DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (207 page)

"Witness the resilience and innovation of merchants," De'Unnero told Jollenue, reaching down and yanking the ring from Crump's toe. "Once a simple soul stone, of which there are dozens at St. Precious alone, but through the cleverness of an alchemist and a powerful monk of some long-past century comes this: a ring that will begin a slow but steady healing process on the wounds of its wearer. A magnificent little item, one that has allowed our Master Crump here to build an impressive reputation of walking off battlefields on which he was left to die, seemingly mortally wounded.

"So ends the legend, the mystery explained," the Bishop said to the soldier who had first told him of Crump's exploits, the man having followed the others into the house this time.

The soldier glanced at his companions, obviously nervous, as was everyone in the foyer, not knowing what the volatile Bishop would do next.

De'Unnero let them linger in that uncertainty for a few long moments, then said suddenly, "Take him to St. Precious! To the same dungeon that held the outlaw centaur!"

Two soldiers jumped at the order, rushing to Crump, hooking their arms under his broad shoulders and hoisting him to his feet. De'Unnero was right there. "One bit of resistance," he warned . .. and he held up his hand, now the limb of a tiger, claws extended. "Castration."

Crump nearly swooned, then moved along limply as the guards pulled him away.

De'Unnero looked at the guard on the floor. "Bury your dead," he instructed the servants, "facedown and in unconsecrated ground."

One woman cried out. By the measure of the Church, De'Unnero had just ordered the greatest affront that could be offered to this man and to any surviving family he had.

"Cover his grave with a blocking stone," the merciless Bishop went on, taking the insult even farther, "that his demon-filled spirit cannot escape the realm of the underworld."

De'Unnero's eyes narrowed as he considered each of the servants, letting them know that their fate would be equally grim if they failed.

Then the Bishop swept out of the house, taking up brother Jollenue and the remaining soldiers in his wake.

It was a lesson, he knew, that none in attendance would soon forget.

"You are certain they are out there?" Brother Viscenti asked for the third time. The nervous monk peered into the darkness beyond the campfire's glow and shivered, for the night wind, sweeping down from the north, blew cold.

"Have faith," Roger replied. "The Touel'alfar said that they would accompany us to the north, and so they have."

"We've not seen them since we passed through Caer Tinella," Brother Castinagis remarked. "Perhaps that was as far as they intended to go in their search for Nightbird."

"It was the Touel'alfar who told us that we would find him in Dundalis, even as they said they would accompany us," Roger was quick to remind them. "And so we shall, perhaps as early as tomorrow."

"We are close?" asked Braumin Herde. "You see familiar landmarks?"

"I have never been to Dundalis," Roger admitted. "But there is only one road heading north to the Timberlands, and as the trees have grown taller about us, it seems obvious that we are nearing our goal."

The five monks looked at one another doubtfully; more than one rolled his eyes in dismay.

"The trail is easy enough," Roger said firmly. "And the Touel'alfar are out there, do not fear. That we do not see them means nothing —we would never see any sign of them if there were a hundred of them shadowing our every move, unless they chose to let us see.

"And even if they were not with us, I would not be worried," Roger added. "For as long as we move near Dundalis —even if we miss the place by several miles—Nightbird will find us. Or Bradwarden will. This is their forest, and nothing moves through it without their knowledge."

"Except the Touel'alfar," Brother Braumin said lightly with a wide grin, and the other monks brightened as well.

"Not even the Touel'alfar," Roger said grimly, wanting to show his rightfully nervous companions the true depth of his respect for the ranger.

"The sooner we sleep, the sooner we will be able to break camp," Brother Braumin remarked. He motioned to Dellman, who typically took the first watch with Roger —watching for humans and not monsters, as Lady Dasslerond had explained to them.

Four of the monks settled down, moving their bedrolls as near the fire as possible, for the air was growing colder with every passing minute, it seemed. Roger and Dellman settled near the fire, and remained quiet for a long while, until Roger realized that the rhythmic breathing of his sleeping companions was beginning to settle him into a dangerously deep relaxation.

He rose abruptly and began pacing, rubbing his arms briskly against the cold.

"Do you plan another venture into the forest?" Brother Dellman asked through a yawn.

Roger looked at him, smiled, and shook his head, as though the whole idea of venturing into the forest this far north was preposterous.

"Then you are more concerned than you admitted," the perceptive Dellman remarked.

"Concerned?" Roger echoed, his tone light. "Or merely cold? Surely I could freeze dead in the dark forest away from the fire."

"Concerned," Dellman said in all seriousness. "The night is cold, but with this wind, even the fire offers little protection. Yet you will not venture alone into these woods at night, nor have you done so since we left Caer Tinella more than a week ago."

Roger looked away, into the blackness of the forest. For many months after the powrie invasion, the young man had called the forest his home and had wandered through it alone on the darkest of nights without fear. But Dellman was perceptive, he had to admit. He did fear these woods. Roger could hardly believe how much darker they seemed than those just a couple score miles to the south. How much taller and thicker, and so filled with strange sounds! No, it wasn't fear, Roger decided, but respect, a healthy respect for a forest most deserving of it. Even if all the powries and giants and goblins were banished to the far ends of the world, the Timberlands was not a place to be taken lightly.

With that understanding, Roger's respect for Elbryan and Pony increased. Compared to the forests near Caer Tinella this place was untamed.

"Do you really believe that we are close?" Dellman asked.

"I do," Roger replied. "I know that the distance from Caer Tinella to Dundalis is roughly the same as the distance from Caer Tinella to Palmaris, and we have nearly covered that ground. And we cannot have strayed, for the road is too well marked. Indeed, we have even seen signs of the caravan's passage —deep ruts that can only have been made by the laden wagons Nightbird was to accompany."

"Well reasoned, Roger Lockless," came a voice from the side, a voice Roger recognized.

"Nightbird!" the young man cried, rushing to the edge of the firelight. He paused there to let his eyes adjust, and gradually he made out the shape of the large man, sitting comfortably on the lowest branch of a wide tree, barely fifteen feet from their encampment. It seemed apparent to Roger that he had been there for some time.

Behind Roger, Brother Dellman scrambled up, waking his brothers, whispering that Nightbird had come. Soon the five wide-eyed monks moved cautiously to stand beside Roger.

"He told you that I and Bradwarden would find you," the ranger explained. As he spoke, the centaur emerged from the darkness to stand beside the tree. The monks had seen Bradwarden before, of course, when he was taken to St.-Mere-Abelle, but that creature seemed a mere shell of the formidable centaur now before them, a thousand pounds of muscle and with fiery and intense eyes.

And of course Roger, who had only glimpsed Bradwarden before, was stunned. In boastful style, he had remarked to the monks that they would be amazed at the power of the centaur when he was fully healed, but Roger's words had been based on the stories told to him by Elbryan, Pony, and Juraviel. Now he looked upon Bradwarden —an obviously healthy Bradwarden—for the first time, and those stories, however dramatic they had been, seemed to pale in comparison to the truth of the magnificent creature.

Nightbird jumped to the ground. He extended his hand to Roger, but the younger man leaped upon him, wrapping him in a hug. The ranger returned the hug, but he looked over Roger's shoulder and smiled at Braumin Herde.

Finally, Roger let go, jumping back a step and holding out his hand to Bradwarden.

"Excitable fellow," the centaur said to Elbryan.

"My road has been long and rilled with tragedy," Roger said seriously. "We came north to find you, and so we have, and now, only now, might I breathe more easily."

"We have been watching you for two days," the ranger explained.

Roger's eyes widened. "Two days?" he echoed, as if insulted. "Then why have you come to me only now? "

"Because yer companions are monks, whatever clothes they might now wear," the centaur remarked. "And me and them monks ain't been known to be the best o' friends."

"How could you know the truth of us?" Brother Braumin put in, glancing down at his ordinary peasant clothing, with certainly no telltale markings to distinguish him or his four companions as members of the Church. He and his fellows were growing tired of these meetings —first the elves and now these two—where the visitors apparently knew everything about them before the introductions had even begun!

"We said we been watchin' ye," Bradwarden replied, "and that means listenin' to ye, don't ye doubt, Brother Braumin Herde."

The monk's expression was incredulous.

"Oh, I heard yer name, and I know ye from the road out of Aida," the centaur remarked.

Suddenly Braumin seemed embarrassed, remembering the horrid treatment the centaur had received from his brethren on that march.

"But I travel with them openly," Roger protested. "Would I lead enemies to you?"

"We had to be certain," Elbryan explained. "We trust you; doubt that not at all! And yet, we have been dealing with the Abellican Church long enough to understand that they have ways of coercing allies from the ranks of enemies."

"I assure you —" Brother Castinagis started to protest.

"None needed," the ranger replied. "Bradwarden has spoken highly of Brother Braumin, remembering him well from that journey. He has named Braumin as friend of Jojonah, who was friend of Avelyn, who was friend of Elbryan and Bradwarden. And we know that you come in disguise, hiding from your Abellican brothers."

"A situation you have known before," Brother Braumin remarked, "with Avelyn Desbris, I mean."

"Ho, ho, what!" Bradwarden roared, imitating Avelyn's voice perfectly in his annoying trademark expression.

Elbryan glanced at him sidelong, seeming less than pleased.

"Had to be done," the centaur said dryly.

The ranger just sighed, praying that it wouldn't become a habit. Then he nodded back at Braumin. "Except that Avelyn never stopped wearing his robes," he replied, "even when all your Church was hunting for him."

Braumin smiled, but Castinagis puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders as if he considered the ranger's statement an insult. Overproud, Elbryan noted —a very dangerous trait. He walked up to the monk, extending his hand in formal introduction.

Remembering his manners then, Roger went around to the other four monks with the ranger and the centaur, introducing each.

"Another friend to Jojonah," Bradwarden remarked when they came to Dellman, for Dellman, too, was known to the centaur from their time together on the road. "And not a friend to the one called Francis, the lackey of Markwart."

"And yet it was Brother Francis who smuggled us out of St.-Mere-Abelle," Brother Braumin remarked, drawing curious stares from Elbryan and Bradwarden.

"I'm thinkin' it's past time we heard yer tale in full," the centaur said. He glanced at the campsite, more particularly at the remains of the food the monks had left out near the fire. "After we take a bit o' supper, of course," he added and trotted to the fire.

The others were quick to join him there —if they hadn't been, the centaur wouldn't have left a scrap for them—and when they were finished eating, they all sat back and let Brother Braumin and Roger tell their tale. Roger began, detailing the murder of Baron Bildeborough; Brother Viscenti, finally finding his voice above his nervousness, explained their suspicions that Marcalo De'Unnero might have been involved.

Then Roger solemnly told of the end of Master Jojonah; both the centaur and Elbryan were as touched as the monks by that sobering story. When they had left St.-Mere-Abelle after rescuing Bradwarden, Elbryan had considered Jojonah as perhaps the greatest hope for justice within the Church. He wasn't surprised by the news of the execution, not at all, but he was profoundly saddened.

Then came the more immediate story —and the more relevant one—as Brother Braumin explained the events at the abbey that had led to the self-imposed exile of the five. He told again of how it was Francis who had smuggled them through Markwart's tightening fist, but he could not explain the man's motives, only his actions.

The other monks took turns telling of their adventures on the road, and the ranger and the centaur feigned interest in the unremarkable journey —though they were both more than a little concerned to learn of the continuing tightening of Church control in Palmaris, and were both surprised to hear that the Touel'alfar, including Lady Dasslerond herself, had been shadowing the band. Elbryan and Bradwarden exchanged confused stares; they found it strange that so large a contingent of elves would come into the region without contacting either of them. More than a dozen elves traveling together out of Andur'Blough Inninness was an exceptional tale indeed!

"And so we have come to your land, Nightbird," Brother Braumin finished, "in hopes that you will offer us sanctuary and friendship, as you once offered to our lost brother Avelyn in his time of need."

Elbryan sat back and considered the words carefully. "These are the Timberlands," he said at length, "a wild land, where men must band together to survive. All men of kindly disposition are welcomed."

"And more than a few not so kindly inclined," the centaur added with a burst of laughter that broke all tension.

"I will take you into Dundalis in the morning," Elbryan assured the group. "Tomas Gingerwart, who leads the settlers, will gladly accept six pairs of strong hands to aid in the rebuilding."

"Five builders," Roger corrected with a smile, "and a new scout to help Nightbird and Bradwarden."

"And then, perhaps, you and I can speak privately," Brother Braumin said to the ranger, ignoring Roger and drawing curious stares from all his companions, Roger most of all.

Elbryan recognized the intensity in the man's eyes and voice, and readily agreed.

Like the workings of a finely crafted Ursulan clock. Or so it seemed to Pony as she watched and marveled at the movements of the Behrenese as soon as their scouts spotted city guards turning down the main avenue that led to their enclave. Pony had been watching the southern folk very carefully over the last days. The Behrenese were no strangers to oppression in Honce-the-Bear, but now, under the added weight of Bishop De'Unnero's reign of terror, it seemed they had elevated their skill at quiet resistance to an art form.