DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (160 page)

Read DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Online

Authors: R. A. Salvatore

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Epic, #Collections & Anthologies, #Dark Fantasy, #Fiction / Fantasy / General, #Science Fiction/Fantasy

With some difficulty, for the night was quite dark, they at last found the man.
Pony went to him first, and gently closed his eyes. Then she walked away, far away.
“Go to her,” Juraviel said to Elbryan.
“You know what to do with him,” the ranger replied, and the elf nodded. Then, to Roger, Elbryan added, “Be strong and be sure. Your role is perhaps the most important of all now.”
And then he walked away, leaving Roger staring at Juraviel for an explanation.
“You are to take Connor, the monk, and the horse and head straight out to Palmaris,” the elf explained.
Roger inadvertently glanced at the dead monk, at the image that so shook his self-perception.
“Go to the Baron, not the abbey,” the elf explained. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him of Connor’s belief that these monks, and not any powrie, murdered Abbot Dobrinion, and that they chased Connor out of Palmaris, for he, too, had unwittingly become an enemy of the wicked Church leaders.”
“And then what for me?” the young man asked, wondering if this was the last time he would see these three.
Juraviel glanced around. “We could use another horse—another two,” he added, “if you plan to ride with us.”
“Does he want me to?” Roger asked, nodding toward the distant Elbryan.
“Would he have told you the truth if he did not?” Juraviel replied.
“And what of you, then?” Roger quickly asked. “Why did you lie to me? Do you think me a foolish young boy, unable to take responsibility?”
“I think you a man who has grown much in the last weeks,” the elf replied honestly. “I did not tell you because I was not sure of what Nightbird—and do not doubt that he is the leader of this group—had planned for you. If we meant to leave you in Palmaris, in safety with Tomas and Belster, if we had determined that your role in this fight was at its end, then what good would it have done you to let you know that you had the blood of a dead man on your hands?”
“Is the truth not absolute?” Roger asked. “Do you play God, elf?”
“If the truth is not in any way constructive, then it can wait for a better time,” Juraviel replied. “But since your course is yours to determine, then you needed to know now. Our road will be dark, my young friend, and I do not doubt that we will find other Brother Justices in our path, perhaps for years to come.”
“And each successive kill gets easier?” Roger asked sarcastically.
“Pray that is not the case,” Juraviel replied in a severe tone, eyeing Roger unblinkingly.
That demeanor set the young man back on his heels.
“Nightbird thought that you were emotionally strong enough to know the truth,” the elf added. “Take it as a compliment.”
Juraviel started to walk away.
“I do not know if he was right,” Roger admitted suddenly.
The elf turned about to see Roger, head down, shoulders bobbing in sobs. He went to stand beside him, put his hand on the small of Roger’s back. “The other monk was only the second man Nightbird ever killed,” he said. “He did not cry this time because he shed all those tears after killing the first, the first Brother Justice.”
The notion that this stoic and powerful ranger had been equally shaken hit Roger profoundly. He wiped his eyes and stood straight, looked to Juraviel and nodded grimly.
Then Roger was on the road south, too agitated to sit and wait out the remainder of the night. He had to move quite slowly, for the injured Greystone carried both bodies, but he was determined to speak with Baron Bildeborough before the midday meal.
P A R T   F O U R

Down the Road of Shadows

As I learned more about the Church that Avelyn served, the Church of my parents and of every fellow human I have ever known—and as I met more of the Abellican monks, I began to recognize just how subtle the nature of evil might be. I had never spent time considering this before, but is the evil man inherently evil? Is he even aware that his actions are evil? Does he believe them to be, or has he tainted his perspective so that he believes himself to be in the right?
In these times, when the dactyl awoke and the world knew chaos, many, it seems, have come to question the very essence of evil. Who am I, or who is anyone, they might say, to judge which man might be considered evil and which good? When I ask, is the evil man inherently evil, I am supposing an absolute distinction that many people refuse to acknowledge. Their concept of morality is relative, and while I’ll admit that the moral implications of many actions might be dependent upon a certain situation, the overall moral distinction is not.
For within that truth, I know a larger one. I know that there is indeed an absolute difference between good and evil, with individual perspective and justification notwithstanding. To the Touel’alfar, the common good is the measuring stick—putting the good of the elven folk first, but considering the good of all others, as well. Though the elves desire little contact with humans, they have for centuries taken humans under their tutelage and trained them as rangers, not for any gains to Andur’Blough Inninness,for that place is beyond the influence of the rangers, but for the betterment of the world at large. The elven folk are not aggressors, never that. They fight when they must, in defense and against imperialism. Had the goblins not come to Dundalis, the elves would never have sought them out, for though they have no love of goblins or powries or giants, and indeed consider the three races to be a scourge upon the very world, the elves would suffer them to live. To go to the mountains and attack these monsters, by elven standards, would reduce the Touel’alfar to the level of that which they despise above all else.
Conversely, the powries and the goblins have shown themselves to be warring and wicked creatures. They attack whenever they find advantage, and it is little wonder that the demon dactyl sought out these races for its minions. I tend to view the giants a bit differently, and wonder if they are, by nature, evil, or if they simply look at the world in a different way. A giant may look at a human and, like a hungry hunting cat, see its next meal. Still, as with powries and goblins, I feel no remorse in killing giants.
None at all.
Among the five races of Corona, then, I consider the humans most shrouded in mystery. Some of the very best people in all the world—Brother Avelyn, as a prime example—were human, as were, and possibly are, some of the very worst tyrants. In general, my own race is a goodly one, but not as predictable and disciplined as the Touel’alfar, certainly! Still, in temperament and general beliefs, we are much closer to the elves than to the other three races.
But those shades of gray…
Perhaps nowhere is the confusing concept of evil more evident than in the ranks of the Abellican Church, the accepted moral leader of the majority of humankind. Likely it is because this body has been entrusted with so high a standard, no less than to serve as the vanguard of human souls. An error in perspective among the Church leaders is a disastrous thing indeed, as Avelyn proved. To them he was a heretic, though in truth, I doubt there has ever been a man more godly, more charitable, more generous, more willing to sacrifice everything for the common good.
Perhaps the Father Abbot, who sent Brother Justice after Avelyn, can justify his actions—to himself, at least—by claiming them to be for the betterment of all. A master was killed in Avelyn’s escape, after all, and Avelyn had no legal claim to the stones he took
But the Father Abbot is wrong, I say, for though Avelyn might be technically labeled a thief, the stones were his on purely moral grounds. Having watched his work, even before he sacrificed himself to rid the world of the demon dactyl, I have no doubt of this.
The capacity of any individual to justify his or her actions will forever amaze me, I fear.
—ELBRYAN WYNDON
CHAPTER 25
A Choice for Roger
By the time he neared the northern gate of Palmaris city proper, Roger Lockless and his grim luggage had attracted more than a little attention. Several farmers and their families, alert to anything moving in the area in these dangerous times, had noted the man’s passage, and many even came out to follow him, pestering him with questions.
He offered few explanations all the way to the gate, grunting his answers to general questions, such as, “Did you come from the north?” or “Any goblins up there?” The farmers accepted the vague answers without complaint, but the guards at the gate proved much more insistent. As soon as Roger drew near and it became apparent he had two human bodies strapped across his hobbled horse, one of the two great city gates cracked open and a pair of armored soldiers rushed out to intercept him.
Roger was very much aware of the fact that other guards watching from the walls had their bows drawn and ready, and aimed at his head.
“Your doing?” one of the soldiers snapped, moving to inspect the bodies.
“Not that one,” Roger quickly replied as the man lifted Connor’s head, his eyes widening in recognition and horror.
The other soldier was at Roger’s side in an instant, sword drawn and brought level with the man’s neck.
“Do you think I would walk openly into Palmaris bearing the body of the Baron’s nephew if I had killed the man?” Roger calmly asked, wanting these soldiers to understand that he knew the identity of the nobleman. “I have been called many things, but I do not number ‘fool’ among them. And besides, I considered Connor Bildeborough a friend. That is why, though I have other pressing business, I could not leave him on the road for the goblins and buzzards to pick over his corpse.”
“What about this one?” snapped the soldier standing beside the horse. “He is from the abbey, is he not?”
“Not from St. Precious, no,” Roger replied. “He is from St.-Mere-Abelle.”
The two soldiers looked to each other with trepidation; neither of them had been among those sent to St. Precious when the trouble with the Father Abbot had begun, but both had heard well the stories, and that put a sinister spin indeed on their suspicions when viewing the two bodies draped across Roger’s horse.
“You killed this one?” the soldier asked.
“I did,” Roger replied without pause.
“An admission of guilt?” the other soldier was quick to interrupt.
“For if I did not, then he surely would have killed me,” Roger finished calmly, looking the accusing soldier right in the eye. “I should think that, given the identity of these two, this conversation would be better served in the home of the Baron.”
The soldiers looked to each other, unsure of how to proceed.
“Unless you think it better to have the common folk pawing over Connor Bildeborough,” Roger added, a sharp edge to his tone. “Perhaps one will find proper use for Defender, or it might be that their rumors will reach the Baron, or the abbot of St. Precious, and who can tell what intrigue that might bring?”

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