DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  "We should not complain, I would say," Roger cut in, misunderstanding the ranger's curiosity for a strange disappointment. "Better to find no enemies than too many."

  "One would be too many," Elbryan replied.

  "Unless ye're lookin' for somethin' better eatin' than stew." The centaur laughed. "Ho, ho, what!"

  The Avelyn impression brought a wide grin to Elbryan's face. "Had to be done? " he asked.

  The centaur nodded.

  "Are we to go out scouting again?" Roger asked. The other two didn't miss that he was looking longingly at the warm fire as he spoke.

  "No scouting," Elbryan decided, though he knew that he would be out late into the night, and that Bradwarden would pick up the patrol when he left off. "Go and join the brothers and sleep warm by the fire."

  Roger nodded and rushed away, calling to Castinagis to leave him some of the stew.

  When Elbryan looked at the centaur, he saw Bradwarden's expression had turned grim.

  "He's not lyin' about the fire," the centaur said.

  "A chill on the breeze," the ranger agreed.

  "More than that, I'm fearin'," Bradwarden explained. "We been lucky, ranger. This far north, the wind can still freeze yer bones, and we could wake one morn to find snow piled deeper than a deer's antlers."

  "We have come far to the north."

  Bradwarden nodded. "And earlier than we should've, by me own figurin'. We're fast on to spring, to be sure, but spring at the Barbacan's not the same as spring in Dundalis. I'm thinkin', and hopin', that the blown mountain's mixed it all up, and dulled the winter. Might be that enough of it went into the sky to serve as a blanket. Ye seen the colors o' the sun settin' and risin'. The dust'd do that, and it might be that the dust'll keep the weather more to the middle, winter and summer, if ye get me guess."

  Indeed, as Bradwarden spoke, the western sky began to turn a glowing shade of red, almost as if the clouds had been set on fire. The reasoning made sense to the ranger, and even if it didn't, he would have taken Bradwarden's word for it. The centaur was old, three times the age of the oldest man; and no creature, not even Lady Dasslerond of the Touel'alfar, was more attuned to the workings of nature. What the centaur had left unspoken, and what Elbryan could figure out for himself, was that if the air was cold now, it would only get worse as they continued north, and worse still as they climbed into the mountains ringing blasted Mount Aida. Had they been lulled by the unusual mildness of the Timberland winter? Might they find the high passes of the more northern stretches blocked by snow?

  "Come," he bade the centaur. "Let us go and take our meal with our friends."

  Bradwarden shook his head. "Ain't got the belly for it," he said. "Saw no monsters in me scoutin', but more than a few runnin' meals!" With another laugh, the centaur bounded away, pulling his great bow from his shoulder as he went.

  "Stay close!" Elbryan called.

  "Ye fearin' unseen monsters?" Bradwarden called back.

  "Not at all," replied the ranger. "I am just of the mind to hear the piping of Bradwarden this cold night!"

  "Oh, ye'll hear it," the centaur roared from the edge of some brush, and then he waded into the foliage, disappearing from sight so that only his thunderous voice remained. "Unless I get me lips frozen stuck to the damned pipes!"

  From his perch in a branch overlooking the small community, De'Unnero noticed immediately that this place, Dundalis, differed greatly from Caer Tinella. It wasn't so much the size, though Dundalis in its present state was less than half the size of Caer Tinella, but more the attitude surrounding the towns. There were no large fields outlined here, no farmers working at ordinary tasks, preparing for spring planting. Dundalis had never been a farming community; but even the activities more typical of the place, tree-cutting and the like, were not evident now.

  Life had not yet returned to normal this far north. Indeed, Dundalis seemed more a fort than a settlement, an image only heightened by the presence of Shamus Kilronney and his men. De'Unnero noted the beginnings of a dozen structures, and several already completed, but more prominent and important loomed the wall connecting them all, taller than a tall man and patrolled by many soldiers. Up on the rise to the north, a tower had been erected, and the Bishop could see the forms of two men up there, silhouetted against the twilight sky.

  There were sentries in the woods, as well, though De'Unnero had seen none of the trained soldiers outside the settlement and had found little trouble in slipping through the barely organized ranks to find this viewing perch.

  He thought to bypass the town altogether, and would have, except that he wanted to speak with Shamus, and perhaps would even instruct the captain and his soldiers to accompany him to the north. He slipped down from the tree and moved back into the forest away from the town, trying to figure out how he might get to Shamus without alerting any of the possible allies of Nightbird that the Bishop of Palmaris had come out so far alone.

  He found his answer soon after, while eavesdropping on a pair of scouts: a man of medium build and unremarkable appearance, and another of considerable size and rugged. It became obvious from the way the smaller man was addressing the larger —one called Tomas—that this man held some high rank within the town hierarchy; and to De'Unnero's delight, they mentioned Shamus Kilronney by name.

  He took the cue to walk into their midst.

  Both men jumped, the larger producing a sword in the blink of an eye and leveling it the monk's way.

  "Pray calm, brother," De'Unnero said, holding his empty hands up before him in submission. "I am a humble man of God and no enemy to you."

  Tomas lowered the sword. "How did you get up here?" he asked. "And who are you with?"

  "By my own feet and with only myself for company," De'Unnero answered, smiling.

  The two men exchanged skeptical looks.

  "The Bishop of Palmaris is concerned that the Timberlands will be reclaimed without any Church participation," said De'Unnero.

  "The Church never was concerned with the Timberlands," the smaller man replied.

  De'Unnero noted some movement in the forest behind him —the footfalls of two men, no doubt coming to investigate the source of agitated voices. "The old Church," the Bishop corrected. "We are much more concerned with the goings-on of the kingdom now, much more tied to the affairs of state." He made no defensive movement as the two men stalked in behind him, taking positions behind and to either side.

  "The Timberlands are not part of King Danube's state," the smaller man said with prideful contempt.

  Tomas shuffled uncomfortably at the blunt words.

  "Again you speak of the past, my friend," De'Unnero explained. "The war has changed much."

  "Ye're saying that Dundalis belongs to the King o' Honce-the-Bear?" the volatile man retorted, his voice rising in anger.

  "I am saying that we do not know the disposition of Dundalis or all the Timberlands," De'Unnero replied, reminding himself that these men, and their opinions, were not important to him. "And I am saying that all of you would do well to understand that, especially with a contingent of King's soldiers in your midst."

  That backed the man off a step, and again the larger man shuffled.

  "I am Tomas Gingerwart," he said loudly, but in a friendly tone, and he extended his hand. De'Unnero was glad that he held his tiger's paw in his left hand as he reached out to shake.

  "And are there not monks of the Abellican Church also within the walls of Dundalis?" the Bishop asked, catching them off guard. Again the uneasy shuffles, and De'Unnero delighted in knowing that these were caused both by his knowledge that Dundalis was now walled and by the fact that he knew of Braumin and the others, who had come up here in disguise.

  "No monks," Tomas replied too quickly and decisively.

  "A pity, then, that they have already left," said the Bishop.

  "No monks," Tomas insisted. "Never any."

  De'Unnero struck a pensive pose. "They never made it here?" he asked with concern, throwing the men fu
rther off balance. Now they didn't know for sure if he was talking about Braumin and the others, he understood, and that was exactly what he had hoped for. Tomas' simple reaction to his inquiry had given him all the information he needed about this man's allegiance —he was a friend of Nightbird, no doubt.

  They all were.

  "I fear for my brethren," the Bishop said, "but the road was clear, all the way from Palmaris and through Caer Tinella. What might have delayed them?"

  "Plenty of monsters still to be found," Tomas said unconvincingly.

  De'Unnero almost smiled at the irony of that statement, for even as Tomas spoke the words, the Bishop was falling into the power of his gemstone. He slipped his left hand, fast becoming a great paw, up into the generous folds of his long sleeve.

  "Come along into the village," Tomas instructed. "We will talk more there."

  The big man turned to leave, but stopped, for the Bishop held his ground, shaking his head.

  "Tomas Gingerwart leads in Dundalis," the smaller man explained.

  "Tomas Gingerwart leads those who will be led by Tomas Gingerwart," De'Unnero replied. "What claim might he make over a captain of the King's army? Or over an emissary of the Abellican Church? "

  "In the village," Tomas said, motioning in the direction of Dundalis.

  "Pray you go to town, brother Tomas," said De'Unnero, taking the upper hand. "Go along and quickly. Fetch me Captain Shamus Kilronney."

  The demeaning manner of his speech brought Tomas back around to face him squarely, and made the other three men bristle and grumble.

  "Consider yourself fortunate that I have not the time to argue with you," De'Unnero said. He realized that he would find little gain in agitating this group, but he was simply enjoying it too much to stop now. "I will speak with Captain Kilronney, but out here. I have no desire to enter the dirty hovels you call a village."

  Again the men behind him bristled.

  "Then turn your back and walk south," Tomas said defiantly, "where you came from, and where you belong."

  "So it is true," said De'Unnero. "You are a friend of the one called Nightbird."

  Tomas' eyes widened in shock, but before he or his friends could react, in the blink of an eye, De'Unnero spun to the right and brought his left hand, his tiger paw, raking down across the chest of the stunned scout standing there. He could have killed the man —indeed he wanted to do just that—but he wisely pulled the attack, claws latching onto the man's leather tunic and slicing it to tatters in a single, brutal swipe.

  The man fell back, crying out in horror, and his companion moved toward De'Unnero. But the Bishop moved first, stepping away from Tomas and swinging right at the advancing scout. Again before any had made a definitive move to stop him, De'Unnero had the man defenseless; the Bishop's human hand held the scout's hair, tugging his head back, and the tiger paw was clamped over his face, claws extended so that they prodded the tender skin, but not hard enough to draw blood.

  Tomas and his companion and the guard's partner all fell back a step, holding their hands up, trying to bring a level of calm.

  De'Unnero surprised them by releasing his prisoner, shoving the man forward to the grasp of Tomas' companion. "Men in your position should be careful of the enemies they make," the Bishop explained. "Do not underestimate the Church's intentions here, or the lengths to which we shall go to get that which we desire. Now go and fetch me Shamus Kilronney. I have not the time nor the patience for your foolish games."

  The four men held their ground for a moment, but then Tomas' companion looked to his leader, and the big man nodded to him to be away.

  "When did they leave for the Barbacan?" the Bishop asked bluntly.

  Tomas and the other did not answer.

  "As you will," the Bishop conceded with a bow. "Your choice of alliance is confirmed, but be warned: a man might well be judged by those he names as allies."

  "You are assuming a bit," Tomas said. "You keep mentioning Nightbird, as if you believe that we know the man, or woman, or whatever else it might be. But —"

  De'Unnero held up his human hand and looked away. "As you will," he conceded, and he pointed to a cluster of thick pines. "Tell Captain Kilronney that I will await him there, that we two might speak privately." Without even bothering to keep a wary eye on the men he had just all but named as enemies, the Bishop walked away, confident that they would not attack. De'Unnero had an uncanny ability to measure potential enemies accurately —that was perhaps his greatest strength as a warrior—and he understood that his confidence only added to the intimidation, and that such intimidation would stay any action from the likes of Tomas Gingerwart and his peasant companions.

  Shamus Kilronney joined De'Unnero soon after, as dusk settled thickly about the forest. The captain had been told only that an Abellican monk wished to speak with him; and he was amazed to find the Bishop himself waiting.

  "Why did you allow Nightbird to wander away?" De'Unnero asked before the man could even offer a proper greeting.

  "W-what choice lay before me?" Shamus stammered in reply. "I would either let him go or fight him then and there, something which you explicitly forbade."

  His voice had risen considerably, and De'Unnero motioned for him to be quiet, pointing out that many curious ears were tilted their way.

  "You were to watch him," De'Unnero said quietly. "And yet I find you here, sitting in this miserable village, while Nightbird wanders far to the north." Now the Bishop's voice rose along with his frustration.

  "I asked him to allow me to go along," Shamus Kilronney argued loudly. "He would not have me."

  "You asked him?" De'Unnero echoed incredulously. "You are a captain in the King's army. Does that rank count for nothing?"

  Shamus merely laughed and shook his head. "You do not understand the man called Nightbird," he tried to explain, "nor his relationship to these people. I doubt that the King himself would outrank Nightbird in the wilds of the northland."

  "A dangerous presumption," the Bishop replied in a low and grim tone. "You should have gone along with him, or at least you should have shadowed his movements. Gather your men this very night and set out, double-step, in pursuit."

  "And you will accompany us?"

  De'Unnero gave him a disgusted look. "I will precede you," he explained. "By the time you catch up to me, my business with Nightbird should be at its end. You and your soldiers will help me escort the survivors, if there are any, back to Palmaris."

  Shamus started to respond, but the Bishop cut him short. "It is time to go," De'Unnero explained, stepping out of the grove.

  There stood Tomas and several other men, all pretending to be occupied with other small matters.

  "They know that you hunt Nightbird," Shamus whispered in De'Unnero's ear.

  The Bishop snorted as if that hardly mattered. "That we hunt him, you mean," he whispered back. "Tell them not who I am."

  Shamus only nodded, for he would not question the Bishop, who served as the voice of his King. Not now.

  Tomas and the other men stiffened at the approach of the monk and the soldier, and more than one of them clutched his weapon tightly.

  But they wouldn't strike, De'Unnero knew. They hadn't the courage; and so the Bishop took the tension that lay so thick in the air and heightened it, twisting it to his greater enjoyment. "If any deign to follow me, or perhaps to precede me on my way to find the one called Nightbird, then let him know that he is acting against the Abellican Church and that punishment shall be swift and sure," he said calmly.

  Shamus hesitated and sucked in his breath, thinking that De'Unnero might have pushed too far.

  But the Bishop was in control here, and Tomas and the others moved aside to let him pass.

  More angered than impressed, Shamus Kilronney hesitated and studied his companion as they moved off alone into the forest. Only then did he notice the Bishop's feline limb, the mighty claws protruding from under the folds of his large sleeve. A shudder coursed through the captain, but he said n
o more all the way to Dundalis. There De'Unnero again instructed him to be on the move that very night, then took his leave, heading out to the north.

  Back in the forest, Tomas Gingerwart and his companions inspected the torn tunic, the leather ripped apart as if it were some flimsy material.

  "Nightbird'll be having his way with that one," one of the men proclaimed, to the assenting grunts and nods of the others. Tomas, too, joined in that chorus, though the big man wasn't so sure that he agreed with the assessment. He had to go along, though, had to help them all find some comfort in their less-than-sincere confidence in their friend Nightbird. This strange and deadly monk had unnerved them all, particularly Tomas, who had looked the man in the eye, had come up against willpower and an inner strength and serenity based on supreme confidence —beyond anything he had ever imagined.

  He prayed that this monk would not find his friend.

  It wasn't really a cave —more a deep overhang of stone, a natural alcove formed on the rocky side of a bluff—but Elbryan, who had been using nothing more convenient than an abandoned bear's den or the natural tent formed by the lowest branches of a large pine, considered himself lucky to find so readily available a place for Oracle. He went into the deeper shadows as the bottom of the sun dipped below the western horizon, the sky still a brilliant explosion of red, pink, and violet, and set his mirror on a stone, then hung his blanket over the opening, dimming the place even more. He took one last peek out, one last look at the beautiful sky.

  Then Nightbird sat, his back against the cool stone, staring at the barely seen mirror, letting his gaze focus completely within the depths of the glass. In moments, the inner reaches of the mirror fogged over and the specter appeared.

  "Uncle Mather," the ranger greeted, though of course, the specter did not reply.

  The ranger put his chin in his hands and tried to sort through his thoughts. He had felt compelled to come to Oracle this night, to speak with his uncle Mather, for he felt uneasy and out of sorts. Elbryan had not yet discerned the source of that discomfort, though, only knew that he did not want to be on this road at this time.