DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (78 page)

"Yach! Ye said the ranger," the powrie grumbled back, "and his woman friend. Ye made no talk of other warriors or of that wretched centaur!"

"Did you think Nightbird would be so foolish as to go so near Dundalis alone?"

"Silence!" the powrie snapped at him. "Take care yer attitude, Tol Yuganick; Bestesbulzibar is not far, I promise, and he hungers for human flesh."

Elbryan silently mouthed the unfamiliar name and noted how Toys ruddy face blanched at the mere mention. The ranger didn't know what this creature, Bestesbulzibar, might be, but his respect for it as an enemy was already considerable.

"We must defeat Nightbird," the powrie insisted, "and soon. My master has noticed the problems here, though we are many leagues behind the battle lines, and my master is not pleased."

"That is your problem, Ulg Tik'narn, and not my own!" Tol growled. "You have used me, powrie, and left a foul taste in my mouth that no river could wash out were I to swallow the whole of it!"

Elbryan nodded, glad that the man felt some remorse for his traitorous actions.

"And I'm done with you and with Bestesbulzibar the winged devil!" He turned indignantly on his heel and started to stride away.

"Yach, and with the ghost that finds yer dreams," the powrie asked slyly,
"the ghost who beckons to Bestesbulzibar's every call?"

Tol Yuganick hesitated and turned back.

"And what might Nightbird do if he discovers your treachery?" Ulg Tik'narn asked.

"We had a deal," Tol protested.

"We have a deal," Ulg Tik'narn corrected. "Ye'll do as I say, fool human, or me master will destroy ye most unpleasantly."

Tol bowed his head, his face contorting as he struggled, pragmatism against conscience.

"Ye already a fallen thing," the powrie went on, chuckling. "Yer course cannot be reversed, yer errors cannot be corrected. Ye delivered Nightbird to us once, and now ye must do so again, for unless he's taken, there'll be no rest for ugly Tol Yuganick, no sleep that will evade the intrusions of the ghost Quintall, no path that will get you far enough from the flight of Bestesbulzibar, who is all-powerful."

Elbryan could hardly draw breath at the realization that he and his little band had made such an impact on the very heart of this monstrous army. He recognized the name of the turncoat spirit, of course, and considering that the powrie referred to Quintall as but a pawn of Bestesbulzibar, the ranger suspected the identity of that creature.

"There is a grove," Tol began reluctantly, "diamond-shaped."

The words stirred Elbryan; he put an arrow to Hawkwing before he even realized and had the bow leveled, its mark the space between treacherous Tol's eyes.

"It is even more special to the ranger, a place that he will not allow to be defiled, whatever the odds," Tol went on.

Elbryan didn't want to kill the man; whatever Tol's weakness, the ranger didn't want to shoot him dead without explanation, without hearing the threats that had been laid upon the man to turn him so.

But Elbryan held no such sympathy for powries, and so he shifted the angle of the bow just a bit, gritted his teeth, and let fly, the arrow whipping across the twenty feet, unerringly, so he thought. At the last moment, the arrow turned in mid-flight, thudding hard into a tree. Ulg Tik'narn was away in the blink of an eye, running fast into the forest night, but before Tol could move, the ranger leaped before him, Tempest in hand. A glance at the fleeing powrie told Elbryan that the ,creature posed no immediate threat.

Tol, on the other hand, had his huge sword in hand, eyeing Elbryan nervously.

"I heard," the ranger said, "everything."

Tol didn't reply, just glanced around, looking for an escape.

"You cannot outrun me in the woods at night," Elbryan said evenly.

"Then you outrun me," the big man retorted. "I've wanted your head since the first day we met, smelly ranger, and be gone now or be sure that I'll get it!"

Elbryan recognized the true fear behind that bluff. Tol had no desire to fight him, had no desire to face the mighty cut of Tempest.

"Throw your weapon to the ground," Elbryan said calmly.

"I'll not play judge to you, Tol Yuganick, not out here. You come with me back to the camp and speak your crimes plainly, and let us see what the people choose for you."

Tol scoffed at the notion. "Drop my weapon, that you might more easily wrap a noose about my neck?" he said.

"Unlikely," the ranger replied. "The folk are merciful."

Tol spat at him. "I give you one last chance to run," he said.

"Do not do this," Elbryan warned, but Tol came upon him in a wild rush, his heavy sword slashing.

Tempest flashed left, parried up, went out left again and then right, Elbryan easily fending off the clumsy attacks. The ranger poked the smaller blade ahead, bringing its tip near the hilt of Toys jabbing sword as he deftly sidestepped the large man's forward thrust. A twist of Elbryan's wrist brought Tempest's blade hard against the big man's hand, and a further twist turned Tol's hand right over awkwardly.

Elbryan shoved wide his sword arm, and Tol's weapon went flying harmlessly to the side, splashing down into a muddy puddle.

The big man gasped in desperation, unarmed and eyeing the deadly ranger.

"Do not," Elbryan began, but Tol turned and stumbled away.

Elbryan flipped Tempest up above his head, lining the blade for a throw.

He held back, though, as Tol passed the nearest tree, as a pair of muscled equine legs flashed out, connecting solidly on the side of the man's head, launching him head over heels to crash hard at the base of a wide ash tree.

Bradwarden stepped into the small clearing.

"I followed him out here," Elbryan explained.

"And I followed yerself," the centaur replied. "And I was carrying Avelyn on me back. Ye should be more to looking past yer arse, though yer target's past yer nose."

Elbryan glanced all about. "And where is the monk?"

"Chasing a powrie," Bradwarden explained. "Said not to worry about that little one."

Elbryan looked over at Tol, the man's head lolling about on his shoulders.

He was in a sitting position, wedged in tightly against the hard trunk.

"I'll not presume to judge him," the ranger said.

"Always for mercy, as ye were with the three rogue trappers."

"And that choice was the best," Elbryan reminded.

"Aye, but this one is not," the centaur insisted. "This one's a fallen thing, with no redeeming. His crime cannot be tolerated, so I say, for he'd have given us all to the beast to save his skin." Bradwarden eyed the dazed man contemptuously. "He knows it, too. Suren that ye're showing him less mercy by letting him live with the terrible thing he's done."

"I'll not play judge."

"But I will," Bradwarden said firmly. "Ye might want to be going now, me friend. Avelyn might be needing ye, and ye might want to not be watching this."

Elbryan eyed the brutal centaur squarely, but understood that he had little power to sway Bradwarden's determination. And whatever his feelings of mercy, Elbryan would not battle Bradwarden for the sake of Tol Yuganick, who had indeed fallen too far. He looked back at Tol, the man oblivious and probably already mortally wounded by the powerful kick.

"Be merciful," the ranger said to Bradwarden. "He laments his choice."

"He made the choice willingly."

"Even if that is true, mercy is friend to the just," Elbryan insisted.

Bradwarden nodded somberly, and Elbryan scooped up Hawkwing and ran off into the night, behind the departing powrie, though the ranger held faith that Avelyn would know how to deal with the dwarf. Less than ten steps into the woods, he heard a single thump, a centaur's kick against a head propped by a tree trunk, and he knew that it was finished.

He felt sick to his stomach, but he could not disagree, not out here with so many lives at stake. Tol had chosen, and Tol had paid for his choice.

Around a bend far down the dark trail, the ranger happened upon a band of powries lying on the ground, most dead but some still twitching in the last moments of their lives. A lightning bolt had hit them, the ranger realized, and he knew that he was close.

He paused end tuned his senses to the night, and he heard speaking, not so far away. Running fast, but silently, Elbryan soon spotted Avelyn, making fast work of yet another powrie, the burly monk holding the dwarf under his arm, repeatedly slamming the creature's head into a tree trunk.

Elbryan meant to stop there, but a movement farther to the south along the trail caught his attention. He came in sight of the is last powrie — the one, Ulg Tik'narn, who had been speaking with Tol Yuganick. Sliding down to one knee, Elbryan had Hawkwing up and leveled. Again his shot was true, but again, the arrow swerved at the last possible moment and flew off harmlessly into the night.

Frustrated, the ranger abandoned his bow and ran on, sword in hand.

The powrie, apparently realizing that it could not possibly outdistance the long-legged human, skidded to a stop arid turned about, a gleaming, serrated sword in hand.

"Nightbird," the dwarf breathed. "Yach, ye die!"

Elbryan said nothing, just came in hard and fast, batting Tempest twice against the powrie's blade, then thrusting the sword through the opened defenses, straight for the unarmored dwarf's heart.

The blade turned aside, compelled by some force Elbryan did not understand, and the startled ranger was overbalanced suddenly, falling forward.

He slapped his free hand across desperately, accepting the hit on his open palm from the smiling powrie's sword.

"What?" the ranger asked, skidding aside and turning to squarely face this deceptive foe.

Laughing, Ulg Tik'narn advanced.

From a short distance away, Brother Avelyn watched the scene curiously, saw Elbryan perform another apparently successful attack, only to have Tempest fly wide at the last instant. The ranger was not caught unaware this time, though, and he held his balance and reverted to defensive posture quickly enough to prevent any stinging counters.

Avelyn put away the stone he was holding, graphite, for the lightning had been of little effect on this one when he had last used it. There was something very unusual about this powrie, the monk realized, some defensive magic that Avelyn did not understand.

He took out the carbuncle he had taken from dead Quintall, fell into its magic even as Elbryan slashed his weapon — to no avail — twice at the laughing powrie's head.

Then Avelyn saw the reason, saw clearly the powrie's studded bracers, glowing fiercely with enchantment.

"Good enough, then," the monk growled. "Ho, ho, what!" Avelyn took out the other stone he had retrieved from dead Quintall, the powerful sunstone, and he sent its focused energies out.

"Yach, ye can not kill me, foolish Nightbird," Ulg Tik'narn was saying, holding wide his short arms and steadily advancing on the confused Elbryan. "Me master protects me. 'Bestes —'

The word ended with a gurgle as the waves of magic suppression rolled over the dactyl-forged bracers, as Tempest pierced through the dwarf's chest.

"I do not know the name," Juraviel admitted, looking across the campfire at Elbryan.

"But I do," Avelyn put in, resting his bulk against a fallen log.

"Bestesbulzibar, Aztemephostophe, Pelucine, Decambrinezarre —"

"All names of the dactyl demons," Juraviel said, for two of the strange titles rang familiar to the elf.

"Then we know, if the powrie can be believed, that there is indeed a beast, a physical beast, guiding our enemy," said Pony.

"Then we know," Avelyn said with certainty, and he threw down the enchanted bracers, evil items that the monk would not allow to be worn. "I have known for some time of this beast and of its home."

"The Barbacan," said Elbryan.

"The smoking mountain," Avelyn added.

A long moment of silence ensued, all five — the three humans, Juraviel, and Tuntun — feeling the weight of confirmation. and feeling suddenly vulnerable. There was indeed a very real dactyl, and it controlled Quintall's ghost, and — whether through Quintall or reports from its monstrous forces —

it knew of their raiding band, knew of Nightbird.

Avelyn stood up and started away; Pony rushed to catch up to him.

"I know my destiny," he said to her quietly, though Elbryan, who had moved to follow, and the two elves, with their keen ears, heard him clearly. "I know now why I was compelled by the spirit of God to steal the stones and run from St.-Mere-Abelle."

"You mean to go to the Barbacan," Pony reasoned.

"I have seen the army that has gathered there," Avelyn replied. "I have seen the darkness that will soon sweep down upon us, upon all the kingdom: St.-

Mere-Abelle and Palmaris, Ursal, and even to Entel on the Belt-and-Buckle.

Perhaps far Behren is not safe."

The monk turned back to look Pony directly in the eye, then past her, to Elbryan. "We cannot defeat the dactyl and ifs minions," Avelyn insisted. "Our people have grown weak, and the elves have become too isolated and too few. The only way in which the darkness might be averted is if our enemy is decapitated, if the binding force that holds powrie beside hated goblin, if the sheer evil willpower that focuses the wild giants is destroyed."

"You mean to travel hundreds of miles to do battle with a creature of such power?" Elbryan asked skeptically.

"No army gathered by all the human kingdoms could get near the dactyl,"

Avelyn replied, "but I might."

"A small group might," Pony added, looking at Elbryan.

The ranger considered that notion for a moment, then nodded grimly.

Pony looked back at Avelyn, stared deeply into the eyes of this man who had become to her as a brother. She saw the pain there, the fear that was not present when the monk had proclaimed that he alone would go. Avelyn was afraid for her, and not for himself.