DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga)

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Symphony’s pickin’ his own course,” Bradwarden went on. “He might be thinkin’ that there’s work to be done about here.”

  “Would Symphony consider the fate of his own herd above my needs?” Juraviel asked.

  “Sounds like an elf,” Bradwarden quipped with a snort.

  Juraviel eyed him sternly, which, of course, only made the centaur laugh harder.

  “Whatever Symphony might be thinking or feeling, his path is his own to choose, and I’ll not try to drag him to Andur’Blough Inninness,” Juraviel announced.

  Bradwarden snorted all the louder, as if the mere thought of that was absurd—which indeed, Juraviel knew, it was. Even in the days when Nightbird rode Symphony, the stallion knew no master.

  “Have you any other prospects?” Juraviel asked.

  “Symphony showed me one,” Bradwarden explained, pointing down the line to a small, muscular sorrel stallion running near the back of the herd, and not in tight formation like the rest, but lagging and ranging out wide, this way and that. “A two-year-old, and getting a bit edgy.”

  “Symphony showed you?” Juraviel asked. The elf really didn’t doubt that Symphony and Bradwarden were capable of such communication, but he had to wonder at the stallion’s intent, if there was any, in picking out one of its own herd.

  “He’s got the mare smell in his nose,” Bradwarden explained, “and it’s takin’ out all his senses. He even took a run at Symphony. Ye’ll be takin’ him away or Symphony’ll be kickin’ him deep into the forest. If the little one’s lucky, Symphony won’t kill him.”

  Juraviel nodded, for now it made sense. There were other stallions in the herd besides Symphony, but not many, and apparently none in competition with the great stallion. Juraviel had reservations, though—would this spirited young stallion be too much for young Brynn?—and they showed clearly in his expression.

  “Ye take him away from the mare smell, and he’ll be a fine one,” the centaur said, obviously catching the elf’s drift. “Ye might be geldin’ him, o’ course, though I’ve never been fond o’ that treatment!”

  “Will Symphony help us secure him?”

  “Oh, I’ll get him for ye,” the centaur assured him. “I’ll have him this very night, though it’ll take a couple o’ days for me and Roger to break him.”

  The image brought on by Bradwarden’s choice of partners brought a smile to Juraviel. Roger had never been much of a rider, and if this young stallion was as spirited and strong as he appeared, the young man might be finding getting out of bed each morning a bit of a trial.

  “Same hill?” Bradwarden asked.

  “Sheila will be bright tonight,” Juraviel replied. “I will meet you there when she passes her midpoint.”

  The centaur reached down and hoisted a long length of strong rope, slinging it over one shoulder. He gave a quick salute to Juraviel, then trotted down along the ridgeline, paralleling the course of Symphony and the herd. “I’m hopin’ none o’ them mares’re hot with the smell,” he remarked quietly.

  “For the stallion’s sake or for your own?” Juraviel asked with a laugh, and Bradwarden joined in.

  Juraviel thought to go directly to the outskirts of Dundalis then, to listen in on the conversations of unwitting humans and learn what he might about events since the fall of Markwart and also to discern any further information about Jilseponie’s progress to the north. He found himself sidetracked, though. Again he found himself standing in the grove before the two stone cairns. Whatever words Juraviel might find, like n’Touel’alfar, they did little to relieve his pain at that moment. He remembered Mather, and the man’s gallant fall while saving the young Bradwarden from the clutches of a goblin horde—no wonder that the centaur insisted upon returning Tempest to Mather’s side. Mostly, though, Juraviel explored the newer, raw wound—the loss of Elbryan. He remembered all his days with the young man, training him, bringing him along in his understanding of the elven way of seeing the world, and teaching him bi’nelle dasada. He remembered the night of Elbryan’s naming, when the young man became Nightbird the ranger, under a starry sky in Caer’alfar. He contrasted that event with Dasslerond’s continuing anger at the man and at Jilseponie, and considered his own initial reaction, anger, upon learning that Nightbird had taught the woman the sword dance. But then Juraviel remembered the first time he had seen the two fighting together within bi’nelle dasada, battling goblins on a hillock above a trapped wagon caravan. How beautiful they had been together, how complementary to each other’s movements, and how deadly to the goblins. Watching that display, Belli’mar Juraviel had thrown away his anger at Nightbird, had then considered the man’s instruction of Jilseponie a gift upon the elven gift, heightening the value of that the elves had given to him.

  If only Lady Dasslerond had been able to witness such a display!

  But she had not, and Juraviel’s description of the scene could hardly sway her.

  “Rest well, my fallen friend,” the elf said. “Keep Hawkwing close to your side until the day that your son comes to claim it.”

  That last statement brought a smile to Juraviel’s face, as he turned and started for Dundalis, but how much wider that smile would have been, he realized, if he were allowed to play some role in tutoring the child of Nightbird.

  The elf spent the rest of the day about the outskirts of Dundalis, resting on high branches, and listening to conversations of some of the townsfolk. He fell asleep to dreams of his lost friend and didn’t awaken until the moon was high in the clear night sky.

  He arrived at the base of the hillock, serenaded by Bradwarden’s piping, a short while later. The young stallion was there, tethered to a tree, grazing easily and not even lifting its head to mark the approach of the quiet elf.

  He found Roger reclining beside the centaur, much in the same position as the night before.

  “Got him,” Bradwarden remarked. “Oh, but he’s a spirited beastie. Yer little ranger friend is in for some wild ridin’.”

  “And what about my little friend Roger?” Juraviel asked with a smile.

  Roger, who obviously had already been informed of his role, put on a sour look that the elf knew was mostly bluster.

  “He’ll be sittin’ funny for a bit, don’t ye doubt,” the centaur said with a laugh. “But we’ll get the stallion so he’ll take a saddle, at least.”

  “A week?” Juraviel asked. “For I’ve some business to attend to.”

  Bradwarden nodded. “I’ll break ’em both by then,” he said, glancing wryly sidelong at Roger.

  The three spent the rest of the night relaxing on the hillock. After Roger had fallen asleep, Juraviel wandered down to the stallion to better inspect him.

  With his ragged sorrel coat, he wasn’t the prettiest of horses, certainly nothing compared to Symphony, but he was strong and well muscled, with enough inner fires showing in his dark eyes to keep Brynn Dharielle working hard indeed.

  Juraviel was back on the road in the morning, leaving Bradwarden and Roger to their work with the stallion. He headed south, shadowing the one road, with a hundred and fifty miles before him. He meant to arrive in Caer Tinella in three days.

  Chapter 12

  Reciprocation

  “THERE THEY GO,” LIAM O’BLYTHE REMARKED AS THE LINE OF GOBLINS STREAMED along the ravine floor below them. “Right along yer big friend’s course and right on time.”

  “Signal the archers,” Prince Midalis instructed. “Let us be done with this.”

  Liam lifted his spear, tipped with a red flag emblazoned with the black cow: the sign of death. Before the man had gone through three waves of the pennant, the eager archers, set along both sides of the ravine, began firing their missiles down upon the running goblins.

  Bruinhelde and his kinsmen had caught this band, one of the few remaining anywhere near Pireth Vanguard, as they camped in the forest. Using Andacanavar as scout and as liaison to Midalis and his men, the Alpinadorans had orchestrated this little ambush.

  Th
e archers thinned the goblin line, and those monsters sprinting out in front of the main host soon came upon a series of traps, trip lines, and ankle pits, buried spikes, and one deep trench that bottled up the whole retreat. And that, of course, merely gave the archers more time to let fly their arrows, and into a more concentrated group of targets.

  Not to miss any of the fun, Bruinhelde and his horde then appeared at the end of the ravine to Midalis’ right. The lead Alpinadorans charged out and fell into their hammer-spins, launching a devastating barrage at the nearest goblins.

  And still the archers rained death upon the confused and frightened creatures.

  Midalis’ cavalry appeared at the left end of the ravine, coming in slowly and in tight ranks, spears leveled before them.

  “I should be down with them,” the Prince remarked, and, indeed, this was the first action of the season in which he had not been leading the way. There had been no time, for Midalis had been at St. Belfour when the call had come in, and the goblin retreat had been on in full by the time he had even reached this spot on the ridge in the center of the ravine’s northern side.

  “Bah, but they’re not even to see any fightin’,” Liam replied, “nothin’ more than runnin’ down a few strays.”

  The second Alpinadoran line came charging ahead then, closer to the trailing goblin ranks; and again, the huge northern men spun and launched their chain-handled hammers, smashing the closest ranks.

  The goblins didn’t even try to assume any defensive formation, just scrambled all over one another, howling and screaming and running out of that death pit in every direction. Those climbing up the north and south walls were met by concentrated arrow volleys that sent them skidding back in their own blood. Those going to the east—Midalis’ left—were run down and skewered. Those trying to run back the way they had come, to the west, were met by a third hammer barrage.

  It was over in a few minutes, and Prince Midalis hadn’t heard even a single human cry out in pain. After all the months of fighting, this skirmish, the battle of the Masur Tierman-dae—so named for the dry bed of the stream that had shaped the ravine—was easily the most one-sided of the entire conflict.

  It was no accident, Midalis understood. As his warriors and the Alpinadorans had come to know and better trust each other, as they had come to understand each other’s fighting strengths and weaknesses, they had learned to complement each other. And now, with the barbarians growing more accustomed to the Vanguard terrain, the combined force was better shaping the battlefields, picking the fights in which they could inflict the most damage and avoiding those that seemed too risky.

  The battle of the Masur Tierman-dae had been a complete success, and Midalis confidently expected many more of the same … if they could find enough goblins left to kill.

  Some movement from behind caught their attention, and the pair turned to see Andacanavar striding up the ridge, deftly picking his course among the tangles of brush and roots. Without a word of greeting, he moved to stand beside Midalis and Liam; and though the two Vanguardsmen were mounted, they did not tower over the huge Alpinadoran.

  “I came to this place as soon as I heard of the fight,” Midalis explained. “And I feared that I missed it—though it has been choreographed perfectly, a complete rout. But I am surprised to see Andacanavar here. I had thought you would be leading the Alpinadoran ranks.”

  “Bruinhelde’s fight, from beginning to end,” the ranger answered. “And your archers and horsemen performed their role perfectly. Look down on the ravine with hope, Prince Midalis, for before you looms the last goblin threat to Vanguard.” As he finished, he turned away from the slaughter on the ravine floor to gaze meaningfully at Midalis. When Midalis met his eyes, he understood that Andacanavar referred to much more than regional security.

  With this slaughter, the goblins had been eradicated from Vanguard in Honce-the-Bear. But now, Midalis knew, would come the real test. Would the army of Vanguard follow the Alpinadorans north to the southern reaches of their kingdom, to secure those lands, as well?

  Midalis wanted to give the ranger his assurances of that cooperation, but he could not; his talks with his countrymen toward just that end had not been met with enthusiasm. He nodded to Andacanavar and remarked, “And all the minions of the dactyl will be on the run before long.”

  Andacanavar cocked an eyebrow at the obviously evasive remark, but he, too, nodded, apparently accepting the delicacy of the situation.

  “Where was Andacanavar, then, to be missin’ such a fight as this?” Liam O’Blythe put in. He added, “Does well by Bruinhelde to see him puttin’ together such a massacre.”

  “Business in the north,” the ranger answered, and he looked even more intently at the Prince of Vanguard and went on, “arrangements to be made.”

  Midalis glanced back at Liam and saw the look of concern on the man’s face—for he had told Liam of Andacanavar’s pending “arrangements.” Ironically, it was that expression of doubt, of fear even, that bolstered Midalis in his resolve that this alliance with Bruinhelde’s people would not be a passing thing. He turned back to Andacanavar, his face grim, and nodded. “Inform Bruinhelde that I will meet him at the mead hall tomorrow night,” he said, “that we might discuss our plans.”

  The ranger looked back down at the valley, where the last of the goblins were scrambling wildly, only to be run down, skewered by arrows or blasted by Alpinadoran hammers.

  “And a fine mead hall celebration it will be,” the ranger remarked. He patted Midalis’ horse on the neck and trotted back the way he had come, as Midalis and Liam silently watched him go.

  When Midalis finally looked away from the ranger, toward his companion, he saw that the distress had not left Liam’s expression.

  “He moves with the grace of a much smaller man,” Midalis remarked, more to break the tension than anything else.

  “And quick on his feet, if he went all the way to the mountains and back,” Liam agreed, his sharp tone and his reference to the mountains—the expected locale of the ominous arrangements for the blood-brothering Andacanavar had indicated to Midalis—telling the Prince in no uncertain terms that Liam’s fears were strongly founded.

  “Your concern truly touches me,” he said with a chuckle.

  Liam didn’t smile. “I’m not thrilled with losin’ me Prince,” he said.

  “Andacanavar would not have arranged this trial if he believed I could not survive it,” Midalis replied, “nor have I even agreed to partake.”

  “Oh, ye’ll go,” Liam continued, nodding his head. “I know ye too well to think ye’d refuse any dare.”

  That brought another chuckle to Midalis, with the recollections of so many chances he and Liam had taken together as younger men in the wild Vanguard woods. Liam even managed a slight smile of his own then, unable to resist the delicious memories.

  “But ye were younger then,” Liam said after a moment, “and we was both seein’ less to lose.”

  “I have not agreed,” Midalis repeated, bluntly and firmly, and there was truth in his words. He truly had not decided upon the wisdom of accepting the blood-brothering, as Andacanavar had called it. On the surface, it seemed like a wonderful way to strengthen the bond between the Vanguardsmen and the Alpinadorans—Bruinhelde was no minor chieftain among the northern clans! If Midalis and Bruinhelde both survived the blood-brothering trials, they would be bound forever as siblings.

  But Midalis knew that by agreeing to such a binding trial, a ritual that would bind not only him but also those who served him, he was in effect signing a treaty with Alpinador—or at least with Bruinhelde’s substantial clan. And did he have the right to enter into such a treaty without the knowledge and blessings of his brother, the King? What would happen if Bruinhelde called upon their alliance at some future date, forcing the Prince of Vanguard to send half his troops to the frigid northern reaches of desolate Alpinador to battle some new enemy, a great dragon, perhaps, or invading powries?

  On the other hand,
Prince Midalis could not deny that Bruinhelde and his clansmen had saved him and his army, had saved St. Belfour, despite their animosity toward the Abellican Church. Could the honorable Midalis ignore the ranger’s request for such a binding?

  “Haven’t ye then?” Liam remarked after a long and uncomfortable silence. “Haven’t ye come to see the barbarians as allies? Even as friends, mayhap?”

  Midalis stared at him hard, but didn’t deny the words.

  “Haven’t ye figured that we’d be packin’ for the roads north, to see if any goblins’re needin’ chasin’ out in Bruinhelde’s land?”

  “Do you not believe that we owe that much, at least?” Midalis replied.

  “Aye,” Liam said resignedly and without hesitation. “We’re owin’ them barbarians too much, by me own figurin’. But I’ll be with ye, don’t ye doubt.”

  “Never did,” Midalis answered, and he urged his horse into motion and turned back down the ridge.

  He and Liam met the rest of the warriors on the field outside of St. Belfour soon after, the men full of excitement. The monks came out to join in the celebration as well, led by a boisterous Agronguerre bearing barrels of wine and ale and food. They all knew it, without ever hearing it proclaimed officially by Midalis: the goblin threat had been ended this day, and the folk of Vanguard could go about putting their fields, and their lives, back in order.

  Midalis took it all in stride, and prepared to let them have this night of rejoicing—or thought he would, at least, until Andacanavar and Bruinhelde arrived. Fortunately, Midalis was among the first to spot them.

  The Prince rushed over to the pair and spoke before either of them, particularly grim Bruinhelde, could instigate the conversation about Vanguardsmen going north. “I have promised to meet you in the mead hall tomorrow night,” he said.

  “You do not invite us to participate in your celebration?” Bruinhelde asked. “Would it have been better for Midalis, then, if we had not fought the goblins this day?”