The Demon Spirit - Book 2 of the Demon Wars series

by R. A. Salvatore

  But what did she feel now, in looking on this man who had been her husband?

  It wasn't love, was never that, she understood, for she knew how she felt when she looked upon Elbryan and that was something very different, very much more special indeed. But she did care for Connor. He had been a friend when she had needed one; because of his gentleness in those months of courting, she had begun the road to recovery of her memory and her emotional health. If things had been better on her wedding night, she would have stayed married to him, would have borne him children, would have—

  Pony's line of thought ended abruptly as she realized she no longer regretted the events of that wedding night. For the first time, she came to understand the benefits of what she had deemed a hor­rible experience. That night had set her on a course to become who she now was, had put her in the army, where she received superb training and discipline for her natural fighting talents. That experi­ence had subsequently brought her to Avelyn's side, where she learned of deeper truths, where she gained her spirituality, and that turn of events in Palmaris had, ultimately, brought her back to Elbryan. Only now, measuring her feelings for the ranger against the feelings she had held for another man in another time, did Pony realize just how special was their love.

  They had battled for months against the invading monsters, had lost dear friends, and now her adoptive family and another friend were apparently in danger, and still Pony would not trade who she was, this very moment, this very place, for any feasible alternative. The lessons in life were often bitter, but they were necessary building blocks.

  So Pony was warmed by the sight of Connor Bildeborough pacing a stoic guard about her—and about Elbryan. At that mo­ment she put her past to rest.

  But she knew she could not linger and savor the scene, and so her spirit went out again, into the forest. She found Roger, and then Juraviel above him, and she went out ahead, searching the shadows, looking for some sign.

  I do fear the weight of the Church, Uncle Mather, Elbryan ad­mitted, sitting back against a stone in the cramped cave, staring into the depths of the barely visible mirror. How many of these as­sassins will come after us?

  The ranger leaned back and sighed. The Church would not give up, that much was obvious to him, and eventually, some day in some remote place, he and Pony would lose. Or they would lose in St.-Mere-Abelle, where Elbryan knew they must go for the sake of Bradwarden and the Chilichunks, who had been Pony's family.

  But I have to fight on, he said to the ghost of his uncle. We have to fight on, for the sake of Avelyn's memory, for the truth that he found within the twisted ways of his Order. And soon we will take that fight right to the spider's web.

  But first... ah, Uncle Mather, one Brother Justice nearly de­feated me and Pony and Avelyn before. How might we handle the likes of two such expert killers?

  Elbryan rubbed his eyes and stared into the mirror. Images came back to him of the first fight with the Church, when Avelyn's old classmate Quintall, carrying the title of Brother Justice, had battled him in a cave. First the assassin had sealed that cave from magic using a sunstone, the same gem that was on the pommel of El­bryan's sword.

  And he had used a garnet to locate Avelyn, for that stone de­tected magic.

  A garnet...

  A smile found its way onto Elbryan's face, the answer coming clear before him. He leaped up and squirmed out the narrow cave opening, rushing to Pony and shaking her vigorously, trying to break her trance.

  Her spirit, sensing the disturbance at her corporeal body, soared back, and in but a few moments she blinked open her physical eyes.

  Elbryan stood over her; behind him, Connor was slipping down from his horse, coming to see what the commotion was about.

  "No more use of the soul stone," the ranger explained.

  "With my spirit freed, I can scout out far more than the others," the woman argued.

  "But if our enemies are using garnet, they will feel the vibra­tions of your magic," Elbryan reasoned.

  Pony nodded; they had already talked about that potential problem.

  "We have garnet," Elbryan explained. "The one taken from Quintall. How much more effective will your search be with the broader sight of that stone?"

  "If they are using magic," Pony reasoned.

  "How could they hope to find us in this vast land without such aid?" the ranger countered.

  Pony paused and studied him for a long moment, and Elbryan noted the look of curiosity that came over her face.

  "You seem very sure of yourself suddenly," she noted.

  Elbryan's smile widened.

  "Quintall was a deadly enemy," Pony reminded. "Alone he nearly defeated me, you, and Avelyn."

  "Only because he shaped the battlefield to his liking," the ranger replied. "He held the element of surprise, and in a place of his choosing and his preparation. These two killers will prove formi­dable in battle, but if we hold the element of surprise, in a place of our choosing, then the battle will be decided quickly, I do not doubt."

  Pony did not seem convinced.

  "One fault in Quintall's plan was arrogance," the ranger ex­plained. "He played his hand early, in the Howling Sheila, because he felt that he was supreme, that his training had elevated him above all others in matters of battle."

  "There was some truth in that belief," said Pony.

  "But his training, and that of our present foes, does not equal that which I received at the hands of the Touel'alfar, that which you have received by me and by Avelyn, and that which we have both learned through months of fighting. And we have three powerful allies. No, my fear for this situation has lessened considerably. If you can use the garnet to track our adversaries, we will bring them in to a place we have prepared and to a battle for which they cannot be prepared."

  It made perfect sense to Pony, and she believed she could indeed track the assassins in the manner Elbryan had described. The monks would be using magic to detect magic, and thus she could use magic to detect their magic.

  "And once we have located them, we will know that they have likewise seen us," the ranger went on. "We will know their destina­tion, but they will have little understanding of ours."

  "The time and the place will be ours to choose," Pony said. She went to work immediately, and soon sensed the use of magic, the monks probably employing garnet. It was short-lived, though, and Pony figured that the pair had sensed her magic use and altered their general direction accordingly.

  "They put up a sunstone shield, I would guess," the woman ex­plained to Belli'mar Juraviel, opening her eyes to see that the elf had come to join her.

  "But is this not also magic use?" the elf inquired. "Can you not detect it as well?"

  Pony's face crinkled at the simple but somehow errant logic. "Not the same," she tried to explain. "Sunstone is antimagic. I could enact such a shield using the stone in the pommel of Tem­pest, and our enemy's use of garnet would be for naught."

  Juraviel shook his delicate head, not believing a word of it. "All the world is magic, so say the elves," he explained. "Every plant, every animal, is possessed of magical energy."

  Pony shrugged, seeing no sense in arguing the point.

  "If sunstone defeats all magic, there will be a hole in the con­tinuum," Juraviel explained. "An empty spot, a hole in the blanket of magic that fills all the world."

  "I cannot—" Pony began.

  "Because you have not learned to see the world through the eyes of the Touel'alfar," the elf interrupted. "Join with me in spirit, as you and Avelyn used to join, that we might search together, that we might find the hole, and thus our enemies."

  Pony thought it over for just a minute. Her joining through hematite with Avelyn had been personal, intimate, and left her in­credibly vulnerable, but when she considered her elven friend, she felt no threat whatsoever. She didn't believe that Juraviel was right about this matter, thought that his perspective was just that—a dif­ferent way of looking at the same things—but she did produce
the soul stone, and then together the pair went out through the garnet.

  Pony was quickly amazed at how vibrant all the world seemed, a glow of magic about every plant and every animal. Soon, very soon, they found the hole Juraviel had described, tracking the monks as easily as if the pair were using garnet instead of sunstone.

  Guide me, Juraviel imparted to her, and then she sensed that he was physically gone from the spot, following the trail out to meet their foes.

  When he returned to the encampment, barely three hours later, his report of the monks exceeded anything Elbryan could have hoped for. The elf had found them and studied them from the hidden boughs of the trees. Of particular note were their weapons, with nothing of range, except one or two small daggers and any magical stones they might possess. Juraviel had even overheard some of their conversation, a discussion about capturing Pony, that she might be brought to Father Abbot Markwart alive.

  The ranger smiled. With their bows and Pony's gemstones, they could more than counter any such distance attacks, and their dis­cussion of taking a captive proved to him that these two did not comprehend the power that would come against them. "Lead them in to us," he bade Pony. "Let us prepare the battleground."

  The small plateau seemed an obvious choice for an encamp­ment, set on a ledge on a rocky hillside with but one approach, and that being steep and dangerously exposed. There was one open area, a small campfire burning, surrounded on three sides by more rocks and on the fourth by a small copse of trees.

  Brother Youseff smiled wickedly; the garnet indicated that magic was in use up there. He put the stone away in a pouch on the rope belt of his brown robes, which he and Dandelion had donned again when they left the city, and took out the sunstone, bidding Dandelion to take his hand, that they might combine their powers to make the antimagic shield that much stronger.

  "They will try to use magic against us," Youseff explained. "That is their primary weapon, no doubt, but if we are strong enough to defeat that use, then their conventional weapons will prove worthless against our training."

  Dandelion, so physically strong and skilled, grinned at the prospect of some solid hand-to-hand fighting.

  "We kill the woman's companions, first," Youseff explained. "Then we go after her. If we must kill her, then so be it. Otherwise we will take her and the gemstones and be on our way."

  "To Palmaris first?" Dandelion asked, for he wanted another chance at Connor Bildeborough.

  Youseff, understanding the supreme importance of this part of their mission, shook his head. "Straight through the city and back to St.-Mere-Abelle," he explained. He closed his other hand over Dandelion's. "Concentrate," he instructed.

  A few moments later, the antimagic shield strong and in place, the pair began easily scaling the rocky cliff, moving silently and confidently.

  Near the top they peeked over the ridge, and both smiled even wi­der, for there, sitting beside the woman, was Connor Bildeborough— all the eggs in one basket, it seemed.

  With a look to each other to coordinate the movement, the two monks hauled themselves over the lip, landing gracefully and in a defensive posture.

  "Welcome!" Connor cried, his tone light—and to the monks, confusing. "Remember me?"

  Youseff glanced at Dandelion, then took a sudden stride for­ward, covering a third of the distance to the still-sitting man. Then he lurched, a small arrow boring into the back of his calf, cutting right into the tendon.

  "Oh, but my friends will not allow you to approach," Connor said happily.

  "You do not understand how hopeless your situation is," added Roger Lockless, stepping out from behind some rocks directly be­hind Pony and Connor. "Have you, by chance, met the one called Nightbird?"

  On cue, the ranger, looking splendid atop Symphony and with Hawkwing in hand, stepped out of the copse of trees.

  "What are we to do?" Brother Dandelion whispered.

  Youseff snapped his angry glare over Connor. "You have dis­credited and disgraced your uncle and all your family," he growled. "You are an outlaw now, as surely as are these ragged fools you call friends."

  "Brave words for one in your position," Connor replied casually.

  "Think you that?" Youseff remarked, suddenly calm. With the hand that was clenching his wounded leg, he gave a subtle signal to Dandelion.

  Suddenly, brutally, Dandelion charged past his companion, springing upon Connor as the man rose and drew out his sword, moving too quickly for anyone to react. He slapped aside Connor's sword, then laid the man low with a wicked forearm smash to the throat. Then he ran right over the falling Connor, forcing Roger back against the stones.

  Youseff sprang forward from his good leg right behind Dande­lion, thinking to get to the woman, to put her in a deadly hold that he might bargain his way out. But as in the initial assault, the confi­dent monk underestimated his opponent, did not appreciate just how powerful Pony was with the gemstones. The antimagic shield was still strong, though not as much so with both its creators other­wise engaged, but even if Youseff and Dandelion were doing nothing but concentrating on the sunstone, they would not have de­feated Pony's power.

  Youseff felt his feet slip out from under him, not to fall, but rather to rise, harmlessly, into the air. His momentum continued to carry him forward, toward Pony, but when he reached for her in this unfamiliar weightless state, he tumbled headlong, turning a half somersault. Then he felt the sudden sting in his back as Pony rolled over and kicked out, both feet landing squarely, propelling Youseff back the way he had come, back out over the cliff to dangle helplessly in midair.

  Overwhelmed by the charge, Roger was in no position to counter as Dandelion swung back the other way, again smashing Connor as the man tried to rise, then falling down atop him, pin­ning him to the ground. Up came the big man's arm, fingers stiff and straight, poised for the killing slash into defenseless Connor's exposed neck.

  Connor growled and tried to cry out, tried to wriggle free. He closed his eyes for just an instant.

  The blow did not fall. Connor opened his eyes to see Dandelion still poised above him, struggling to drop the punch, a look of ab­solute incredulity on his face that anything could so hold back his powerful arm.

  Nightbird held him fast by the wrist.

  Dandelion spun with amazing agility for one so large, turning and putting his feet under him, at the same time dipping his shoul­der to bowl the ranger over. But Elbryan, too, was moving, spin­ning right under Dandelion's arm, turning about with a vicious jerk that popped the man's elbow out of joint.

  Howling with pain, Dandelion spun about and launched a heavy punch—which never came near to hitting Nightbird, the ranger sidestepping, then wading right back in with a powerful combina­tion of blows on Dandelion's face and chest.

  On came the big monk, growling past the pain in his arm, ac­cepting more punches, that he could get close enough to wrap Elbryan in a tight hug.

  The ranger cupped Dandelion's chin with one hand, grabbed the back of the man's hair with the other, meaning to turn him aside. He stopped, though, feeling a curious prodding in his chest. At first he thought Dandelion had somehow deceived him and brought a dagger to bear, but when he looked past the man, to Connor Bilde­borough standing behind him, the ranger understood.

  Dandelion, Connor's sword right through his back and chest, slumped in the ranger's arms.

  "Bastard," Connor muttered grimly, shifting to keep his hold on the sword as dead Dandelion rolled to the ground.

  Nightbird let the man fall free, then went to Symphony and took up Hawkwing, fitting an arrow and turning his attention to Youseff. He leveled and drew back.

  But the threat was ended, the monks obviously defeated, and Elbryan could not simply kill this man.

  "Do not," Pony said, in full agreement as the ranger eased his bowstring back to rest.

  "I will kill him," Connor said grimly, finally extracting his sword from the heavy corpse.

  "As he hangs there helpless?" Pony asked skept
ically.

  Connor kicked at the ground. "Drop him to the rocks, then," he said, but he wasn't serious; he could no more kill this helpless man than could Elbryan.

  Pony was glad for that.

  "We are going to find our friends," the ranger said to Youseff, "whom your Father Abbot has unjustly imprisoned."

  Youseff scoffed at the sheer folly of such a claim.

  "And you will lead us, every step," the ranger finished.

  "To St.-Mere-Abelle?" the monk replied incredulously. "Fool. You cannot begin to comprehend the power of such a fortress."

  "As you could not comprehend the force prepared against you in this place," Elbryan calmly replied.

  That hit Youseff hard. He narrowed his eyes dangerously and glared at Elbryan. "How long can you hold me here?" he asked, his voice even and deathly calm. "Kill me now, fools, else I promise to avenge—"

  His bluster was lost suddenly as a small form rushed past him, spinning him over in the air. He flailed and tried to respond, and realized that he had lost his grip on the sunstone. When he finally straightened out again, Youseff saw the winged elf land easily on the ledge beside the others.

  "Sunstone, as you guessed, Nightbird," Juraviel said, display­ing the pilfered stone. "I suspect the garnet is in his belt pouch, if not on the dead man."

  Elbryan watched Youseff closely as Juraviel spoke, and saw that the elf's words, too, were unnerving the man.

  "He may have a soul stone, as well," Pony interjected. "Some way to keep in contact with his leaders."

  "Of course, we'll not let him use that," Connor said with a chuckle. "But I must disagree with your decision," he said to the ranger. "He'll not lead us to St.-Mere-Abelle, but will be returned to St. Precious, where he can answer for the murder of Abbot Dobrinion. I will take him myself, with Roger Lockless beside me, and let the Church learn the truth of its Father Abbot!"

  Elbryan looked long and hard at Connor, considering for just a moment the implications of his actions, which had saved the man's life. If he had hesitated for just an instant, then Connor Bildebor­ough, this man who had so wronged Pony, would also be dead.