DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (6 page)

Something else watched the young man from a perch in one of the thicker pines on the ridge. It moved nimbly from branch to branch, crossing over to nearby trees with barely a whisper. It shadowed Elbryan's every move, studying the young leader intently.

To Pony and Elbryan, alert as they were, the creature was invisible and unnoticed. Even if they had looked intently the creature's way, its movements were so fluid and graceful — and always under the cover of pine boughs — that they would have considered the sway of the branches no more than the movement of the wind or a gray squirrel, perhaps.

Another week passed by uneventfully. Work in the village was at full pace, readying for winter. On the ridge and in the vale beyond, the primary enemy became boredom. Elbryan lost half a dozen of his patrol at the beginning of that second week, the youths explaining that their parents needed them about the house and would not let them go out. Elbryan did not miss that every one of those "soldiers" seemed grateful to be relieved of the dull patrols.

Elbryan continued his diligent work, though, reorganizing the routes to cover more ground since he was down to three teams of five, with a couple of messengers.

"We'll lose Shamus tomorrow," Pony said as they sat side by side in a hollow on the high ridge, sheltered from the chill wind by a pair of large pines. The day was late, and gray clouds were rolling in to hide the afternoon sun. "His mother told me this morning this would be his last day out."

Elbryan prodded the ground with the tip of his sword. "His patrol group goes to four, then," he said matter-of-factly.

Pony recognized the frustration in his voice, though he did well to hide it. Elbryan was watching his first command crumbling about him, his soldiers being taken away so that they could help patch roofs or shore up barns. Pony sympathized with the young man, but logically, this was the best scenario they could have hoped for.

"They are being called back home because no enemy has come," she gently reminded him. "Better this than for your patrol to have been truly necessary."

Elbryan looked at her, little luster showing in his normally bright green eyes.

"Or maybe we were necessary," Pony quickly added, trying to salvage some measure of the young man's pride. "How do we know that goblins have not ventured near Dundalis?"

Elbryan cocked his head and ran a hand through his thick layers of straight, light brown hair.

"Perhaps their scouts did come near us," Pony went on. "Perhaps they saw our patrols and realized they would not have an easy time of it against the village."

"We are just children," Elbryan said disgustedly.

Pony shook her head. "And all but the smallest of our group is larger than a goblin," she replied without hesitation, and that truth seemed to lend some credence to her reasoning. "Is not the best army the one so strong that enemies will not dare attack?"

Elbryan didn't answer, but that familiar sparkle fit up his eyes. He turned back to regard the ground in front of him, and the wild design he was cutting with the sword tip.

Pony smiled warmly, feeling that she had done well. It pleased her greatly to help out Elbryan, to guard his emotions. She didn't really believe goblins had come near enough to see the patrols, and neither did Elbryan, but at least this way he could hold out some reason to believe his first real effort at something important by adult standards had not been in vain. The simple fact that they could not be absolutely certain offered Elbryan all the encouragement he needed.

Pony dared to reach out then; the connection was too strong to let the moment pass. She cupped Elbryan's chin in one hand and gently turned him back to face her.

"You have done a wonderful job out here," she said softly.

"Not alone," he started to reply, but she stopped him by putting a finger of her free hand across his lips. Only then did Elbryan realize how close they were, their faces barely two 
inches apart. He felt warm suddenly, a bit dizzy, a bit frightened.

Pony drifted closer. She kissed him! Full on the lips! Elbryan was terrified and thrilled all at once. He thought he should pull away, spit on the ground, and yell "girl poison!" as was the expected response, as had been his response all the other times Pony, or any of the other girls, had tried to kiss him.

He didn't want to do that; the last notion in his mind was to pull away.

He realized then that it had been a long, long time since Pony had tried to kiss him — at least a year. Had she feared 
his reaction? Had she known he would have spit and yelled out "girl poison," a chant that would have been taken up by every boy in the village?

Or had she known he wasn't ready, until now, to be kissed? That was it, the young man decided as the gentle kiss, their closed mouths barely touching, lingered on and on. Pony knew him so very well, better than he knew himself.

Their last few days together, alone for four of every five hours, had brought them even closer.

And now this. Elbryan didn't want it to end. He shifted in his seat, first lifted the short sword, then, realizing that it would be awkward, perhaps even dangerous, dropped it to the ground. He dared to put his arms around Pony's back, dared to pull her closer, feeling the strangely interesting curves and bumps of her body against his own as they came together. He fought a fit of panic — not knowing what he should do, where he should move his hands, or if he should move his hands at all.

All Elbryan knew was that he didn't want the kiss to end, that he wanted something more, though he wasn't really sure what that might be. He wanted to be closer to Pony, physically and emotionally. This was his Pony, his dearest friend, the girl — no, the young woman — whom he had grown to love. He would pass into manhood that spring, Pony into womanhood the following autumn, and soon after, he would ask for Pony's hand . . .

That notion brought fear and Elbryan tried to pull away — and did break the hold long enough to catch his breath. Again, the fears passed, lost in a swirl of warmth as he looked at Pony's shining blue eyes, at her smile, as genuine and joyful as anything Elbryan had ever seen. She hardly had to nudge him to get him to kiss her again, and they settled even more comfortably together.

The kiss shifted, from curiosity to urgency, then back to gentleness.

Their clothes ruffled and seemed more of an obstacle than a necessity. Though the air was chill, Elbryan had the feeling he would be warmer without them. His hands did move now, as he lost his fear of touching Pony. He caressed her neck, ran his hand down her side and along the outside of her strong leg. He was shocked as her mouth opened a little bit, as he felt her tongue against his lips, so soft and inviting.

The moment, this most precious moment in all of Elbryan's young life . . .

And then suddenly, it was gone, destroyed by a horrified, and horrifying, scream. The couple jumped apart and to their feet, staring wide-eyed down the long slope to the village, at the swarming forms, at the large plume of smoke — 
too large to come from any chimney! — rising from one of the houses.

The goblins had come.

Hundreds of miles away, in a windswept, foreboding — land called the Barbacan, in a deep cave in a mountain called Aida, the dactyl basked in the sensation of rear. The demon creature could feel the screams of those dying in Dundalis, though it had no idea where the battle was being waged. This was an action of a rogue goblin chieftain, perhaps, or one of the many powrie raiding parties, acting on their own initiative, bringing misery to the wretched humans.

The creature flexed its great wings and settled back in the throne it had shaped from the obsidian that had formerly served as its tomb. Yes, the dark vibrations were running strong through the stone. The sensation of war, of human agony.

It was good to be awake.

Elbryan and Pony were stunned and terrified for many seconds. It was too unreal, too beyond their experience and expectations. Images assaulted them, mingling with imagined scenes even more horrifying, and amid all of it welled utter denial, the hope against obvious reality that this simply could not be happening.

Jilseponie moved first, a single, tiny step, her arm reaching out helplessly. That almost involuntary motion seemed to break her trance and she let out a shriek for her mother and ran full out for home.

Elbryan thought to call out for her, but indecision held his voice and kept him from immediately following. What should he do? What were his responsibilities?

A warrior would know these things!

With great effort, Elbryan tore his gaze from the dreadful spectacle below and glanced all around. He should organize his friends — yes, that was the course, he decided. He would gather together his scouts, perhaps even call in the older scouts from the vale, and charge down into Dundalis in tight formation, anchoring the defense.

But time was against him. He glanced about again, turned to the evergreen and caribou moss valley, and started to call out, thinking to bring in the patrol of older men.

Elbryan fell back behind the twin pines, catching the shout in his throat, gasping for breath. Just over the ridge, facing away from him, he saw the nearly bald head, the pointed ears, the chalky yellow skin of an enemy. With trembling fingers, Elbryan retrieved his short sword, and then he sank even deeper into the hollow, paralyzed with terror.

Pony wasn't armed, having left her club back at the ridge. She didn't care, for she wasn't really running into battle.

The girl was running to find her mother and father, to feel their comforting hugs, to hear her mother telling her that everything would be all right. She wanted to be a little girl again, wrapped tight in her bedsheets, and tighter in Mother's embrace, waking from a nightmare.

This time, though, she was awake. This time, the screams were real.

Pony ran on desperately, blinded by tears. She stumbled to the base of what she thought was a tree, then nearly fainted as it shifted suddenly, as the fomorian giant, huge club in hand, took a long step away from her.

If she had had any breath in her lungs, she would have screamed, and if she had screamed, the giant would have noticed her and squashed her where she stood.

But its focus was the village and not some insignificant little girl, and in a few loping strides it left Pony far behind. She scrambled back to her feet, picked up a couple of rocks of a good size for throwing, and ran on, taking a course that would parallel, but not too closely, the giant: Now, as she entered the area of battle, as she saw the confusion, the fierce fighting, the dead bodies on the road, she was no more a little girl. Now she remembered her training, forced herself to think clearly and concisely. Goblins swarmed everywhere, and Pony spotted at least two other giants, fifteen feet tall and perhaps a thousand pounds of chiseled muscle. Her friends and family could not win! That logical, adult part of Pony — the part that knew that the time of fending off nightmares with bedsheets was long past — told her without doubt that Dundalis could not survive.

"Plan B," she whispered aloud, using the words to steady her thinking. The rules of survival, taught to every child in Wilderlands settlements, declared that the first priority in any catastrophe was to save the village. If that failed, the next task was to save as many individuals as possible. Plan B.

Pony picked her way around the back of the nearest houses, moving in and out of the shadows. She peeked around the corner and stood transfixed.

On the main road of Dundalis, just on the other side of this house, a fierce battle raged. Pony saw Olwan Wyndon first, standing tall in the middle of the human line, calling out commands, forming the group of twenty men and women into a tight circle as enemies came at them from nearly every direction. Pony's first instincts were to try and join that battle group, but she quickly surmised that she would never get in. She clenched her fist hopefully as Olwan Wyndon smashed a goblin's head, dropping the wretch to the dirt.

Then she held her breath as she noticed the man behind Olwan, parrying wildly as two goblins prodded at him with sharp spears.

Her father.

Elbryan held his breath, gasped once, then held it again. He didn't know what to do, then cursed himself silently for what he had already done!

In the hollow of the twin pines, he had lost sight of his enemy — the first, and often fatal, mistake.

Now he had to work hard to deny his terror, had to climb above the emotion and the physical barrier and remember the many lessons his father had given him.