DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (57 page)

She knew that her life had been happy, her youth full of freedom and wild games. She knew that she had had many friends, coconspirators in one grand and mischievous scheme after another. Life had been somehow simpler and cleaner, hard work and hard play, good food fairly earned, and laughter that came from the belly, not from any sense of good manners.

Still, the details of that past existence escaped her, as did the actual names, though many of the faces returned. Such was her frustration that bright morning as she walked about the forested slope to the tip of the ridge, to a pair of twin pines overlooking the wide vale of ever-white mossy ground and squat trues, their dark branches dusted by the recent snow.

More images came rushing to her as soon as she sat in the nook of those pines. She pictured a line of hunters weaving in and out of the trees in the mossy vale. She envisioned shoulder poles, and recalled her excitement that the hunt had apparently been successful.

Then the images began to crowd back, of herself running to the group, losing sight of them as she entered the low vale, weaving in and out of the barrier pines and spruce, running with a friend. She remembered rushing through that last obstacle, the feel of the prickly pine branches on her arms, and coming face-to-face with the returning hunters — yes, she could see their faces, and among them was her father!

She remembered! And their poles were laden with the deer they would need, and with . . . something else.

Jill's eyes opened wide, the memory suddenly too vivid, the recollection of that ugly, misshapen dead thing assaulting her, telling her mind to run away.

She held the image fast, though her breath would hardly come to her. She remembered that morning, that bright morning, so much like this one. She had seen the Halo, and then the hunters, including her father, had returned with the winter provisions — and with the goblin.

"The goblin," Jill whispered aloud, the very name assuring her that this past event had been the foretelling of doom for Dundalis, for her home, her family, and her friends.

She fought hard to steady her breathing, to keep her hands from trembling.

"Are you well, my lady?"

She nearly jumped out of her boots, spinning fast to face the questioner: a monk of the Abellican Church, wearing the same style brown robe as Brother Avelyn, its hood pulled back to reveal a shaven head. He was much shorter than Avelyn, but with wide shoulders, obviously strong.

"Are you well?"

He asked the question softly, gently, but Jill sensed a hard edge to his voice and that his concern was merely for show. He studied her intently, she noted, staring long at her hair, at her eyes and lips, as if he were taking a measure of her.

Indeed he was. Brother Justice had heard many descriptions of the woman traveling beside the mad friar, and as he looked upon this woman now, upon her lips, so thick and full, her stunning blue eyes, and that thick mane of golden hair, he knew.

"You should not be up here all alone," he mentioned.

Jill scoffed and brushed her fingers across the hilt of her short sword, not to threaten but merely to display that she was not unarmed. "I served in the army of the King," she assured the monk, "in the Coastpoint Guards." The way the man's eyes narrowed in recognition suddenly caught Jill off guard and made her think that perhaps she had not been wise in mentioning that fact.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"What is your own?" Jill snapped back, growing ever more defensive. It struck her as curious that a brother of the Abellican Church should be this far to the north and should be out alone away from the village. She considered Avelyn's story then, his abandonment of the order. Might there be consequences for such an action? Might the mad friar's increasing reputation have brought unwanted recognition from the strict order?

"My name has never been important," the monk replied evenly, "except to one. To a man once of my order but who deserted the way and who stole from my abbey. Yes," he said, viewing clearly Jill's growing look of apprehension, "to Brother Avelyn Desbris, I am Brother Justice. To your companion, my girl, I am doom incarnate, sent from the church to retrieve what he stole."

Jill was up on her feet, backing steadily, sword drawn.

"You would attack a lawful emissary of the church?" the monk demanded.

"One whose title as Brother Justice is fair and true, and who carries the punishment rightfully earned by the outlaw monk you name as your companion?"

"I will defend Avelyn," Jill assured the man. "He is no outlaw."

The monk scoffed, standing easily. Then suddenly, brutally, he leaped ahead, fell low in a spinning crouch, and kicked up hard at Jill's extended sword.

A deft twist by the woman turned the sword out of harm's way, allowing Brother Justice merely a glancing hit that forced Jill back a step.

Brother Justice squared himself, ready to spring again, his: respect for the woman growing. She was no novice to battle, this one, with finely honed reflexes.

"It is rumored that you, too, are an outlaw," he teased, edging closer, "a deserter from Pireth Tulme."

Jill didn't flinch, didn't blink.

"Perhaps the Coastpoint Guards will offer a bounty," the monk said, and he came on fiercely, spinning another kick, then turning straight and kicking out three time in rapid succession, his foot snapping hard at Jill from various heights. She dodged each, sidestepping, then came in hard with a thrust of her own.

Her conscience held her, forced her to realize that she was about to kill a human being.

She needn't have worried, for her sword would never have gotten close to striking the deadly monk. Brother Justice let it come in at him, turning subtly at the very last moment, his left arm rolling under, then up and out, against the flat of the blade. He stepped ahead as he parried, launching a heavy right cross.

Jill retreated immediately, but got stung on the ribs, her breath blasted away. She staggered backward, setting her feet as she went, ready to fend off the expected attack.

As her thoughts cleared, she saw that the monk was not pursuing, was not capitalizing on the advantage he had earned. He stood calmly, a dozen feet away, one hand in a pocket of his robe. To Jill's amazement, his eyes closed.

The woman's questions were lost suddenly in a dizzying rush, for though the monk had not physically moved, he came at her again, at her very spirit, and suddenly the woman was fighting, through sheer willpower, to retain control of her body!

Intense pain shot through Jill's body and soul, and through the monk's, as well, she knew — though that thought gave her little comfort. She felt his obscene intrusion as a shadowy wall, pushing into her, pushing her away from her own body. At first, she felt overwhelmed, felt as if she could not possibly resist. But soon she came to understand that in this body — in this, her home battleground — she could indeed withstand the monk's wicked intrusion. The shadowy wall edged back as Jill pushed hard with all her considerable willpower.

She envisioned herself as a light source, a blazing sun, rightful owner of this mortal coil, and she fought back.

Then the shadow was gone, and Jill staggered a step and opened her eyes.

He was right in her face, leering at her. She understood then that his mental attack had been but a ruse, a distraction from which he could recover much faster than she.

She knew that, in the split second of consciousness she had remaining. She knew all of it and yet that knowledge brought only despair, for he was too close, too ready, and she could not hope to defend.

Brother Justice knifed his hand into her throat, dropping her back to the snow and dirt. A single clean blow, but a punch pulled, for the monk did not want the woman dead. Her knowledge would be valuable in locating treacherous Avelyn, he presumed, and her presence as his prisoner would certainly aid in bringing the outlaw monk to him:

He did not want the woman dead, not yet, but the monk knew that when his business with Avelyn was finished, this woman, Jill, too, would have to die.

Brother Justice cared not at all.

Elbryan sat far in the back of the Howling Sheila, pushing his chair right into the corner that he might have the security of walls on both his rear flanks. The ranger wasn't expecting trouble — the people of Dundalis might not like him, but they had never been openly hostile — it was simply his training at work, always reminding him to place himself in the most defensible position.

The crowd was loud this night, the tavern packed full, for a light snow was falling outside and the people feared that it might intensify. A blizzard could effectively shut the folk in their homes for a week straight.

The drinks were flowing, the conversation rowdy and mostly about the weather, except in one corner of the bar where a fat, brown-robed man and several townsfolk were arguing about the potential of a goblin raid.

"Happened before," Brother Avelyn declared dryly. "Whole town flattened and only one — or perhaps none — survived." The monk snorted and hoped his slip would not be noticed. Jill's secret was his to keep, and hers — and hers alone — to reveal.

"But only after Dundalis' hunters killed a goblin in the woods," protested a man named Tol Yuganick, a bear of a man, though he did not seem so large next to three-hundred-pound Avelyn. "And that was nearly a decade ago. The goblins would not come back. No reason."

"And not with Dusty on the prowl," another man laughed, turning to glance across the room to the ranger, alone at his table in the back corner. The other three townsfolk joined in the laughter, more than willing to do so at Elbryan's expense.

"And who is this man?" Avelyn wanted to know.

"An attentive ear for your tales of doom," remarked Tol, quaffing his entire mug of beer, so that his lips and chin were covered in foam.

"And was it not Elbryan who took care. of that marauding black bear?"

asked Belster O'Comely, moving down to that end of the bar, wiping it rather enthusiastically to force two of the men away. "The same bear that sacked your own home, Burgis Gown!"

The smaller man, Burgis, shied away at the declaration.

"Bah!" Tol snorted, a cloud of anger crossing his brutish features. The huge man had never appreciated Belster's relationship with the strange Nightbird and had said so often and loudly.

Belster held his ground behind the bar. For a long time, the innkeeper had kept his friendship with Elbryan quiet and low-key, knowing that his own reputation might be at stake. Lately, though, Belster had begun changing that.

He had recently commissioned a specially designed saddle from the local leatherworker, and had made no secret that it was for Nightbird, payment for some work the ranger had done for him.

"The bear was sick and dying anyway," Tol Yuganick blustered on. "Doubt that Elbryan there, our lord protector, ever saw the damned thing."

Several grunts and nods of agreement followed. Belster, understanding that he would get nowhere with this surly crowd, just shook his head and moved along with his work. He knew that any reminder of the bear incident bothered Tol, for the hunter had sworn to get the bear himself — and would have been paid a fairly substantial reward if he had!

Brother Avelyn, too, ignored Tol Yuganick's cheering gallery. He studied the man in the distant corner, the one Tol had referred to sarcastically as "our lord protector," with new interest. Perhaps this one understood the truth of the world, he mused.

"I should think you would all be grateful," the monk remarked absently, more thinking out loud than any directed comment.

A moment later, Avelyn, still focused on the man across the room, felt a hard poke against his chest.

"We need no protecting!" Tol Yuganick declared, moving his contorted, though still childish, face right before the monk's.

Avelyn looked long and hard at the man, at the cherubic features so twisted by an almost maniacal rage. Then the monk glanced back over his shoulder, to see Belster shaking his head resignedly, the barkeep knew what was coming.

Avelyn stepped back and produced a small flask from under his cloak.

"Potion of courage," he whispered to Burgis Gosen, giving a wink, and then he took a deep draw. He finished with a satisfied "Aaah!" then rubbed his free hand briskly over his face while replacing the flask in his thick robes.

Then Avelyn eyed Tol squarely, matching the man's ominous expression with one of pure excitement. Tol growled and came forward, but Avelyn was ready for him.

"Ho, ho, what!" the monk bellowed as Tol moved to poke him in the chest again. With a single sweeping left hook, Avelyn laid the big man low.

Two of Tol's companions jumped the monk immediately, but they were shrugged away and the fight was on.

Behind the bar, Belster shook his head and sighed deeply, wondering how many would be left standing to help him clean up the mess.