Authors: R.A. Salvatore
“Good fortune is mine,” the woman muttered under her breath and she swung about to deflect Sadye’s awkward attack. She stepped right past the turned blades, right up before the bard, and backhandedly slapped her across the face, and then hit her again. She grabbed the woman’s extended arm and turned under it, spinning about and dragging Sadye before her as a shield.
That movement stopped the stubborn De’Unnero in his tracks, and put an expression on his face that Pony hardly recognized. Sadness? Confusion? Surely it was nothing she had ever before seen on the face of the fierce and unrepentant monk.
Pony pushed aside her own surprise and tugged down hard on Sadye’s pinned
sword arm, twisting it so that she could pull Defender free of the woman’s weakened grasp. Even as she executed the transfer, Pony raised one foot to the small of the woman’s back and kicked ahead, sending her flying for the floor at De’Unnero’s feet. Sadye gave a cry as De’Unnero caught her, and started to reach out as if to embrace him. But with a half twist, the monk callously sent the bard sliding away behind him.
On came De’Unnero again, but now Pony possessed a much finer blade. Her riposte came quicker, and she even scored a slight hit as she backed the monk away several steps.
“B
y God, what hellish enemies have come against us?” one of the brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle cried when he ran along the courtyard beside some of his brethren, a group led by Master Viscenti.
They all paused and looked to the base of the keep, where Bradwarden and Andacanavar were battling mightily against a host of attackers.
“No enemies!” a jubilant Viscenti cried. “Get to them, my friends! Behold, hope has arrived within our walls!” He looked up from the battling duo and saw another familiar form, crouched in the window, his small bow raining arrows on those who opposed Bradwarden and the great Alpinadoran.
And as they made their way to join the warrior, Viscenti saw yet another familiar figure, a magnificent horse trotting about the grounds, riderless. The last time he had seen Symphony, King Aydrian had been riding the steed. Was it possible that Aydrian had been taken down?
“Well met, little one!” Bradwarden cried when the monks finally got there, adding crossbows and a bit of magic to the effectiveness of the already-devastating duo. “We’ll chase them all back, we will!”
“Good Bradwarden …” Viscenti started to reply, but the words were lost in the din of a tremendous cry, a voice greater than anything any of them had ever before heard.
“STAY YOUR WEAPON HANDS!” Agradeleous roared as Pagonel took him soaring across the breadth of the courtyard. “WHAT WORTH DYING FOR AYDRIAN OR FOR MIDALIS, WHEN THEY ALONE WILL DETERMINE WHICH LEAVES AS KING? THEY ARE JOINED NOW IN MORTAL COMBAT, AND ONLY ONE WILL EMERGE. STAY YOUR WEAPON HANDS, GOOD PEOPLE. ALLOW THOSE TWO TO DETERMINE WHICH IS KING!”
The beast flew overhead and continued its cry, but pointedly banked away from the tower and flew out to the north, where the fighting raged.
The fighting did calm somewhat, though whether that had anything to do with the actual words of Agradeleous, or simply because so many had dived aside and cowered at the mere sight of the great beast, none could tell.
A
ydrian continued the rhythm of the battle quite easily, and felt his magical energies rejuvenating. He parried Brynn’s next thrust and brought his sword flashing
across to intercept Midalis’ slash, and even managed to stab back the other way, piercing the side of an Abellican master who was trying to slip away. The man fell with a groan, and Aydrian spun right back, to parry once and then again, as Brynn pressed the attack.
Aydrian wondered which of his opponents he should destroy with his lightning. Midalis, he supposed, for he held hope that Brynn could be brought over to his side. He started to reach into the graphite set in Tempest’s pommel.
But a distraction came to him, a sensation, a call from the netherworld that he could not ignore. Initial surprise and even fear fast gave way to an almost giddy sense of superiority as he recognized the source of that call, as he turned toward the door to see his latest creation of magic walk into the room.
“You have come in with rangers at your side, Prince Midalis,” he said. “I salute you in your wisdom of acquiring both my mother and Brynn Dharielle!”
“And Andacanavar, fool Aydrian,” Midalis retorted. “Surely you have heard the name!”
“Then all the rangers of all the world are gathered here!” Aydrian replied excitedly. “What a wondrous sight! Three for Midalis, for I offer my mother that title, and two for Aydrian!”
“Two?” Brynn asked, and she paused in her attacks and skittered back.
Aydrian spun aside, moving around the back of the blood- and brain-spattered throne, thus changing the angle of battle so that all three turned sidelong to the door, so positioned that all could witness the entrance of the zombie Elbryan.
“What have you done?” Brynn gasped.
Aydrian held up a soul stone and fell into it, bringing forth the energies of the netherworld, and all the room was bathed in shadow, a blackish blue glow that emanated from his hand. That nether energy reached out from Aydrian to the ragged zombie, and the creature stood straighter suddenly, and moved less stiffly, and its wounds seemed to heal, as if the body had begun recomposing itself.
A moment later, the creature seemed not a rotting zombie, but Elbryan again, except that his features were all gray and dark.
“Behold Elbryan, the Nightbird!” Aydrian cried. “Welcome, my father,” he said to the specter, and he casually tossed Tempest to his ally and motioned at Brynn, as he ordered, “Destroy her.”
Before Brynn or Midalis could begin to ask, the specter of Elbryan launched himself in perfect balance across the way, attacking Brynn with such ferocity and cunning strikes that she had to fall back in full defense.
Aydrian turned on Midalis. “King to king, then,” he said, and he pulled Hawkwing from off his back and held the unstrung bow before him as a staff. “Honce-the-Bear is mine, fool Ursal. The time of your line is at its end.”
Prince Midalis gave a desperate cry and came on hard.
T
hose bluish black shadows reached up to the balcony as well, bathing Pony and De’Unnero in their strange and unearthly haze.
Then came the declaration of Aydrian, and both combatants worked toward the balcony, then broke off from combat long enough to view the specter of Elbryan.
“Aydrian,” De’Unnero muttered beneath his breath, hardly believing the recklessness of the young king.
But when the worried monk turned back to regard Pony, he understood. All along, Aydrian had insisted that Jilseponie was no real threat to him, and that he knew how to take the strength from her. Now, looking at her bloodless face, her mouth hanging open as if she had forcibly to gasp simply to draw breath, the monk surely understood.
De’Unnero laughed at the woman. “He has the power over death itself,” he said, and he began a cautious stalk at the horrified and paralyzed Pony. She seemed so old to De’Unnero suddenly, so weak and even pitiful. “Perhaps one day your magnificent son will retrieve your rotting corpse from the cold ground to do his bidding.”
De’Unnero stalked in, and Pony just fell back against the wall—Defender’s tip pointing down—not even assuming any semblance of defense. To De’Unnero, it was almost disappointingly easy.
A
gradeleous’ cry for a halt in the fighting had less obvious effect on the battle raging outside of St.-Mere-Abelle’s wall. Outnumbered, but full of their battle lust, the Alpinadorans brought fire into the hearts of Prince Midalis’ forces. And Duke Kalas and his Allhearts were not to be outdone!
The skilled Kingsmen archers did not run and cower, but turned their great bows skyward and sent stinging volleys at the dragon and its rider.
Pagonel, an arrow in his shoulder and another in his thigh, knew that he had to take a different tack. He guided Agradeleous down fast for the center of the fighting, where Duke Kalas and the Allhearts had joined in battle with Bruinhelde and the Alpinadorans. Roaring all the way, Agradeleous skidded down, tearing up the field.
Pagonel jumped from the dragon’s shoulder, falling into a roll and then coming out of it in a great leap at Duke Kalas himself. The Allheart couldn’t begin to get his sword in line to intercept the unexpected human missile, and could only grab on as Pagonel impacted, the momentum taking them both off the back of the horse to crash to the ground.
“Dragon!” the mystic yelled, and Agradeleous roared out the call for a cessation of battle yet again.
Pagonel had Kalas dead, and Kalas knew it, but the mystic leaped back up, and pulled the stunned nobleman up beside him. “There is no need to continue,” he explained. “One will emerge, and he will rule the land!”
“They come to our shore unbidden!” the duke protested, pointing across at Bruinhelde and his companions, but even as he spoke the words, it was obvious that Duke Kalas did not really believe them.
“There is no need!” Pagonel shouted, spinning about to face Bruinhelde, and
then Liam O’Blythe, who led the Vanguardsmen. “Put up your weapons, I beg. Let no more blood be spilled this day.”
Beyond the immediate area, the fighting continued, of course, and even about the dragon and the mystic, the truce, if it was one, seemed a tenuous thing at best. But the battle had indeed diminished somewhat—both without and within the monastery’s walls—and that brought a sense of gratitude and calm to Pagonel, that he had done some good, at least.
S
he had heard many stories of the great Nightbird in her time with the Touel’alfar, of course, but Brynn could hardly believe the creature’s proficiency with the blade. He countered her every attempted thrust easily and efficiently, either gliding back just barely out of reach or shifting Tempest ever so slightly to slide Flamedancer harmlessly wide. Similarly, his own attacks came fast and precise, forcing from Brynn every bit of her energy and expertise. Even then, even fighting as well as she knew that she possibly could, she understood at once that she was no match for this legendary ranger. He was too fast and too skilled—as good with the blade as Aydrian, if not better.
But she fought on anyway, with all her heart and all her skill, and tried not to consider the possibility that even if she somehow managed to get her blade past the seemingly impregnable defenses, it might not harm the otherworldly being!
Across the one-step dais that held the throne, Aydrian was similarly overmatching Prince Midalis. He changed his fighting style now to accommodate a staff instead of a sword: feet wide and balanced and hands set wide on the hard silverelenhanced wood of Hawkwing, Aydrian’s movements became more animated, with broader sweeps and sudden turns that sent the staff into an over-and-under spin, side to side and back and forth.
In light of that continual dizzying display, Midalis was backing before he began any offensive move, and found himself ducking in anticipation of strikes that never came forth.
He thought he saw an opening at last, and gave a cry and charged ahead, but Aydrian laughed at him, easily sidestepped him, and cracked Hawkwing hard across his back as he lumbered past.
Two against two, Midalis and Brynn had no chance.
But then, suddenly, it became four against two, as a roaring Andacanavar and a charging Bradwarden entered the fray!
I
t was the moment of his greatest satisfaction, the moment in which he would at last be rid of the witch, Jilseponie.
De’Unnero hardly felt the first sting in the back of his neck, but as he reached up instinctively with the hand that was still human, a second arrow stabbed him hard. Furious, the monk whirled, to see a diminutive figure perched on the window ledge, launching yet another stinging bolt his way.
Tiger legs vaulted De’Unnero forward in a sudden rush, and Juraviel simply
threw his bow at the wild creature. The elf knew that he couldn’t get back outside quickly enough, knew that De’Unnero had him caught side to side, as well. So he took the only possible route open to him by leaping straight ahead and to the floor instead, even as De’Unnero’s tiger paw swept furiously at the ledge.
Through the monk’s legs went the elf, scrambling and crawling furiously for the frozen Jilseponie.
“Pony!” he cried. “Pony! Now is not the time for weakness! Now is not the time for frailty! Pony!”
His last call came out as a gasp as the tiger’s paw swept across, smashing him on the side of the head, sending him spinning across the floor to slam hard into the base of the balcony, where he lay very still.
If the words had not gotten through to the horrified Pony, the sight of her friend being knocked away surely did. Even as De’Unnero rose over her once more, she struck hard with her graphite, lifting him backward with a lightning bolt.
She hit him with another one as she stood straight. Growling ferally, the woman hit him yet again, staggering him.
Defender came up in a flash and Pony threw off all the bonds of fear and uncertainty. She led her charge with yet another lightning bolt, though its intensity was somewhat diminished.
And then she was in close to De’Unnero, stabbing, stabbing and slashing furiously, driving him back, anticipating his every move and beating him to the point.
For De’Unnero, the stunning reversal had him back on his paws. This was not Queen Jilseponie, the aging and weakening widow of dead King Danube. This was not the broken woman who had crawled out of Ursal.
No, this was Pony, the wife of Elbryan, the same Pony who had defeated De’Unnero in Palmaris’ square those many years ago, the same young and strong Pony trained and adept in the gemstones and in the elven sword dance.
The appearance of Elbryan had done this to her, had transformed her into a creature of pure outrage.
De’Unnero understood at once how badly young Aydrian had miscalculated.
E
ven when Andacanavar joined in beside Midalis, the two of them coordinating their attacks brilliantly and in perfect harmony, Aydrian found that he could more than hold his own. Something inside of him surfaced, some primordial, instinctual response that had him flashing Hawkwing all about magnificently, that had him turning and dodging, ducking a great slash of Andacanavar’s huge sword and skipping back deftly from Midalis’ sudden thrust.