Demon Wars 01 - The Demon Awakens

by The Demon Awakens [lit]

  "They are being called back home because no enemy has come," she gently reminded him. "Better this than for your patrol to have been truly necessary."

  Elbryan looked at her, little luster showing in his normally bright green eyes.

  "Or maybe we were necessary," Pony quickly added, trying to salvage some measure of the young man's pride. "How do we know that goblins have not ventured near Dundalis?"

  Elbryan cocked his head and ran a hand through his thick layers of straight, light brown hair.

  "Perhaps their scouts did come near us," Pony went on. "Perhaps they saw our patrols and realized they would not have an easy time of it against the village."

  "We are just children," Elbryan said disgustedly.

  Pony shook her head. "And all but the smallest of our group is larger than a goblin," she replied without hesitation, and that truth seemed to lend some credence to her reasoning. "Is not the best army the one so strong that enemies will not dare attack?"

  Elbryan didn't answer, but that familiar sparkle lit up his eyes. He turned back to regard the ground in front of him, and the wild design he was cutting with the sword tip.

  Pony smiled warmly, feeling that she had done well. It pleased her greatly to help out Elbryan, to guard his emotions. She didn't really believe goblins had come near enough to see the patrols, and neither did Elbryan, but at least this way he could hold out some reason to believe his first real effort at something important by adult standards had not been in vain. The simple fact that they could not be absolutely certain offered Elbryan all the encouragement he needed.

  Pony dared to reach out then; the connection was too strong to let the moment pass. She cupped Elbryan's chin in one hand and gently turned him back to face her.

  "You have done a wonderful job out here," she said softly.

  "Not alone," he started to reply, but she stopped him by putting a finger of her free hand across his lips. Only then did Elbryan realize how close they were, their faces barely two inches apart. He felt warm suddenly, a bit dizzy, a bit frightened.

  Pony drifted closer. She kissed him! Full on the lips! Elbryan was terrified and thrilled all at once. He thought he should pull away, spit on the ground, and yell "girl poison!" as was the expected response, as had been his response all the other times Pony, or any of the other girls, had tried to kiss him.

  He didn't want to do that; the last notion in his mind was to pull away. He realized then that it had been a long, long time since Pony had tried to kiss him - at least a year. Had she feared his reaction? Had she known he would have spit and yelled out "girl poison," a chant that would have been taken up by every boy in the village?

  Or had she known he wasn't ready, until now, to be kissed? That was it, the young man decided as the gentle kiss, their closed mouths barely touching, lingered on and on. Pony knew him so very well, better than he knew himself. Their last few days together, alone for four of every five hours, had brought them even closer.

  And now this. Elbryan didn't want it to end. He shifted in his seat, first lifted the short sword, then, realizing that it would be awkward, perhaps even dangerous, dropped it to the ground. He dared to put his arms around Pony's back, dared to pull her closer, feeling the strangely interesting curves and bumps of her body against his own as they came together. He fought a fit of panic - not knowing what he should do, where he should move his hands, or if he should move his hands at all.

  All Elbryan knew was that he didn't want the kiss to end, that he wanted something more, though he wasn't really sure what that might be. He wanted to be closer to Pony, physically and emotionally. This was his Pony, his dearest friend, the girl - no, the young woman - whom he had grown to love. He would pass into manhood that spring, Pony into womanhood the following autumn, and soon after, he would ask for Pony's hand . . .

  That notion brought fear and Elbryan tried to pull away - and did break the hold long enough to catch his breath. Again, the fears passed, lost in a swirl of warmth as he looked at Pony's shining blue eyes, at her smile, as genuine and joyful as anything Elbryan had ever seen. She hardly had to nudge him to get him to kiss her again, and they settled even more comfortably together.

  The kiss shifted, from curiosity to urgency, then back to gentleness. Their clothes ruffled and seemed more of an obstacle than a necessity. Though the air was chill, Elbryan had the feeling he would be warmer without them. His hands did move now, as he lost his fear of touching Pony. He caressed her neck, ran his hand down her side and along the outside of her strong leg. He was shocked as her mouth opened a little bit, as he felt her tongue against his lips, so soft and inviting.

  The moment, this most precious moment in all of Elbryan's young life . . .

  And then suddenly, it was gone, destroyed by a horrified, and horrifying, scream. The couple jumped apart and to their feet, staring wide-eyed down the long slope to the village, at the swarming forms, at the large plume of smoke - too large to come from any chimney! - rising from one of the houses.

  The goblins had come.

  Hundreds of miles away, in a windswept, foreboding land called the Barbacan, in a deep cave in a mountain called Aida, the dactyl basked in the sensation of fear. The demon creature could feel the screams of those dying in Dundalis, though it had no idea where the battle was being waged. This was an action of a rogue goblin chieftain, perhaps, or one of the many powrie raiding parties, acting on their own initiative, bringing misery to the wretched humans.

  The dactyl could not take direct credit, but that mattered little. It had awakened, darkness rising, and already its influence was spreading throughout Corona. Already the goblins, the powries, or one of the other races the demon would claim as minions had felt that awakening and had been given the courage to act.

  The creature flexed its great wings and settled back in the throne it had shaped from the obsidian that had formerly served as its tomb. Yes, the dark vibrations were running strong through the stone. The sensation of war, of human agony.

  It was good to be awake.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Death of Dundalis

  Elbryan and Pony were stunned and terrified for many seconds. It was too unreal, too beyond their experience and expectations. Images assaulted them, mingling with imagined scenes even more horrifying, and amid all of it welled utter denial, the hope against obvious reality that this simply could not be happening.

  Jilseponie moved first, a single, tiny step, her arm reaching out helplessly. That almost involuntary motion seemed to break her trance and she let out a shriek for her mother and ran full out for home.

  Elbryan thought to call out for her, but indecision held his voice and kept him from immediately following. What should he do? What were his responsibilities?

  A warrior would know these things!

  With great effort, Elbryan tore his gaze from the dreadful spectacle below and glanced all around. He should organize his friends - yes, that was the course, he decided. He would gather together his scouts, perhaps even call in the older scouts from the vale, and charge down into Dundalis in tight formation, anchoring the defense.

  But time was against him. He glanced about again, turned to the evergreen and caribou moss valley, and started to call out, thinking to bring in the patrol of older men.

  Elbryan fell back behind the twin pines, catching the shout in his throat, gasping for breath. Just over the ridge, facing away from him, he saw the nearly bald head, the pointed ears, the chalky yellow skin of an enemy. With trembling fingers, Elbryan retrieved his short sword, and then he sank even deeper into the hollow, paralyzed with terror.

  * * *

  Pony wasn't armed, having left her club back at the ridge. She didn't care, for she wasn't really running into battle.

  The girl was running to find her mother and father, to feel their comforting hugs, to hear her mother telling her that everything would be all right. She wanted to be a little girl again, wrapped tight in her bedsheets, and tighter in Mother's embrace, waking from a nig
htmare.

  This time, though, she was awake. This time, the screams were real.

  Pony ran on desperately, blinded by tears. She stumbled to the base of what she thought was a tree, then nearly fainted as it shifted suddenly, as the fomorian giant, huge club in hand, took a long step away from her.

  If she had had any breath in her lungs, she would have screamed, and if she had screamed, the giant would have noticed her and squashed her where she stood.

  But its focus was the village and not some insignificant little girl, and in a few loping strides it left Pony far behind. She scrambled back to her feet, picked up a couple of rocks of a good size for throwing, and ran on, taking a course that would parallel, but not too closely, the giant. Now, as she entered the area of battle, as she saw the confusion, the fierce fighting, the dead bodies on the road, she was no more a little girl. Now she remembered her training, forced herself to think clearly and concisely. Goblins swarmed everywhere, and Pony spotted at least two other giants, fifteen feet tall and perhaps a thousand pounds of chiseled muscle. Her friends and family could not win! That logical, adult part of Pony - the part that knew that the time of fending off nightmares with bedsheets was long past - told her without doubt that Dundalis could not survive.

  "Plan B," she whispered aloud, using the words to steady her thinking. The rules of survival, taught to every child in Wilderlands settlements, declared that the first priority in any catastrophe was to save the village. If that failed, the next task was to save as many individuals as possible. Plan B.

  Pony picked her way around the back of the nearest houses, moving in and out of the shadows. She peeked around the corner and stood transfixed.

  On the main road of Dundalis, just on the other side of this house, a fierce battle raged. Pony saw Olwan Wyndon first, standing tall in the middle of the human line, calling out commands, forming the group of twenty men and women into a tight circle as enemies came at them from nearly every direction. Pony's first instincts were to try and join that battle group, but she quickly surmised that she would never get in. She clenched her fist hopefully as Olwan Wyndon smashed a goblin's head, dropping the wretch to the dirt.

  Then she held her breath as she noticed the man behind Olwan, parrying wildly as two goblins prodded at him with sharp spears.

  Her father.

  Elbryan held his breath, gasped once, then held it again. He didn't know what to do, then cursed himself silently for what he had already done!

  In the hollow of the twin pines, he had lost sight of his enemy - the first, and often fatal, mistake.

  Now he had to work hard to deny his terror, had to climb above the emotion and the physical barrier and remember the many lessons his father had given him. A warrior knows his enemy, locates his enemy, and watches its every move. Silently mouthing that litany, Elbryan inched his face toward the edge of the pine. He hesitated momentarily at the very last instant, certain the goblin was just on the other side, weapon poised to smash him as soon as he peeked around.

  A warrior knows his enemy . . .

  A sudden shift brought the field beyond the pines back into view, and Elbryan nearly collapsed with relief when he saw the goblin had not moved and was still facing away from him, staring into the northern valley. That relief fast transformed into a sinking feeling as Elbryan realized the meaning of this creature's positioning. The patrol in the valley had been spotted perhaps had even been already engaged, and this goblin had been set as sentry, watching for any other potential human reinforcements while its companions sacked the village.

  That thought sparked anger in the young man, enough to overcome his fear. He clenched more tightly his short sword and slowly brought one leg up under him.

  Without hesitation, for if he paused, he knew his courage surely would falter, Elbryan slipped out from behind the protection of the tree. Half walking, half crawling, he moved closer to the goblin, quickly covering a third of the distance.

  Then he wanted to turn back, to run into the hollow and cover his face. The sounds behind him, from his home, bolstered him, as did the smell of burning wood carried by the wind up to the ridge. With a grimace of determination, Elbryan halved the distance to his foe. No turning back now. He scanned the area, and, as soon as he was confident that this creature was alone, he stood up and rushed out.

  Five running strides brought him to the goblin, who didn't hear his approach until the last second. Even as the goblin began to turn, Elbryan's sword came down hard on its head.

  The sword bounced out wide. Elbryan was surprised by the force of the impact and that his sword had not cut into the goblin's skull. He thought for one terrible moment he hadn't hit the thing hard enough, that it would turn and skewer him with its crude spear. Desperately, the young man scrambled to the side, trying to ready a defense.

  The goblin staggered weirdly, dropped its weapon, and fell to its knees. Its head lolled from side to side. Elbryan saw the bright red gash, the white of split bone, the grayish brain. The goblin stopped moving. Its chin came to rest on its chest, and it held the kneeling pose, quite dead.

  Dead.

  Elbryan felt his guts churning and labored for his breath. The weight of his first kill descended upon him, bowing his shoulders, nearly driving him to his knees. Again it was the smell of his burning village that cleared his head. He had no time now to ponder, and any sympathetic notions that he might have captured the goblin instead of killing it seemed perfectly ridiculous.

  He looked ahead at the evergreen vale and noted to his dismay that a fight was going on down there. Then he looked back at the larger battle for Dundalis.

  To where his parents were fighting, to where Pony had run.

  "Pony," the desperate young man whispered aloud, and before Elbryan even consciously knew what he was doing, he saw the trees going past him in a blur as he sprinted down the slope toward Dundalis.

  Pony made her way around the house, inching toward the battle, wondering how she might get past the ring of goblins to stand beside her father. A cry of agony within the house froze her in place, and she leaned heavily on the frame for support. She took a moment to consider where she was, whose house this was, and she stifled a sob.

  "No time for that," she scolded herself, and she focused on the battle raging on the road. Again her shoulders sagged, for though many goblins lay dead or dying on the bloodied ground about the ring of desperate fighters, several humans were down as well. And the goblin ranks, for all the carnage, remained deep, and seemed undiminished.

  Above it all stood Olwan, proud and strong and unshakable. He clobbered yet another goblin, bashing in its ugly skull, then raised his arm and called out, trying to rally the others. Pony blinked curiously, for Olwan's arm did not come down, seemed to be going up, up, up. She saw the look of horror and pain that came over the, man, then looked higher, past his stretched shoulder, his elbow . . .

  The giant's hand covered the tall man's entire forearm. Blocked by the wall of the house, Pony couldn't follow the man's ascent. She wanted to yell out for someone to help doomed Olwan, wanted to scream simply for the sake of screaming.

  And then Olwan came flying back into sight, falling in a broken heap on the road right in the midst of the valiant fighters. Their ranks broke apart. They ran every which way, most getting no more than a couple of strides before being buried under a wave of swarming goblins. Pony lost sight of her father immediately, mercifully. She tried to sort out the mob, saw another person - the woman who had taught her to read and write - get pulled down to the ground, saw the goblin spear fast following. And then Pony turned away, stumbling to the back of the house, holding her churning stomach.

  There were no lines of defense anymore, no organized pockets of resistance. Everything was confusion, screams and cries of pain. Pony didn't know where to turn, where to run. She saw the image of dead Olwan again, and the last glimpse of her father.

  She turned back toward the road, hoping that her dad would come for her, would somehow rush out of
the jumble and scoop her away from the danger, would make everything better, as he'd always done.

  As if in a grotesque mockery of that hope, a goblin marched around that corner, bearing down on the girl. Pony let out a cry, hurled one of her stones at the creature, and ran off.

  Anger held her in place just around the back of the house. She stopped and braced herself, measuring the goblin's footsteps. As it rounded the corner, the girl snapped back her elbow with all her strength, catching the charging creature right under the chin.

  Pony spun and jumped on it, flailing wildly with both fists, kicking and kneeing viciously. Stronger than its little body would indicate, the goblin finally pushed her aside and turned its spear.

  "Elbryan!"

  The call brought the sprinting lad to a skidding halt. He caught the trunk of a young maple and swung about it, turning in the direction of the voice.

  Carley dan Aubrey, one of the younger scouts, staggered toward him, his face ashen, both hands clenched firmly to his right side at his waist. Elbryan saw the dark stain near those hands.

  "Elbryan!" the nine-year-old boy called again, stumbling forward. Elbryan ran out to meet him, caught him as he fell.

  The older boy moved quickly to inspect the wound, forcing Carley's hands away. Elbryan grimaced, and Carley whimpered and nearly vomited, when Elbryan's hand brushed against the broken tip of a spear jutting from Carley's side.

  Elbryan pulled back his trembling hand, staring wide-eyed at the bright blood that now covered it. Carley clutched desperately at the wound again, but he could not hope to stem the blood.

  Elbryan forced himself to remain steady, to think clearly. He had to get his own shirt off and use it to somehow wrap the wound. And quickly! He tore off his overcoat and pulled open his leather vest, quickly unbuttoning the sleeves of his white shirt. Then he saw the goblin, coming fast, half a spear in its hands. It raised the shaft like a club, bearing down on him.