DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (213 page)

Again she reached toward the table, this time to seize its top, thinking to pick it up and hurl it at the wall through the window. But she stopped, for she realized only then how loud she had been. And then she heard the shuffling footsteps coming down the hall, then a soft knock, and the door creaked open. A frightened Dainsey Aucomb stood in her doorway, staring wide-eyed at her.

"Are ye feeling ill, Miss Pony?
" the woman asked sheepishly.

Pony relaxed her grip, too embarrassed to continue her tantrum, but still deep in the throes of anger and regret. She straightened and turned, facing Dainsey.

"Can I be getting ye something to calm ye?" Dainsey offered.

"I am with child," Pony stated flatly.

"Well, that much I been knowin' for some time," replied Dainsey.

Pony snorted derisively. "Have you?" she asked with open sarcasm. "You have known the simple truth, that Pony is pregnant, but do you have any idea of what that really means?"

"I'm thinkin' that it means ye'll be hatchin' a baby in a few months' time," Dainsey said with a hopeful chuckle. "The sixth month o' the year, by me guess, or it might be the end o' the fifth."

A flick of Pony's arm sent the table toppling to the floor and Dainsey jumped back.

"It means that you have lost an important ally in this critical war," Pony growled at her. "It means that when all Palmaris roils with revolution, should it come to pass, Pony will roil with the pangs of childbirth."

Pony's visage softened, and she looked down and added quietly, "It means that I have failed."

"Miss Pony!" Dainsey said, stamping her bare foot on the wooden floor.

"How foolish I have been," said Pony.

"How foolish ye're bein', ye mean!" Dainsey snapped. "Are ye regrettin' the child in yer belly, then?"

Pony didn't answer, but her expression was all the confirmation Dainsey needed.

"But ye're makin' a mistake," Dainsey dared to say, advancing a cautious step. "Ye must not be thinkin' ill o' the child in yer belly. No, never that, for he knows, Miss Pony. He'll hear yer thoughts, don't ye doubt, and then —"

"Shut your mouth!" Pony snapped at her, coming forward a step.

Dainsey started to retreat, but she stopped abruptly and straightened defiantly. "But I'll not," she stated firmly. "Ye're missin' yer lover, and scared for him and for yer child, but ye're bein' the fool, and no friend am I if I'm not tellin' ye so!"

Even as she finished, Pony was on her, pushing her toward the door. Dainsey tried to resist, but Pony soon had her out in the hallway. Dainsey recovered quickly and tried to go back, but Pony slammed the door in her face.

Stubborn Dainsey banged on the wood. "Ye hear me, Miss Pony!" she said. "Ye hear me well. Ye feel that life inside ye and know that it, and not this stupid fight, is where's yer most important duty. Ye find yer heart..." With one last frustrated knock on the door, she retreated down the hall.

Pony was back on her bed, wet face buried in her hands. All her life seemed confusion and tumult. She wanted Elbryan to be there, to hold her. And she wanted to not be pregnant.

The realization of that last thought, hearing the actual words in her mind, brought her up straight, eyes wide, hardly realizing that she was gasping for breath.

"By God," she muttered, and her hands went frantically to her belly, stroking emphatically, trying to take it back, all of it, trying to assure this living child inside her that she did not mean such a thing.

The door to her room pushed open and Dainsey stood there, looking at her.

"Miss Pony?" the woman asked gently.

Pony swooned and nearly toppled, but Dainsey had her, hugging her close, whispering in her ear that everything would be all right.

Pony only wished that she could believe those words.

"You are certain that we are alone?" Brother Braumin asked as he and Elbryan walked through the afternoon shadows of the forest outside of Dundalis. A myriad of patterns speckled the ground before them as sunlight snaked its way through the bare branches. The snow had melted a few inches in the week since the storm, but the pair still had to slog through some uncomfortably deep drifts.

The ranger shrugged. "Who can know?" he admitted. "Bradwarden is not about —of that I am fairly certain. And no men are nearby, unless they are men of the forest, walking silently, without disturbing even the most skittish of birds. Roger Lockless, perhaps—he is known for hearing what he should not, and seeing what he should not."

"And of course, the elves," Brother Braumin added. "They could be but a body's length away and not even Nightbird would know it, I guess, if they did not want him to."

Elbryan conceded the point with a nod. Indeed, he had seen little sign of Ni'estiel and the others since the fight, though he had heard a couple of elven voices lifted in song one quiet night. They were still about, but what that meant, the ranger was no longer sure. Why hadn't they warned them, and why hadn't they been more involved in the fight that had cost four men their lives? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, why hadn't they come to Nightbird afterward, at least to explain? The ranger eagerly looked forward to that meeting, if it ever came, for even if Lady Dasslerond was among their ranks, he meant to speak loudly and not favorably.

"But we are as secure as we can hope to be, it seems," said Brother Braumin. He slowed and looked long and hard at Elbryan, drawing the ranger's gaze. "I have a request," he said solemnly.

Elbryan continued to stare, not knowing what to expect. He feared that Braumin would ask about the stolen gemstones, Pony's gemstones —and rightfully so, by Elbryan's thinking!—and then he would calmly have to put the man off.

"My friends and I are out here alone," Braumin stated. "By deserting St.-Mere-Abelle, we have severed our ties to the Abellican Church."

"That much seems obvious," Elbryan replied. "Though, given your Father Abbot's thirst for vengeance, I would say that you must hope and pray that those ties are truly severed."

Braumin managed to grin briefly at the ranger's sarcasm. "Severed on our part, at least," he clarified. "And thus we have become men without a home —and worse, Nightbird, we have become men without a purpose."

"You have found friends here in Dundalis and anonymity in the vastness of the Timberlands forests," the ranger replied. "I do not believe that Shamus and the soldiers knew who you were, had any idea at all that you were of the Church. And so, perhaps you have found a quiet existence. There are worse fates."

"True, but do not forget that we are men of purpose, men who have devoted all our lives, from the last days of childhood, to the study of God," Braumin explained. "This was our calling, a divine calling, we all believe, for only such deep-rooted convictions will allow one to attain the levels of piety necessary even to enter St.-Mere-Abelle."

The ranger's eyes widened at that prideful declaration.

"I speak humbly," Braumin quickly added, "and speak only the truth. Absolute dedication is required of any would-be student of the Abellican Order."

"And yet you deserted that Order."

"Because we learned the truth of Father Abbot Dalebert Markwart's interpretation of the Abellican Order," Braumin said, his voice rising. He glanced around nervously and quickly lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Because Master Jojonah taught us that, as your friend Avelyn Desbris taught it to him."

The ranger had no argument; he felt Avelyn had also taught him much about the truth of God.

"We did not desert the Order," Brother Braumin asserted. "We followed the true spirit of the Abellicans, a journey that forced us from St.-Mere-Abelle."

"And so you have come all the way to Dundalis," Elbryan reasoned, "and yet you feel that your journey is not complete, that the simple life of this region will not fulfill your spiritual needs."

Now it was Braumin's turn to stop and stare, for the ranger's blunt assertion had taken him by surprise.

"Could you not build a church here and teach the song of God as you hear it?" the ranger asked.

"And how long would such a church be allowed to survive, so close to Honce-the-Bear and the Abellican Order?" Braumin asked skeptically.

"Then it is fear and not purpose that will push you further."

The monk's face screwed up with confusion, and then, as he figured out that the ranger was teasing him, he suddenly laughed. "It was fear that drove us from St.-Mere-Abelle," he admitted after a moment, "and yet, in a way, we were all more afraid of leaving than staying."

Elbryan nodded. "You said you had a request," the ranger said. "What would you have me do?"

Braumin took a deep breath, yet another hint to Elbryan that this request was no small thing.

"I would have you lead my friends and me to the Barbacan," he said quickly. Elbryan wondered which frightened Braumin more —asking for help or stating his intentions out loud.

"The Barbacan?" the ranger echoed incredulously.

"I have seen the glory of Avelyn's tomb," Brother Braumin said sincerely. "I know I must go there now; Brother Dellman, feels he, too, must return there. The others must see it; it is a pilgrimage necessary if we five are truly to become of one mind and one purpose."

"And that purpose is . . . ?"

"I hope the pilgrimage will show me," Braumin admitted.

"The Barbacan is still a hostile land," Elbryan pointed out. "The destruction of the dactyl and the defeat of the monstrous army has done little to tame the northland. Perhaps I could get you there, but then what? That you might stay only a matter of days, or even hours, then take the road back to Dundalis again?"

"Perhaps," Braumin said honestly, "perhaps not. I believe in my heart that Avelyn will show us our true course. He gave his life for the good of the world and in death he reached for the heavens. There is something magical about that place, something healing and godly. I felt that keenly when I viewed the tomb."

"More than three hundred miles of wild land is a long way to travel in hopes of inspiration," the ranger said dryly.

"Yet it is the only road before us," Braumin replied. "I know that I am asking much of you, but I do so in the name of Avelyn, and in the hope that he, and Jojonah, have not died in vain."

That set the ranger back. He wasn't sure that this journey to the Barbacan would accomplish anything more than getting them all killed or sending them all running back to Dundalis battered and humbled. Still, there seemed a greater measure of sincerity in the man, and a huge determination. Braumin had lived as a monk for years and understood the inner working of the Abellican Church far better than Elbryan ever could. Could Elbryan deny the possibility that such inspiration might come to a man who had willingly given his life to the search for God and good? Besides, the ranger, too, had seen where Avelyn was buried shortly after the explosion. Though he understood that Avelyn had extended his arm upward hoping to keep the pouch of sacred gemstones and Tempest safe, there was something mystical —or at least a very fortunate coincidence—that Avelyn's extended arm had somehow reached above the destruction.

"You understand the dangers?" the ranger asked.

"I understand the futility of not going," Braumin replied, "for then we are dead, all five of us, spiritually if not physically. And perhaps worse than physical death is the notion of spiritual impotence, of our voices silenced under the smothering blanket of Father Abbot Markwart."

"And the Barbacan will change this?"

Braumin gave a shrug. "I know that I must journey to the grave of Avelyn, and so must my companions, and we shall go, with or without Nightbird."

The ranger didn't doubt him. "Progos is but half gone," Elbryan reasoned. "Winter is here —you have seen her fury, and I assure you that the snow which fell the night before Shamus Kilronney arrived was no unusual storm for this part of the world. I do not know when the trails north will be clear. And even if they are clear, know that the wind among the mountains ringing Aida and Avelyn's grave could freeze the blood in your body quickly."

"The dangers are not ignored," Braumin assured him, "nor will they stop us."

Elbryan looked hard at the man, at his determination in the face of potential disaster, and he was impressed. "I will speak with Bradwarden," he offered. "The centaur knows the northern terrain better than I and has animal friends who might better give us some idea of what we will encounter."

"We?" Braumin noted hopefully.

"No promise, Brother Braumin," the ranger responded, but it seemed clear to both of them that Nightbird would guide the group. That notion struck the ranger, for he had no intention or desire to ever return to the forlorn remnants of Aida —indeed, a little over a week before, until his strange dream about Pony, he had thought his road was in the opposite direction! No, he could not call it a dream. Pony had come to him in his sleep—he knew that without doubt—and their roads could not cross again just yet.

Was he now thinking of going so far north out of spite, out of some anger at Pony? He did not have the answer, but he realized that he needed to sit down and figure it out before committing to the journey.

"You should go," Roger asserted, walking at the ranger's side through the dark forest. "These are good men, every one."

Elbryan gave no reply. He had already explained to Roger all the problems of such a journey —not the least was that if he left he would be abdicating his responsibilities to Tomas Gingerwart for a month or more.

"I worked in St.-Mere-Abelle," Roger went on, "and I can attest to the courage Brother Braumin and his companions showed in leaving the place. What they did to Jojonah —"

Elbryan held up his hand; he had heard it all before —in the last few minutes actually. "Let us learn what Bradwarden thinks of such a journey," he said. "I do not doubt Brother Braumin's sincerity, or even his judgment in claiming that he and his friends should go to Mount Aida. If I did, I would not even be talking with Bradwarden this night. But there are larger issues to be considered."

"Pony," Roger remarked.

"That is one," the ranger admitted, and he ducked under a branch and around a chestnut tree, to the edge of a clearing opposite the centaur. "And the season is another."

"Ye're late," Bradwarden said, his tone grim.

A moment later, catching a rustle in the tree above, the ranger understood the source of his friend's discontent. As he focused his gaze on the shadows above, a pair of elves moved down and into view, dropping to the lowest branch. The ranger's eyes widened.

"Why do you seem so surprised, Nightbird?" said the female of the pair, Tiel'marawee by name —or nickname, for the ranger did not know her real name. Indeed, that true name had been lost to the ages, Juraviel had told a younger Elbryan during his days in Andur'Blough Inninness. To all the Touel'alfar, she was Tiel'marawee, "songbird," a title most fitting for one whose melodious voice was legendary even among the beautiful voices of the elves.

"I had thought our alliance ended," the ranger replied grimly, "with the Touel'alfar turned down other roads. It has been many days."

"A long while only to the impatience of a human," said Ni'estiel, assuming a more defiant posture on the branch. After an uncomfortable moment in which the elf and ranger locked simmering stares, Ni'estiel stood on the branch and gave a sweeping bow, smiling from ear to ear.

The ranger didn't smile in return. "As you say," Elbryan conceded. "And yet, the children of Caer'alfar did not see their way to warn Nightbird of the impending goblin attack, and did little to fend off those monsters, though their bows would have proven invaluable."

"Or they did not know that Nightbird would be among the soldiers," Tiel'marawee replied.

"And that excuses ..." Elbryan started to ask, but he stopped, reminding himself of the true nature of these creatures. Elves were not humans, however Elbryan might wish to pretend otherwise. Their view of the world did not correspond to those attributes —compassion and community—that Elbryan would seek in humans. Still, the ranger could not completely excuse the lack of warning and aid, for the choice of allies among humans and goblins should not be a difficult one, from any point of view. "Four men died," he said grimly, "and another three were grievously ..." He let it drop again as he considered his audience, as he realized that the expressions of both elves had not changed, would not change. The life of a human was not important to a being that would likely outlive twenty generations of men.

And these two, Tiel'marawee and Ni'estiel, if Elbryan remembered them correctly from his time in Andur'Blough Inninness, were among the most dispassionate of the elven people with regard to
n'Touel'alfar,
anyone who was not elven. That thought struck him profoundly then, for, that being the case, why were these two the ones to come forward and speak with him? Where was Juraviel? And where Lady Dasslerond?