The Demon Spirit - Book 2 of the Demon Wars series

by R. A. Salvatore

  Another light appeared, bright and white, the glow of a dia­mond, backlighting the giant and its allies. It lasted only a second or two, giving Pony a clearer picture of the enemy and distracting the giant for just an instant.

  All the time Pony needed. Out came the magnetite, the lodestone. The woman focused on the stone's magics, saw through its magnetic energy, seeking an attraction, any attraction. She "saw" the powrie swords, the belt buckle of one dwarf. The image of the giant in the diamond backlight came clear in her mind, particularly its upraised arms, the great hands that held the boulder.

  The giant was wearing metal-banded gauntlets.

  Pony quickly focused the magnetite energy, blocked out all other metallic influences except one giant gauntlet. She brought the power of the stone to an explosive release and let it fly, many times the speed and power of one of Elbryan's deadly bowshots.

  The giant dismissed the flash of light behind it and brought the boulder over its head again, thinking to throw it in the direction of the unseen lightning caster. But suddenly its right wrist exploded in searing pain and lost all strength, and the boulder fell from its grasp, bouncing off one square shoulder before tumbling harm­lessly to the ground.

  The giant hardly felt the bruise on the shoulder, for its wrist and hand were thoroughly shattered, what little remained of the metal gauntlet crushed in against the behemoth's hand. Two fingers hung loose on flaps of skin; another finger was altogether gone, just gone.

  The giant staggered back a couple of long strides, blinded by surprise and agony.

  Another lightning bolt slammed in then, driving the monster right over backward, dropping it, groaning, to the ground. Hardly conscious, the behemoth did hear the sounds of its few remaining comrades, all of them running away into the dark night.

  Pony eased Symphony out of the pines and into the valley, picking her way through the tangle. She drew out her sword as she rode, and found no opposition when she came upon the squirming giant.

  She killed it quickly.

  Confident in Pony's abilities and judgment, Nightbird didn't stay around after he had marked out the target with the diamond light. Back in the darkness again, the ranger made his way farther north, cutting right across the monster and human lines.

  He saw a group of men crawling through some ferns, and, on a low branch above them, a pair of goblins holding cruel spears, both peering down at the fern bed, trying to find an open shot.

  Up came Hawkwing, and a split second later one of the goblins dropped heavily from the branch.

  "Huh?" its companion said, turning to where the other had been standing, trying to figure out why it had jumped away.

  The ranger's second shot took it through the temple, and it, too, fell away, dead before it hit the ground.

  The men in the ferns scrambled, not knowing what had dropped about them.

  Nightbird moved ahead quickly, closing the distance. One man came up, hearing his approach, bow drawn and ready. "What?" he asked incredulously, and then added in a whisper as the ranger rushed by him, "Nightbird."

  "Follow me," the ranger instructed. "The dark is no obstacle; I will guide you."

  "It is Nightbird," another man insisted.

  "Who?" asked another.

  "A friend," the first explained quickly, and the small group, five men and three women, set off after the ranger.

  Soon enough the ranger spotted yet another band of allies crouching in the dark, and led his group that way. Suddenly his force was twenty strong, and he led them out to find enemies. He understood the realities of night-fighting in the dark forest, and the huge advantage the cat's-eye afforded him and his band. All around the group the larger battle quickly deteriorated into pockets of screaming and cursing frustration, with arrows launched blindly into the darkness, or opponents inadvertently stumbling into each other, or even comrades stumbling into one another, often lashing out before they paused long enough to identify their allies. Some­where far back in the distance there came a cry, the grating voice of a powrie, followed by a tremendous explosion, and Nightbird knew that another unfortunate enemy had stumbled upon Pony.

  He bit his lip and resisted the urge to rush back and check on his love. He had to trust in her, had to remind himself repeatedly that she knew how to fight, day or night, and that, in addition to her expertise with a sword, she carried enough magical power to carry her through.

  Another battle erupted far in the opposite direction, a group of goblins stumbling across the northern end of what remained of the human line. This time the results were less clear-cut, with screams of outrage and agony, both human and goblin, splitting the air. The fighting drew more combatants, spreading until all the forest seemed thick with tumult, monsters and humans rushing this way and that. The ranger set his band in a purely defensive posture, then moved out to walk a perimeter. Any humans who ventured near were ushered in, the numbers of the group soon rising to more than thirty. Whenever any enemies ventured near, Nightbird circled about them, bringing up the diamond light so his archers could take their sudden and deadly toll.

  When the immediate area finally appeared clear of monsters, Nightbird got his group moving again, putting the men in a tight formation, that they could guide each other by touch.

  Torches flared to life in several places deeper in the forest, screams issued from the darkness in many others, and there were no clear lines of combat for the group to engage. But those with the ranger held their calm, methodical way, moving along in their tight and organized formation, the tireless Nightbird continually cir­cling about them, guiding them. More than once the ranger spotted enemies moving in the brush, but he held his forces in quiet check, not willing to reveal them. Not yet.

  Soon the sounds of fighting withered away, leaving the forest night as quiet as it was dark. A torch flared to life in the distance; Nightbird understood it to be powries, the cocky dwarves likely confident now that the battle had ended. He moved to the nearest of his soldiers and bade the man to pass the word that the time to strike was near.

  Then the ranger settled the group once more into a defensive posture and moved out alone. No stranger to powrie tactics, he fig­ured that those with the torch would form the hub of their forma­tion, with their forces encircling them like the spokes of a wheel. The torchlight was still more than two hundred feet away when the ranger encountered the tip of one of those spokes, a pair of goblins crouched beside a tight grouping of small birch trees.

  With all his great skill, Nightbird slipped around and moved in behind the oblivious pair. He thought to flash his diamond light, that his archers could mow the goblins down, but decided against that tactic, preferring to make this one strike decisive. He went in alone, inch by inch.

  His hand clamped over the mouth of the goblin to his left; his sword drove through the lungs of the goblin to the right. He let Tempest fall free with the dead goblin, and grabbed the remaining creature's hair with his now free right hand, sliding his left down enough to cup the monster's chin. Before the goblin could begin to cry out, the ranger drove both arms across his body, right to left, left to right, then violently yanked them back the other way.

  The goblin hardly found the chance to squeal, and the only sound was the snapping of its neck bone—it might have been a footstep on a dry twig.

  The ranger retrieved Tempest and moved in deeper, nearer the hub, surveying the enemy formation, which was exactly as he had suspected. Taking as accurate a count as possible, he silently went back to his waiting force.

  "There are monsters about," he explained. "A trio of powries within that torchlight."

  "Then show them to us and let us be done with this night," one eager warrior piped in, and his words were echoed many times over.

  "It is a trap," the ranger explained, "with more powries and gob­lins waiting in the darkness and a pair of giants lurking behind the trees."

  "What do we do?" one man asked, his tone very different now, more subdued.

  The ranger looked
around at all his men, a wry smile widening on his face. They thought they were outmatched—that much was obvious from their expressions. But Nightbird, who had been fighting bands of monsters all the way from the Barbacan, knew better. "We kill the giants first," he coolly explained.

  Belster and Tomas watched and listened from a distant hilltop. The innkeeper rubbed his hands repeatedly, nervously, trying to guess at what might be happening down there. Should he retract his forces? Should he press the fight?

  Could he? The plans seemed so logical when they were made, so easily executed and, if need be, retracted. But the truth of battle never worked out that way, particularly in the dark and confusing night.

  Beside him, Tomas Gingerwart was fighting an equally difficult dilemma. He was a tough man, battle hardened, but for all his ha­tred of the monsters, Tomas understood that to engage them in drawn-out conflict was a fool's game.

  But he, too, could not get a clear picture of what might be hap­pening. He heard the occasional screams—more often a monster's voice than a man's—and saw the flares of light. A couple of sur­prising flashes, brilliant and sudden, caught his and Belster's atten­tion more keenly, though, for they were not the fires of torches. Belster recognized them well enough as an obvious stroke of light­ning magic.

  The problem was, neither Belster nor Tomas had any idea which side was tossing the magic about. Their little band possessed no gemstones, and wouldn't have known how to use them if they did, but likewise, powries, goblins, and giants had never been known to wield such magic.

  "We must decide, and quickly," Tomas remarked, his voice edged with frustration.

  "Jansen Bridges should return soon," Belster replied. "We must find out who loosed that magic."

  "We haven't seen it in a long while," Tomas went on. "The point may be moot, with the magic expended or the wielder dead."

  "But who?"

  "Roger Lockless, likely," Tomas replied. "Ever has he a trick to play."

  Belster wasn't so sure of that, though the notion that Roger had a bit of magic about him was nothing new to the innkeeper. The leg­ends of Roger might be exaggerated, but his exploits were indeed amazing.

  "Call them back," Tomas decided then. "Light the signals and send runners with the word. The battle is ended."

  "But Jansen—"

  "We haven't time to wait," Tomas interrupted firmly. "Call them back."

  Belster shrugged, and couldn't rightly disagree, but before ei­ther he or Tomas could give the retreat signal, a man came loping up the side of the hillock.

  "Nightbird!" he cried to the two. "Nightbird, and Avelyn Desbris!"

  Belster ran down to meet him. "Are you sure?"

  "I saw Nightbird myself," Jansen replied, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath. "It had to be him, for no other could move with such grace. I saw him kill a goblin, oh, and beautifully, too. Sword left and right." He waved his arm about, imitating the move as he spoke.

  "Who does he speak of?" Tomas asked, coming down to join them.

  "The ranger," Belster replied. "And Avelyn?" he asked of Jansen. "Did you speak with Avelyn?"

  "It had to be him," Jansen replied. "The flash of lightning, scat­tering powries, felling giants. They have returned to us!"

  "You assume much," pragmatic Tomas put in, then to Belster he added, "Are we to hope that this man's observations ring true? If he is wrong—"

  "Then still it would seem as if we have found some allies, pow­erful allies," Belster replied. "But let us indeed light the torches. Let us regroup and see how strong we have become." Belster ea­gerly led the way from the hillock, silently hoping that his old com­rades from Dundalis had indeed returned to help in the cause.

  * * *

  Their expressions were mixed, some nodding eagerly, others hesitantly, and still others glancing doubtfully to their fellows.

  "The torchlight marks the hub of the powrie defensive posi­tion," Nightbird quickly explained. "The way is open to it if we are quiet enough and clever enough. We must strike hard and sure, and be prepared for any attacks that come in about us."

  "The hub?" one man echoed doubtfully.

  "The center of the powrie defensive ring," the ranger clarified. "A small grouping in the middle of a wide perimeter."

  "If we attack there, right in the middle, then we will be sur­rounded," the man replied, and several incredulous grunts of ac­cord sprang up about him.

  "If we hit them strong enough at the center and kill the giants, the others, particularly the goblins, will not dare to come in against us," the ranger countered with confidence.

  "The torches are naught but bait," the man argued, raising his voice so that the ranger and several others had to motion for him to be quiet.

  "The torches are indeed meant to bring in enemies," Nightbird conceded. "But those enemies are supposed to be identified and engaged on the edge of the ring. If we move without further delay, the path is open all the way to the hub; our enemies will not expect so strong an attack."

  The man started to argue again, but those near him, their trust in the ranger growing, hushed him before he could begin.

  "Go in quiet and in a line three abreast," Nightbird explained. "Then we shall form a tight circle about the hub, and kill it before any reinforcements can arrive."

  Still, many of the others exchanged doubtful glances.

  "I have been fighting powries for many months, and these are powrie tactics, to be sure," Nightbird explained.

  His tone, full of absolute confidence, bolstered those nearest him, and they in turn turned back to nod to the men behind.

  The group set off immediately, with Nightbird far in the lead. He went back to the spot where he had slain the two goblins, and was relieved to find their bodies as he had left them, and that no new tracks were about the area. The enemy force was not numerous and the spokes of this defensive wheel were few, he reasoned, for when he searched both left and right, using the light of the powries' own torches as his guiding beacon, he saw no other monsters.

  Nightbird led his force straight in, then fanned them out, barely thirty feet from the powries—and the giants, he realized, for the be­hemoth pair was still in place, their lanky forms pressed up tight against the back side of the oak tree, using its girth to shadow them from the revealing light.

  The ranger picked his course quietly. He moved along his line, signaling for all to be ready, and clutched the diamond tight in his fist. Far out to the left of the powrie trio, he found a low, thick limb. He went onto it slowly, easing his weight up so it would not rustle, then picked his careful path along the solid wood, moving nearer, nearer, to the trunk.

  Nearer to the giants.

  Nightbird concentrated on the stone, building its energy, but not yet releasing it.

  Building, building—all his hand was tingling from the stone's magic, begging release.

  Nightbird ran along the branch; the powries looked up at the sound.

  And then they, and the giants, looked away, blinded by the sudden burst of radiance, a brilliant white light, brighter than the day itself.

  Nightbird rushed above the stunned powries and bore down on the nearest giant, its head even with his own. He knew he wouldn't get many swings; he grabbed up Tempest in both hands and came in running, jerking to a stop and transferring every ounce of his momentum and strength into that one downward chop.

  The blade, trailing a line of white light hardly discernible in the brilliant diamond glare, smashed down through the giant's fore­head, cleaving bone and tearing brains, and the behemoth, howl­ing, grasped at its head and tumbled backward.

  The other giant rushed in, only to be met by a hail of stinging arrows.

  Nightbird changed direction, scampering straight up the tree.

  Powries and goblins cried out and scrambled all about the area; the archers had to shift their rain to nearer, closing targets.

  The remaining behemoth shrugged away the initial volley and grabbed hard on the tree, think
ing to tear it right from the ground, thinking to smash the ranger, the miserable rat who had just in­flicted a mortal wound on its brother. It looked up, roaring in pain and outrage, and then went quiet, seeing the ranger looking back at it, down the arrow set on his strange-looking bow.

  Nightbird had Hawkwing drawn all the way back. With corded muscles perfectly taut, arms locked with the bow, legs locked about the branch and trunk, he had held the pose until the giant was in position, directly below him, and the behemoth glanced up at him.

  Then he released, the arrow burrowing into the monster's face, driving deep, deep, disappearing.

  The giant's outstretched arms flailed wildly, helplessly, and then it slumped to its knees, crumbling right beside its brother, dying even as its brother continued to squirm in the dirt.

  Nightbird wasn't watching, was too busy climbing, realizing he was vulnerable at this low position. Then, from a branch higher up he watched the fight and carefully picked his shots, taking out those couple of monsters too well hidden, from ground level, for his companions to spot them.

  "To hiding!" the ranger called, and a moment later he dropped the diamond light, leaving the area black, save one fallen torch flickering in its death throes on the ground.

  Nightbird closed his eyes, then opened them slowly, letting them adjust to the new lighting, letting the cat's-eye take control once more. The monsters were far from defeated, he realized im­mediately, for several groups had banded together and were stub­bornly coming in, mostly from the south. He had to make a decision, and quickly. The element of surprise was gone, and the enemy still badly outnumbered his meager force of thirty.

  "Take to the north," he called down, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Stay together at all costs. I will rejoin you as soon as I can."

  As his soldiers slipped away through the brush, the ranger turned his attention back to the south, to the many monstrous groups, thinking he would find some way to deter them, perhaps to lead them on a long and roundabout chase back to the south.