by David Adams
A deep bellow came from the demon’s unseen mouth, a roar of mingled pain and rage. Rowan’s sword had been able to strike where the other weapons had failed, and for the time being that fact alone saved his life. The pain of the wound had caused the beast to hesitate in its attack long enough for Rowan to regain his feet and gather his wits. He charged in, slashing at the blur, hoping more than expecting to do more damage. He swung at what he thought was a leg, but his sword sliced only air.
The demon attacked again, from above, striking straight down. Rowan tried to ignore what his eyes were telling him, relying on instinct. The demon shape seemed to be aiming to crush something to Rowan’s left, but he knew where the blow was targeted. He rolled left, even though the action placed him squarely under the blur’s apparent attack site. He flinched as the blow fell, but felt nothing.
Tala saw what Rowan had done and thought it wise, but she knew his time was limited. He could only dodge for so long. She spotted what she was looking for, focusing not on Rowan’s opponent but rather the ground around it. She rode forward with a shout, firing her bow, hoping to distract the blur. It worked. The beast lunged at her, but she calmly turned the horse aside, staying out of its reach. “The grass!” she shouted to Rowan. “You can see the impressions from its feet! To your right!”
Rowan scanned the ground quickly and saw what Tala had seen, an area roughly two feet in diameter where the grass was bent beneath some invisible weight. The demon, by all appearances, was a few feet away from the spot. Rowan slashed with all his strength at the air above the depression. He felt a satisfying, subtle resistance as the Avenger blade sliced through flesh and bone.
The blur bellowed in agony and fell to the ground, a stream of black blood pouring from the unseen wound like rain suddenly condensing in the air and spilling to the earth. Its visible shape lay prone in one place, but its true position was outlined in the grass, the blood from the fresh wound visible there as well.
Rowan leapt at the shadow of the demon on the ground, driving his sword down three times into the torso of the beast, a dark spout of blood rising up each time he withdrew the blade. The blood ran off his sword, as if unable to bear the white light that the sword threw off. The glow intensified, the sword drawing power from the life energy of the demon.
Rowan stepped back, watching as the flow of blood slowed, the black fluid starting to paint the real form of the demon. With a shuddering noise it passed away, and as it died it became visible. Its hide was gray and coarse, and covered all over by short, sharp horns of bone. Its face was a horror of teeth and black, empty eyes. In its left hand it wielded a huge mace, the head made of the white, polished bone of some unknown creature. Rowan’s attack had nearly severed its left foot just above the ankle, and torn three huge gashes in its chest. The other blurs that had fallen appeared now as well, smaller versions of the master, but with smoother skin and lacking the horns of bone, and with faces drawn and plain, sporting large, round, staring eyes with black irises.
A dark mist began to rise from the fallen demons and their lord, and Rowan and Tala backed away, just as the Delvish who had managed to check their flight now crept forward for a better look. The demons slowly dissipated, their corporeal forms turning to vapor and then melting to nothing in the air. Less than a minute after the large demon had died there was no sign that the otherworldly creatures had ever been on the field.
Several Delvish raced forward and fell at Rowan’s feet, offering him their praise.
“Rise!” he commanded harshly. He calmed himself and went on. “I am a man, just as you.”
They rose, but their faces still beheld him with wonder. “What would you have us do?” one asked. “Command us anything and it shall be done.”
“See to the wounded, then” he told them.
Tala dismounted and went to Rowan. After she was sure he was all right and brushed off his thanks for giving him the key to beating the demon, she pointed to the west. Just like the demons, the cloud that had tormented them was now dissipating, a phantom blown away by a gust of wind, a ghost that would haunt them no more.
Chapter 6: Gathering
Lucien had started to wonder if he would ever be used as a warrior again. He had checked his warblade a few days ago, wondering if it might be rusting from lack of use. He had been assigned messenger duty, first by the dying Durst, then by his new chief, Xoshan. Lucien thought Xoshan handled his ascension to power well, accompanied as it was by tales of betrayal and murder, and while marching to war in a foreign land. Lucien had been dispatched to pass on news of what had happened to Alexis, along with Xoshan’s apologies for the treachery planned by some of his race. Lucien knew he was the best choice for the job, knowing Alexis as he did, and he would not have argued even if he wasn’t—Xoshan was his chief now. The one good thing was that he was moving to the front of the advancing army, and if battle was to be joined, it would likely be there.
He had been stopped and questioned harshly by the Lorgrasian rear guard. He submitted to their scrutiny humbly, and handed over his warblade without comment. From his earlier travel in the human lands he knew what to expect, allies or not. He moved through the Lorgrasian camp on foot, loosely surrounded by guards, one of whom led his horse. After all the hard riding it felt good to walk again, although he preferred a brisker pace than his new companions set.
When Alexis saw him she shouted happily, running to him and wrapping him in a friendly embrace. The only one more surprised by the display than the Lorgrasians was Lucien, who awkwardly returned the gesture.
“It is wonderful to see you well,” she said.
“And you,” he replied.
Alexis looked to the guard holding Lucien’s warblade. “Give him his weapon, Trelon. He is a friend.”
“As you wish, my queen.” Trelon handed Lucien his warblade, then backed away with an uneasy bow.
Alexis addressed the guards, who now wore uncertain looks. “You have done your jobs well. Be of good cheer! Return now to your posts. Dalon, see to the horse.” With a motion for Lucien to follow, she went into her tent.
Lucien, as was his way, got right down to business. He told her what had happened in stark terms, of the plot to take Lumia, of the deaths of the three chiefs, and of the battle that ensued.
Alexis shook her head. “A waste of lives,” she said. “We will need all the strength we can muster when we face Solek’s forces.”
“I apologize for treachery of my people. Xoshan, new chief, wishes me to ask forgiveness also.”
“You need not do that, nor Xoshan. The intrigue was Grosh’s, and perhaps Ast’s.”
“Was goblins’.”
“And our real foe, Solek, is human. Should I be apologizing for my race as well?”
Lucien took a moment to think about this, not understanding the question was rhetorical, and finally shook his head.
“Good. What’s done is done, but all is moving in the right direction again. I am sorry for the loss of Durst, though. I imagine he would have been a formidable ally on the battlefield. And I grieve for you as well, Lucien, for your personal loss.”
He nodded his thanks. “Solek will pay.”
“That’s the way to look at it. How far behind us is the goblin army?”
“A week. Maybe more.”
“Then we’ll slow our pace a bit, but not too much. The Demon Hills are a few days ahead, and the passage through them will be slow and dangerous.”
* * *
Corson had seen Demetrius like this before, frustrated by something beyond his power to change. The cloud had blocked them as surely as an impenetrable wall for three long days, and Demetrius was considering other options. They had probed the cloud, first trying to drive a horse into it. The poor beast reared and kicked until they let it retreat. Eventually one of the dwarves had stepped into the edge of the opaque vapor. He only went in a couple feet and held his breath the whole time, and had three of his sturdy fellows holding a rope fastened about his waist. Still, Demetriu
s credited him for the courage of the act, especially after the way the horse had acted. The dwarf returned no worse for his short time away, but reported visibility inside the cloud was non-existent. “I held my hand so close to my face that I could feel my nose with my palm, but I could not see it.”
There was a brief discussion about forming a sort of human chain—with dwarves in this case—but not knowing how deep the cloud was, and unable to see the very ground inside it, the idea was quickly dismissed. Now Demetrius looked to the mountain ranges north and south that hemmed them in and considered whether they might need to strike out in a new direction. He spoke such thoughts aloud, but Corson offered no reply. Finally Demetrius took note of his friend’s lack of input. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
Corson chuckled. “I’ve know you long enough to know when you’re talking to yourself. Besides, you know the Aetos and Stone ranges are all but impassible, more so for an army. You’re just faced with an enemy you can’t defeat with diplomatic words or your sword arm, and it’s driving you crazy.”
Demetrius turned his baleful gaze toward his friend. “I think I liked you better quiet,” he said. His tone had a forced hardness to it, but a smile played at the edge of his mouth.
“Which is your way of admitting I’m right.”
“Who wouldn’t be frustrated?” he asked. He paused to think. “Maybe it’s time we moved north. We need to go that way anyway, and maybe something will present itself in the days it takes us to move to the foot of the Aetos Mountains.”
“Gellan wanted to do that yesterday,” Corson pointed out.
“Maybe he was right. I just hate the thought of not linking up with our own army as planned, but now…”
“We can’t tell where they are,” Corson said, finishing the thought. “If they passed beyond the southern edge of this thing, they may already be moving toward the Eastern Forest.”
Gellan often hovered close to Demetrius and Corson, to give or ask counsel. Now was no different, as he sat a few yards away, sharpening his axe with a stone. “Ready to move north?” he asked amiably.
“I fear we’ve waited as long as we dare,” Demetrius admitted. “I should have listened to you yesterday.”
“Nonsense. We discussed it and agreed to hold for a time. We dwarves don’t need your permission to go where we see fit. If we thought delay was foolish, we would have departed yesterday. Only problem is, even going north we’re just biding our time in a different way. Corson’s right about the mountains—only a hardy soul could cross them. We could dig through, but even with the right tools…”
“Not enough time,” Demetrius concluded wearily. “Still, I say we should set out at dawn.”
“What if the cloud just went away?” Corson asked. “Then we could stay to our original, preferred path.”
Demetrius scowled at him. “Might as well wish for Solek to surrender to us now while you’re at it.”
Corson sniffed. “One wonder at a time, if you don’t mind.” He pointed past Demetrius and Gellan.
The cloud was dissipating quickly, the way east now suddenly clear again.
Demetrius watched the cloud vanish with a slack jaw.
Gellan pulled on his beard. “I don’t like it,” the dwarf said.
“Me, either,” Demetrius replied. “But we all know we’re going to go that way anyway. Let’s be off.”
Minutes later they were, with soft whispers and anxious glances throughout their ranks. Rarely had empty space been cause for so much concern.
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” Rowan said. He could have been referring to the splendor of the Eastern Forest in spring, the wood alive with life and color and sweet fragrances. But Tala knew what Rowan saw was a safe harbor. They needed it, she thought, and he deserved it. Too bad it would only be for a short time.
They had buried their dead after defeating the blurs, and continued their journey north. The wounded slowed them, but they had made it across the Crystal River safely, and from there they knew with each passing mile that they drew closer to the shelter of the elven wood.
When Rowan rode past his troops, they regarded him mostly with silent awe. He did not like it, but there was little he could reasonably do to change it.
Tala saw the look Rowan tried to hide as they trotted past another group of practically genuflecting warriors. “You should be happy they see you the way they do,” she said.
“It’s not right. I’m a man, just like them.”
“You are their leader now. In title because of an edict from the duchess, in spirit because of what they saw you do to the blur demon lord. Do not underestimate the importance of that. They will follow you into battle now.”
“But will they stand and fight?”
“They did well enough back there, for a time. They are green, though. They will do better next time, especially with you at their head. They believe you are the sword arm of the Savior.” Hearing no protest over this last comment, Tala looked at Rowan with a raised eyebrow. “Not going to deny that one?”
“I’ll take no such title,” Rowan said with a laugh, “but I can feel the Savior’s strength at times when I wield that blade. I’d like to think I’m a vessel ready to serve in any way he desires. If it be to strike down demons, so be it.”
“And if it be to accept the admiration of these men and women, knowing it will matter when we cross swords with Solek in Veldoon?”
Rowan smiled, giving in to Tala’s argument. “So be it.”
Elven scouts met them at the edge of the wood, and guided them the rest of the way to Dol Lavaan. The trip took many days, but the wood imparted a sense of security to all, and the green freshness of the place sparked new hopes in their hearts. Many had taken only passing notice of how dull and lifeless their land had become, but here the contrast was too great for any to miss it.
They passed through the gates of the hidden city with awe and wonder, and many might have desired to seek sanctuary there if not for the obvious preparations for war being made by the elves and the Ridonian refugees.
Deron embraced his daughter and greeted Rowan. “Come,” he said. “Take your ease in my home, and we will talk of our plans for the future. Your people will be quartered and fed—you were expected of course.”
Deron held his questions while they ate—he could see how tired they were. But food and drink soon revived them, and the promise of a warm, clean bed that night rekindled their spirits and loosened their tongues. The tale of the blurs disturbed Deron, because of the enemy they fought and the fact that he had not sent his scouts beyond the edge of the elves’ wooden realm. “We might have been a help against such a foe,” he said.
“No doubt,” said Rowan, “but we cannot ask you to watch over us always. This march was ours to make, and we did so. We were bloodied, but we tasted battle and emerged victorious. I will count that a blessing.”
“As well you should. How soon will you be ready to move again?”
“Now if we must. A few days’ rest would be good, if the city can support it. I imagine we are taxing your resources.”
Deron waved the concern away. “For a short time it is no problem. If we survive this war, then we can worry ourselves with long-term food supplies and other things of the sort. If Solek wins…well, it hardly matters then, does it?”
“I suppose not.”
“If two nights rest would do, we should be fine. But we dare not tarry much longer. We have a long march yet, much of it in Veldoon’s shadow. My scouts have brought no word of other armies making their way toward the Saber Pass, but they are not ranging far. Still, we should try to arrive by the agreed upon time, even if we are alone when we get there.”
“Let us hope that is not the case,” said Tala.
“Of course,” her father replied. “But I am sure the others have faced obstacles just as you did. Hopefully, they fared as well.”
“What is your plan for the march?” Rowan asked.
&
nbsp; “We will go northwest through the forest, staying to the trees as long as we can. We will then pass between the Demon Hills and the Gray Mountains, through a narrow valley. If Solek has spies in the mountains, and I have no doubt that he does, they will see us then. But the Demon Hills are difficult to cross, and going around them to the west will cause great delay.”
“And the westward path would not guarantee we could move unseen,” Rowan said, agreeing with Deron’s plan. “Especially with Mists and who-knows-what-else roaming the world. I never thought we could sneak up on Solek anyway.”
Deron nodded. “Very well. Take what ease you can while we have the chance. There will likely be little rest beyond these walls, until Arkania’s fate is decided.”
Rest wasn’t the word either Rowan or Tala would have applied to the two days that followed. There was a feeling of safety in Dol Lavaan that eased their minds somewhat, and they were happy not to be moving all day—more so for the men and women that did so on foot. But Rowan still had an army to care for, and although the elves fed and sheltered them, Rowan had to be mindful of what they might face in the coming weeks. He allowed them to idle for one day, but set them to light drills the next, and made sure his command structure was sound—he had lost a few lieutenants as they fought the blurs.
He also was asked to add the Ridonians to his numbers. A woman named Chel had been elected spokesperson, and had talked to Rowan and Deron about the wishes of her people. “The assaults of the Dead hit us first and hardest,” she had said. “Almost all we would look to for leadership fell in a string of battles we were forced to fight. We are willing to fight—we want to fight—but have not the military minds that would put us to best use. We would be honored, of course, to go to war alongside the elves who have been our hosts and protectors, but it is said elves may give battle differently than men. So we thought it might be best if we placed ourselves under the command of our brothers from Delving.”