DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (196 page)

"Easy question," Shamus obediently replied. "Nightbird and Pony dominated the forest battles."

De'Unnero laughed suddenly, amused at how easily he had uncovered the coveted information. One simple question had shown him the whereabouts of the two most wanted by the Abellican Church. "Yes, Nightbird and Pony," he purred. Now he did claim the other chair, sliding it up close. "Do tell me of those two. All about them."

Shamus looked sidelong at Colleen, his expression curious and concerned, as was hers, for both detected something strange in the Bishop's tone. To Colleen, it seemed almost as if the man was hungry for the information, too eager to want to know about the two heroes, given his stated reason.

"Were the two in Caer Tinella when you arrived?" De'Unnero pressed Shamus. "Or did they arrive subsequent?"

"Both," the soldier answered honestly. "The two were in the northland long before us, but they were not actually in Caer Tinella when my soldiers arrived."

"Until..." the anxious Bishop pressed.

Shamus brought his hand to his chin, trying to remember his first encounter with Nightbird and his beautiful companion. He couldn't remember the exact date but knew that it was sometime around the turn of Calember.

De'Unnero pressed him repeatedly, and now it was obvious to the perceptive soldiers that the man had more interest in these two than as possible future allies.

Finally, the Bishop had heard enough of the timing of the first meeting and began pressing Shamus, and then Colleen, more pointedly about the demeanor of the pair. He even asked about a centaur —had one been seen?—and when Shamus replied that he had heard rumors of such a creature but had not seen it himself, De'Unnero was positively gleeful.

"Wait, but wasn't it a man-horse that yer monk fellows, the troublemakin' caravan from St.-Mere-Abelle, dragged through Palmaris?" Colleen asked.

"You would be wise to take care how you refer to my holy brethren," De'Unnero warned, but he brightened quickly as he turned the subject back to the fugitives. "And these two, Nightbird and Pony, are in Caer Tinella still?"

"There or just north of the place," Shamus admitted. "They were to lead a caravan to the Timberlands, though that was scheduled to go near the turn of spring."

"Interesting," De'Unnero mused, stroking his chin, his eyes taking on a distant look. He got up from his chair then, holding his hand out to keep the two from doing likewise, and started for the door. "You are dismissed," he explained. "Go back to your quarters and tell no one —no one, do you hear?—of this discussion."

And then he was gone, leaving a very perplexed Shamus and Colleen sitting in the chairs.

"So yer friend an' his girl are outlaws o' the Church," Colleen remarked after a lengthy pause. "There's a kick in the gut for ye!"

Shamus didn't reply, just kept looking nervously in the direction of the door.

"And what're ye to do?" Colleen asked him, standing up and practically pulling him out of the chair.

Regaining his composure, Shamus straightened his jacket and squared his shoulders. "We do not know anything of the sort," he said firmly. "Not once did the Bishop indicate that Nightbird and Pony were outlaws."

"Ah, but there's the little matter of the centaur," Colleen remarked, obviously enjoying her smug cousin's distress. "The centaur labeled as outlaw by the Church, taken by the Church, and then taken back from the Church. Seems yer friends might be a part o' all that. So what's Captain Shamus o' the Kingsmen to do?"

"I will serve my King," he answered coolly, starting for the door, "and you shall do the same."

"Yer King —or the Bishop?" Colleen asked, falling in step beside him.

"The Bishop speaks for the King," was his curt reply.

Colleen slowed down and let him move away from her, studying him carefully. She recognized the clear distress in his every move and thought that Shamus, with his blind devotion, deserved a bit of discomfort. He had developed an honest liking and deep respect for both Nightbird and Pony, she knew, and was now having a hard time swallowing the notion that the two were not all that they had seemed —or, perhaps, that the two were much more than they had seemed.

For Colleen, the feelings came more from the gut. It did not bother her at all that Nightbird was an outlaw in the eyes of Bishop De'Unnero. In fact, her respect for the man and for Pony as well was increased. She was a soldier of the Baron, not the King, and since her beloved Baron had been at odds with the Church right before his death, the startling changes in Palmaris were not at all to her liking.

Any trouble that Nightbird and his friend might cause would please her greatly, she thought with a smirk.

For Shamus, the meeting with De'Unnero had left thoughts much more troubling. In the stories the folk of Caer Tinella had told him about the ranger, and in the time he had spent beside Nightbird, he had seen only good in the man, a true hero to the beleaguered folk of the northland. Surely there was some mistake here; surely the man could be no outlaw!

Nightbird had not named his horse. The name had come to him magically, an extension, a gift, the only mantle that would fit the magnificent black stallion. And now Symphony lived up to that name fully, navigating the fog-shrouded forest as easily as most horses could run through an open field. The horse cut fast and thundered ahead, leaping trees downed by the heavy snow of the early winter and swerving safely wide of low-hanging branches. Nightbird did not guide him; rather, he let his wishes be known to Symphony, then put his complete faith in the horse.

And they were gaining on the goblin ahead.

They cut around a small line of thick spruces, Symphony's hooves digging hard against the turf.

Ahead in the fog, Nightbird saw a movement: the goblin on the small horse, galloping flat out.

Symphony leaped in pursuit, closing still more ground, and soon the goblin was in range and the ranger lifted Hawkwing.

Frantic, the goblin kicked harder at the small horse's flanks, and the horse put its head down and sprinted ahead. But the goblin, knowing that it was being chased, knowing that its enemy was closing fast, was looking back and only glanced ahead in time to see the thick limb close the last few inches to its face.

The riderless horse continued on, but slowed with each stride.

Nightbird and Symphony trotted up to the squirming, squealing goblin, the creature rolling about on the ground, clutching its broken face. The ranger had Tempest out and struck down hard and true, and the wretched creature lay still.

Nightbird wiped the sword on the goblin's cloak, then slipped it back into its sheath on the side of Symphony's saddle. He glanced about the misty forest, then clamped his legs tight about the horse, and Symphony turned and thundered off the other way. Within seconds, the pair had spotted another fleeing goblin, and Symphony pursued.

This one was running, ducking from tree to tree, but it made the mistake of crossing the ranger's path only a dozen yards ahead of the running horse. Nightbird recognized the small, hunched silhouette; and Hawkwing hummed, the arrow catching the wretched creature in the side, boring through both lungs and throwing it, dying, to the ground.

A noise from behind had the ranger glancing back, to spot another goblin bursting from the brush and running wildly the other way. Nightbird didn't even think to turn Symphony, but rather turned himself by throwing one leg over the saddle, facing backward, and loosing an arrow.

For the third time in a matter of half a minute, a goblin fell dead.

Perched in a tree not far away, Belli'mar Juraviel considered the ranger's shot with something more than respect, something bordering on awe. The elves had trained Nightbird, but to say that they had taught him everything he knew, Juraviel realized, would have been a tremendous falsehood. What the elves had taught Nightbird was quick thinking and how to bring his body in line with his plans, but the human's creative use of that knowledge was stunning.

As was the ranger's technique, Juraviel thought, looking at the goblin shot through the head, a perfect hit by the ranger while his horse was in full gallop the other way!

Juraviel's keen eyes continued to scan through the fog as he shook his head. There, he saw suddenly, in the same brush from which the last goblin had bolted, hid yet another creature, curled and cowering. Up came the elf's bow. He wanted a clean kill, but could hardly make out any critical points on the diminutive creature through the branches and the fog. He shot at center mass instead, his small arrow disappearing into the black figure.

With a scream of pain, the goblin leaped out, and Juraviel promptly shot it again, then a third time before it got fully onto the path, and then a fourth time as it took its first running steps. He raised his bow for the fifth shot, but saw the creature staggering, and knew that his task was done.

Callously, Juraviel turned his attention away, scanning the rest of the area and lamenting that it had cost him nearly a fifth of his arrows to kill a single goblin. Still, there were other ways, Juraviel knew, and so he started back on his original course, fluttering from branch to branch until he found a perch on a low, thick limb that crossed the path just above the height of a rider's head. Laying his bow to the side, arrow ready across bowstring, the elf took out his slender, strong silverel cord.

The centaur, too, was running through the forest, screaming taunt after taunt at the terrified goblins. When he discovered that several of the goblins were riding horses —something very unusual—Bradwarden took up his bagpipes and played a different tune, one of quiet, calming music and not screaming insults. Bradwarden had to work hard to concentrate on the melody; for decades, he had run the forests of the Timberlands as protector of the wild horses, and now the mere thought of a smelly goblin atop so graceful and beautiful a creature outraged him.

Hardly caring for the goblins scrambling about on foot, the centaur picked out his next target and took up the chase. He knew how to talk to a horse, any horse, with his pipes; and instead of arrows, he sent music in pursuit. A grin turned up the corners of Bradwarden's mouth —he had to resist the urge to burst out in laughter so that he might keep filling his pipes with air—when he ducked under a branch and plowed through some brush, breaking out onto a small dirt clearing. There, some ten feet ahead of him, sat the frantic goblin, kicking desperately at the horse's flanks and wildly jostling the impromptu rope bridle.

But the horse had heard the call of the centaur and would not move.

It took some fancy finger work, but Bradwarden held the tune, playing with one hand while he took up his heavy cudgel in the other and quietly and methodically advanced. The goblin looked back at him briefly, but then only kicked and pulled more desperately, hopping up and down in its stationary seat.

The horse nickered softly, but did not move.

Now the centaur did laugh aloud, tucking his pipes away under his arm. "Ye about done there?" he asked matter-of-factly.

The goblin stopped its jostling and slowly turned its ugly head to regard the powerful centaur, who was standing right beside. It started to scream then, but the cry was cut short by the cudgel crushing skull and shattering neck bone. The goblin bounced from its perch and dropped heavily to the ground, twitching in the last moments of its life.

Bradwarden paid it no heed. "Now ye go and hide yerself in the woods," he said to the horse, pulling off its bridle, then sending it away with a solid slap on the rump. "I'll be callin' for ye when it's time for leavin'."

Now Bradwarden did look down at the goblin, still twitching, and he shook his head in disbelief. This was the second goblin he had caught as it tried to ride away, but at least the first had found the sense to get down off the damned stopped horse!

This one was a strong rider, for a goblin, Nightbird realized as Symphony worked hard to close ground. The goblin knew the area fairly well, the ranger also surmised, for it moved off the trails only at brief intervals and then only to get onto yet another narrow path. And even running its horse full out, the goblin knew when to duck and when to swerve.

Symphony was more than prepared to meet the challenge, and the great stallion pounded on gracefully, closing.

Now the goblin was a ghostly gray form in the fog ahead. Nightbird tightened his legs about Symphony and raised Hawkwing. He pulled back and fired, but the goblin's horse turned, and the arrow flew harmlessly past.

Nightbird worked hard to get down low as Symphony thundered around that same bend. As the path straightened, up came Hawkwing again, but right before the ranger let fly, the goblin ducked under a low branch that crossed the path and the shot was lost.

Growling with frustration, the ranger, too, went under the branch. He feared that this would prove to be a long chase, though, for the path ahead was anything but straight. He did catch sight of the goblin at last, riding hard. It sat up straight for just a moment, glancing back.

And then, suddenly, it was jerked free of its seat, sent flying back through the air as the horse galloped on.

The creature's arms and legs flailed wildly for just a second, and then it hung limp in midair, twisting slowly. Nightbird understood as he neared and saw Belli'mar Juraviel perched on a branch above the goblin's head, one end of his elven cord fastened to the branch, the other around the goblin's skinny neck.

"Saving your arrows?" the ranger asked sarcastically.

Before Juraviel could answer, a commotion in the forest sent the elf fluttering higher up the tree. Even from the higher vantage point, he couldn't see much through the fog, but his keen ears brought him all the information he needed. "It would seem as if our moment of surprise is ended," he called down. "The goblins are regrouping."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than another voice rang out strong and clear in the morning air. "So nice for ye to oblige," came Bradwarden's roar. "Gettin' yerselves all in one place for me!"

And that, predictably, was soon followed by sounds of renewed fighting.

"Bradwarden decided to regroup with them," Juraviel said dryly, and off the elf went, hopping and flying from branch to branch.

Symphony leaped away at Nightbird's bidding, off the path, cutting a straight line through the brush, following the centaur's voice. Pressing for speed, neither rider nor mount could avoid much of the underbrush, and both got scratched by sharp branches and bushes. Turning one bend around a thick tree a bit too tightly, the horse crunched Nightbird's leg. The ranger didn't complain, though, just threw his arm up in front of his face to protect his eyes, held on more tightly, squeezed his legs in as close as possible to Symphony's sides, and lay low across the horse's neck.

Sensing the urgency, intelligent enough to understand that a friend was in peril, Symphony, too, accepted the minor cuts and did not slow. In a few moments, they broke through the last of the underbrush, onto the rim of a bowl-shaped depression.

One goblin was down, its head split wide. Another rolled about, howling in pain and clutching its smashed shoulder. But eight more of the creatures remained, surrounding Bradwarden, prodding at him with spears and swords, forcing the centaur to work furiously to keep the goblins at bay so that they couldn't follow through and stick him deep. Bradwarden kicked and spun, and swished his great club with mighty swings, roaring threats. He couldn't hope to maintain that frantic pace, though, and as each turn came a bit slower, the goblins managed to move a bit closer and stick him a bit deeper.

On one such turn, the centaur spotted Nightbird and Symphony leaping down to join the fray. "Taked ye long enough!" Bradwarden roared; and with new hope came new energy. He spun back the other way and charged ahead, driving the goblins back and luring those behind, thus distracting them from the charge of the ranger.

Nightbird threw his left leg over the saddle, pulled his right foot from the stirrup, and replaced it with the left, leaving him standing atop the running horse. As they neared the closest goblins, the creatures finally turning to meet the charge, the ranger dropped from the horse and Symphony dug in his hooves and veered hard to the left.

His forward momentum unbroken, the ranger rushed ahead suddenly, stabbing Tempest out straight. The goblin made a fair attempt to block the thrust, but it couldn't comprehend how fast the weapon closed the space.

Nightbird ran right by, tearing Tempest free of the goblin's chest. He dove into a roll to help slow his progress, and came up on one knee with a mighty slashing parry of the next goblin's thrusting spear.

Overbalanced as the front half of its weapon got sheared away, the goblin stumbled toward the ranger, who stabbed straight out, sticking the goblin deep in the chest. With a powerful heave, Nightbird lifted the impaled creature and tossed it to the ground behind him, then rose quickly, slapping his blade against the sword of the next goblin as it came in at him. Deftly —this one was a fine warrior by goblin standards—the goblin sent its sword in repeatedly, once, twice, thrice, but each attack was neatly parried by the ranger's flashing sword. Its momentum lost, the goblin tried to retreat, but that gave the ranger the opportunity to attack.

Now Tempest came in, once, twice, thrice. To the goblin's credit, it managed to parry the first two blows.

Spurred by the appearance of his ally, Bradwarden had not been idle, though he hadn't scored any definitive blows. But neither had the goblins, obviously distracted by the appearance of the ranger, of Nightbird, whose name they had heard whispered in their worst nightmares. When the third fell to the slashing Tempest, the other five had seen enough, and they turned and scattered for the cover of the trees.

Nightbird started to follow, but he pulled up short, startled, as something zipped past his face. He understood when the object —one of Juraviel's small arrows—buried itself deep into the hamstring of a goblin, turning its retreat into a slow stagger. Another arrow came flying past, catching the next goblin in line, but the elf's aim was a bit too high, and the creature only ran off all the faster with the arrow stuck into its buttocks.