the same illness that had taken his parents. He was quite familiar with the ways of street beggars and knew how to play the "pitiful waif" to perfection. He had found little trouble securing a job from the generous Master Machuso of St.-Mere-Abelle, and had worked in the abbey for the last three weeks. In that time, Roger had heard many rumors, garnering enough confirmation to believe that Master Jojonah had aided some intruders who rescued Bradwarden from the Father Abbot's dungeons. But then the story got confusing, full of conflicting rumors, and Roger wasn't certain if these intruders—whom he knew were Elbryan, Pony, and Belli'mar Juraviel—had gotten away, though he did know that Bradwarden was no longer in the abbey. He believed that his friends had also escaped, but before he would leave his job at the abbey, Roger had to make certain.

He thought he knew where he would find his answers, though the notion of going into the private quarters of a man as powerful as Dalebert Markwart was unnerving even to the man who had taunted powries in their encampment at Caer Tinella; defeated a brother justice of the Abellican Church; earned "Lockless" as his surname; and, most significantly of all, earned the respect of Nightbird.

"You did not tell him," Belli'mar Juraviel said to Pony.

"There is a time and place, and I do not think the eve of a battle is it," Pony replied harshly, though Juraviel had only stated a fact and there had been no hint of accusation in his tone.

Pony meant to go on, mostly to tell the elf that this issue was none of his affair, but lightning split the overcast sky, startling her. A late autumn storm churned in the dark clouds overhead.

"The child is Elbryan's as much as yours," the elf said calmly as the thunder rumbled. "He has a right to know before the battle is fought."

"I will tell him when and where I choose," Pony retorted.

"You did let him know that you mean to go to Palmaris, not to Dundalis?" Juraviel inquired.

Pony nodded and closed her eyes. When Juraviel had left her with Elbryan earlier that day, she had explained to the ranger that she needed to return to Palmaris, to try to learn of Roger's fate and to check on Belster at Fellowship Way. She had told Elbryan that she needed to put her grief to rest, and only a visit to those surroundings, she believed, could accomplish the task.

Elbryan had not responded well. Conjuring his image now —his eyes so full of confusion, hurt, and fear for her—pained her greatly.

"And you will tell him about the child before you leave?" Juraviel pressed.

"And then he will abandon the caravan to Dundalis," Pony replied sarcastically. "He will forget the task at hand and spend his days instead at my side, tending to needs I do not have."

Juraviel backed off a bit and wrapped his slender chin with delicate fingers, studying her.

"Elbryan and I will be back together soon enough," Pony explained, her voice now calm and reassuring. She understood the elf's concern for her and for her relationship with Elbryan. Juraviel was their good friend, and seeing him so troubled only reminded Pony that she must carefully examine these most important decisions.

"The child will not be born until the turn of spring to summer," Pony went on. "That will give Elbryan plenty of time —"

"More time if he was told now," Juraviel interrupted.

"I do not know if the child will survive," Pony said.

"Considering your power with the gemstones, it is unlikely that any harm will come to the babe," Juraviel replied.

"Power," Pony scoffed. "Yes, the power to keep me at the top of the ridge, watching others fight the battles."

"Do not lessen the credit deserved by a healer," Juraviel started to argue.

But Pony had turned away, hardly listening. She and Elbryan had to keep her use of the magic stones secret, especially now that Palmaris garrison soldiers had arrived. Even though the secular-serving Kingsmen were the only state force in the region, Pony had wisely limited her public use of the stones. Sooner or later, word would reach this far north that she and Elbryan were fugitives of the Church. Pony used the stones only to heal those wounded in battle; even then, she disguised her gemstone work by also applying healing salves and bandages, secretly finishing the task with hematite. Ironically, that healing proficiency had trapped Pony behind the melee during the fighting; Captain Kilronney was convinced she was too valuable to risk. Given Pony's surly mood, her almost-desperate hunger for revenge, she wasn't pleased with her role.

"Is my own role any greater?" the elf asked. "I cannot show myself before the Kingsmen, and am thus relegated to the position of private pre-battle scout for Nightbird."

"And you have been saying ever since we left the mountains around Andur'Blough Inninness that this war was not the business of the Touel'alfar," Pony shot back angrily.

"Ah, but the little ones're always sayin' such things," came a familiar voice from the shadows. Bradwarden, the huge centaur, trotted into the small clearing beside the pair. "Never meanin' it, for the elves're really thinkin' that everythin' in all the world is their business!"

Pony couldn't help but smile back at the grinning centaur. Though Bradwarden could be a fierce foe, his face always seemed to beam within that bushy ring of curly black hair and beard.

"Ah, me little Pony," the centaur went on, "suren that I'm hearin' yer words o' frustration. I been watchin' fight after fight against the stinkin' dwarfs and goblins, and canno' even lift me club to help!"

"You wear a distinctive mantle," Juraviel said dryly.

"One ye're wishin' yerself might wear," the centaur replied.

Juraviel laughed in response, and then he bid farewell to the pair, explaining that he had to report to Elbryan on the final movements of the powrie band.

"The dwarves're makin' it easy this time," the centaur said to Pony when they were alone.

"You have seen them? "

"In a cave in a rocky dell, not two miles west o' Caer Tinella," Bradwarden explained. "I'm knowin' the place well, and knowin' that there's only one entrance to their chosen ground. I'm thinkin' that the dwarves haven't decided which way they mean to go. Some're lookin' for a fight, no doubt, since powries're almost always lookin' for a fight. But most're likely thinkin' that it's past time to go home."

"How defensible is the cave?" Pony asked, her gaze inadvertently turning west.

"Not so, if Nightbird catches 'em in there," the centaur replied. "The dwarves'd hold for some time against a siege, dependin' on how much food they brought with 'em, but they'd not be gettin' out o' there if Nightbird and the soldiers set themselves in front o' the damn hole. Me thinkin's that the dwarves're not plannin' to stay in there for long, and have no idea that they been seen. Juraviel will tell Nightbird to hit at them before dawn."

"Dawn is still many hours away," Pony remarked slyly, grinning at Bradwarden.

The centaur matched Pony's smile. "Seems the least we can do is seal the ugly dwarves up in their hole," he agreed.

The storm broke soon after dusk, a wind-driven rain lifting a swirling fog about the skeletal trees, a preternatural scene brilliantly lit by every bolt of lightning. Pony's spirit moved easily through this storm, a mere swirl in the fog, invisible to the eyes of any mortal creature. She did several circuits of the dell Bradwarden had indicated, even went inside the cave to count forty-three powries —a larger group than the scouts had indicated—and to confirm Bradwarden's claim that there was indeed only one way out of the place. That single entrance intrigued her, and she lingered beneath the arch for quite a while, studying the heavy outcropping of loose-fitting stones above. Then she went back into the forest. She found only five powries outside, but was not surprised at the meager guard. The dwarves could not have expected that any army would come against them in this wild storm.

Her spirit drifted back to her waiting body, seated in another cave some miles distant. Bradwarden stood patient sentry in the doorway, while Greystone, Pony's beautiful, well-muscled horse, stood very still inside the cave, ears flattened.

"We can get right to the cave entrance with only minimal resistance," she announced.

Bradwarden turned at the sound of her voice. A bolt of lightning hit in the distance behind him, momentarily outlining his large, powerful frame. Greystone nickered and shifted nervously.

"Ye might want to be leavin' yer horse," the centaur remarked. "He's findin' the night a bit too fitful for his likin'."

Pony rose and went to the stallion, stroking his muscled neck and trying to calm him. "Not so long a walk," she said.

"Ah, but I'll let ye ride on me back instead," the centaur offered. "Now tell me what ye seen."

"Two groups of two guards each," Pony explained, "looking more for shelter than for enemies. Both are out about a hundred yards from the cave, one to the left, one to the right. A fifth powrie is settled in the rocks above the cave entrance."

"The sound o' the storm'll cover our first attacks," Bradwarden reasoned.

"Right to the cave entrance without them even knowing," Pony said with a wicked smile. Another bolt of lightning thundered into the forest night, a fitting accentuation of her dangerous mood.

The clip-clop of hooves sounded in the ears of the tense powrie sentries. The two powries, up to now more concerned with hiding from the driving rain than with sentry duty, tightly clutched their weapons —a small crossbow and a war hammer—and came around the cluster of trees, peering through the rain. They made out the hindquarters of a large horse, and breathed a bit easier when they noted that the animal had no rider and no saddle.

"Just a wild one," one whispered.

The other raised his crossbow.

"Nah, don't ye be shootin' it!" his companion grumbled. "Ye'll just wing the thing, and then it'll give us a long chase. I'll give it a good thunk on the head, and then we's be eatin' horsie tonight!"

The two powries crept up side by side, their smiles widening as they neared the apparently unsuspecting creature. They could not make out the horse's neck and head, for it was bent forward into some brush. Another bolt of lightning split the sky in a brilliant flash, followed immediately by a ground-shaking thunderclap.

The two dwarves jumped when the centaur backed out of the brush suddenly, throwing off the blanket he had used to cover his upper torso.

With one hand Bradwarden grabbed the closest powrie, the one with the crossbow, by the top of his head and lifted the dwarf from the ground. The centaur then dropped him, batting the tumbling dwarf with his huge club, launching him a dozen feet through the air.

The second powrie reacted quickly, rushing right in and smashing at the centaur's ribs with his hammer, a blow that got through Bradwarden's defense and landed hard.

But the powerful Bradwarden, so incensed that these two had been talking about eating horse meat, ignored the blow. He pivoted, bringing his club up over his shoulder. "Ye horse-eatin' goblin kisser!" he roared. Then straight down came the club onto the powrie's bloodred cap, slamming the dwarf so hard that the creature's knees and ankles buckled outward with loud popping sounds. The war hammer fell to the ground, the powrie's arms flapping weirdly a few times. Then the dwarf's body simply folded up.

A groan from the side alerted Bradwarden that the first dwarf was not quite dead. The centaur started for him at once but had to stop and stretch; the muscles on the side of his chest where the powrie had hit him were tightening as the bruise swelled, and Bradwarden feared the blow might have broken a rib or two. Only then, looking down, did Bradwarden realize he had a rather serious gash as well, his blood dripping down his side.

The sight angered him all the more. His respect for the tough powries increased as he neared his first victim, for the little wretch had struggled to his feet and was trying hard to find some defensive posture.

Bradwarden trampled the dwarf to the ground and added a couple of solid kicks to his head as he passed.

But the powrie struggled back to his feet.

Bradwarden was more amused than concerned. He came in hard, club flying fast, and knocked the dwarf into a tumble, then followed and trampled it down for good.

Pony's approach toward the two dwarves in the forest to the right of the cave entrance was much more cautious. She used the soul stone again to walk out of her body and pinpoint their location. Each was perched on a low branch, in trees about ten yards apart, just as they had been in her first scouting mission. She let her spirit linger until she was convinced the powries would not move anytime soon and also to inspect the dwarves' weapons and possessions. Neither carried a crossbow, she was glad to see: one had a short sword sheathed on his hip, while the other cradled a club in its arms.

Pony's spirit quickly inspected the area and then went back to her corporeal form. She knew she could eliminate these two quietly and efficiently with gemstones, but decided against that course, wanting to put Defender to good use. Despite Bradwarden's suggestion, she had ridden Greystone but had left him tethered in a sheltered pine grove not far away. The night was simply too wild for her to trust her horse's responses, and so she walked now, using the wind and the almost-constant thunder to cover any noise.

After she identified the trees she knew held the powries, she stopped and crouched beside a thick elm. In a few moments, she could make out the dark forms of the huddled dwarves. Out came Defender, the magical sword which had once belonged to Connor Bildeborough. Its crosspiece was set with magnetites, lodestones, and Pony also held one in her free hand. Foot by foot, she crept nearer to the dwarf on the right, the one with the sword.

"Yach, get back to yer post!" the powrie growled at her when she was barely a yard away, obviously mistaking her for his companion.

Pony stabbed upward, Defender digging deep into the powrie's leg.

Down hopped the dwarf, sword slashing, but Pony was already backing, waving Defender and turning to the other powrie as it hopped down from its perch.