Elbryan went to him and took a firm hold on his bridle. He gave a powerful tug, straight down, and that steadied the horse momentarily. Soon enough, though, Greystone was right back to stamping and tossing his head.
Symphony, meanwhile, had calmed considerably, and when Elbryan found the moment to consider the stallion, and Pony bent low against Symphony's neck, her cheek to the magical turquoise, he understood. Pony had found communication with Symphony, an understanding, and managed to impress upon the spirited stallion the need for calm.
Greystone gave a tug that nearly launched Elbryan away. The horse tried to rear up, but the ranger dug in and pulled all the harder.
Several other people, a pair of crewmen among them, came over then, trying to help steady the beast, for a nervous horse on an open ship deck could be a dangerous companion indeed.
But then Symphony took control of the situation, pushing past Elbryan and laying his head across the top of Greystone's neck. Both horses snorted and neighed, Greystone stamped the deck again and tried to rear, but Symphony would have none of that, pressing down harder, even lifting one front leg over the smaller stallion's back, holding Greystone in place.
Then, to the amazement of all the onlookers, Elbryan and Pony included, Symphony came down from Greystone's back and nuzzled up to the horse, snorting and shaking his head. Greystone issued a few more protests, but they sounded halfhearted.
And then both horses were calm.
"Good horse," one man muttered to Elbryan as he started away.
Another asked if Elbryan wanted to sell Symphony.
"Avelyn's stone proves itself useful now and then," Pony remarked when the three friends were alone with the horses again.
"I understand the communication between yourself and Symphony, for we have each done that before," the ranger said. "But am I wrong in believing that Symphony actually conveyed your message to Greystone?"
"Something of that nature, so it would seem," Pony replied, shaking her head, for she had no practical answers.
"How full of arrogance you humans are," Juraviel remarked, drawing looks from both of them. "Does it so surprise you that horses can communicate with each other, at least in a rudimentary way? How would they have survived all these centuries if they could not?"
Elbryan and Pony, defeated by the simple logic, just laughed and let it go at that. The ranger's expression, though, changed quickly, back to serious.
"There is talk of powrie bands roving the eastern reaches of the kingdom," he explained. "And of one band of particularly troublesome goblins."
"Could we have expected any less?" Juraviel replied.
"From what I could gather, it would seem that our enemies east of the river are in similar disarray," the ranger went on. "The powries deserted the goblins, so say the rumors, and the goblins are on a rampage as much out of fear as out of their generally wicked nature."
Juraviel nodded, but Pony quickly added, "You mean that it would seem as though some of our enemies are in disarray. And by my estimation, neither goblins nor powries rank as our worst enemy at this time."
That painful reminder of their destination and the potential disaster they faced at the place quieted them all and cast a somber pall over the group. They spent the next, and last, hour of the voyage in relative silence, tending to the horses, and all were glad when the ferry at last docked in the small city of Amvoy.
The ship's captain, standing beside the entrance to the gangplank, reiterated warnings about goblins and powries to all the passengers as they disembarked, bidding them all take great care if they traveled out of the city.
Needing no supplies, the friends cut right through the walled city to the eastern gate, where again they were warned about potential dangers in the open lands beyond. Their passage was not hindered, though, and so they rode out from Amvoy that very afternoon, the two horses quickly putting miles behind them.
The terrain here was far less wooded than that north of Palmaris.
The land was more cultivated, crisscrossed by wide roads, some covered in cobblestones—not that any were really needed, for the grassy fields were easily crossed. Paralleling the road from a safe distance, the group passed another town that same day, and though it wasn't walled, they could see that its defenses—archers on rooftops, even a catapult in the town square—were securely in place.
Farmers stoically working the fields paused to note their passing, a few even giving a friendly wave or calling to them an offer of a free meal. But the friends pushed on, and as the sun moved low in the sky, they came in sight of yet another town, this one much smaller than the previous, as the land was more sparsely populated the farther they moved from the great river.
They swung around to the east of the settlement and camped with the black silhouettes of the buildings visible in the distance, deciding to keep a watch for the townsfolk that night.
"How far do we have to go?" Juraviel asked as they sat around a low fire, eating their supper.
Elbryan looked to Pony, who had spent years in this area.
"A couple of days," she replied. "No more." She took a stick from the fire and scratched a crude map in the dirt, marking the Masur Delaval and All Saints Bay. "St.-Mere-Abelle is no more than a hundred miles from the river, if I remember correctly," she explained, and then she drew out the land farther to the east, marking Macomber Village and, finally, Pireth Tulme. "I was here, in Pireth Tulme, but after I met up with Avelyn, we went back to the river—not near to St.-Mere-Abelle, but along a course to the south of the abbey."
"Two days," Elbryan mumbled. "Perhaps three. We should begin to formulate our plans."
"There is little to decide," Juraviel said with cavalier flair. "We will walk up to the doors of the abbey and demand our friends be returned. And if they are not, and promptly, we will knock the place down!"
The attempt at humor brought grins, but nothing more, for all of them, Juraviel included, began to recognize how daunting this quest really was. St.-Mere-Abelle was home to hundreds of monks, they knew, many of them proficient in the use of the magical gemstones. If Elbryan, or particularly Pony, was discovered and recognized, the quest would be over, and quickly.
"You should not bring the gemstones into the abbey," Elbryan remarked.
Pony looked at him wide-eyed; her use of the stones was among their most potent weapons, and a valuable scouting and infiltrating tool, as well.
"They might detect any use," the ranger explained. "They might be able to sense the presence of the stones even if you are not using them."
"A surprise strike is our only chance," Juraviel agreed.
Pony nodded her agreement, not wanting to get into that debate just yet.
"And if we are discovered," the ranger went on in grim tones, aiming his remark directly at Pony, "you and I must surrender ourselves, loudly and publicly, calling for an exchange."
"The two of us for the release of the Chilichunks and Bradwarden," Pony reasoned.
"And then Juraviel will retrieve Avelyn's stones and go with them to the west, and then with Bradwarden back to Dundalis," Elbryan continued. "Then you take the stones back to Andur'Blough Inninness," he explained to the elf, "and bid your Lady Dasslerond to hold them forever safe."
Juraviel was shaking his head before Elbryan finished. "The Touel'alfar will not be involved in the matter of the stones," he said.
"You already are involved!" Pony insisted.
"Not so," said Juraviel. "I am helping friends, repaying debts, and nothing more."
"Then help us in this matter," Pony continued, but Elbryan, with his better understanding of the aloof elves, had already given up the fight.
"You ask for political involvement," Juraviel explained. "That we cannot do."
"I ask for you to uphold the memory of Avelyn," Pony argued.
"This is a matter for the Church to settle," Juraviel was quick to answer. "They, and not the Touel'alfar, must decide their own course."
"This is a
matter for the humans to settle," Elbryan agreed, putting his hand on Pony's arm to quiet her. She looked him square in the eye, and he shook his head slowly, deliberately, conveying the hopelessness of such an argument.
"I would ask that you retrieve the stones and give them to Bradwarden," the ranger said to the elf. "Let him take them far away and bury them deep."
Juraviel nodded his agreement.
"And return Greystone to Roger," Pony went on. "And Symphony to the forest beyond Dundalis, his home."
Again the elf nodded and a long moment of silence ensued, broken only when Juraviel began to laugh suddenly.
"Ah, but a hopeful group we have become!" the elf said. "We are planning our defeat, not our victory. Is that as you were trained, Nightbird?"
Elbryan's smile widened across his face, shadowed with the stubble of a three-day-old beard. "I was trained to win," he said. "And we will find a way into St.-Mere-Abelle, and be out of the place with Bradwarden and the Chilichunks before the monks can ever know we were there."
They toasted that thought with raised food and drink. Then they finished their meal and went about organizing the camp and its defense, Juraviel going out to scout the night, leaving Elbryan and Pony alone.
"I fear this," Pony admitted. "I feel as though it is the end of the long road I began when first I met Avelyn Desbris."
Despite his earlier bravado, Elbryan could not disagree.
Pony moved close to him then, and he put his arms around her. She looked up into his eyes, slid up to her tiptoes and gently kissed him. Then she moved back, locking his stare with her own, the tension building. She came back and kissed him again, more urgently, and he returned the kiss, brushing his lips against her, feeling her strong back under the press of his arms, his hands massaging the muscles.
"What of our pact?" he started to ask, but Pony put her finger across his lips, silencing him, then kissed him again, and again, pulling him down to the ground beside her.
It seemed to Elbryan that they two were alone in the wide world, under the sparkling stars and with the gentle summer breeze blowing across their bodies, licking their exposed skin, tickling them, cooling them.
They were on the road early the next day, running their horses hard, as dawn pinkened the eastern sky before them. Any discussions of how they might get into St.-Mere-Abelle secretly fell apart before they really began, for they would have no practical understanding of the place until they had glimpsed it and seen its fortifications and its state of readiness. Were the doors opened wide for refugees from any nearby towns, or were they sealed shut, with dozens of armed guards patrolling the monastery's walls?
They could not know, and so, putting their discussion off until it could produce something tangible, they heightened their pace, determined to make the abbey by the next morning.
But then they saw the smoke, rising like demon fingers above a ridge lined with trees. All three had seen such plumes before, and knew it was from no campfire or hearth.
Despite the urgency of their mission, despite the high stakes, no one questioned their course. Elbryan and Pony together turned their mounts to the south, riding hard for the ridge, then up the grassy slope to the tree line. Juraviel, bow in hand, fluttered away from Greystone as soon as they made those trees, the elf climbing high to better scout out the area.
Elbryan and Pony slowed and dismounted, then walked over the lip of the ridge cautiously. Spread below them, along the main road in a bowl-shaped valley, was a caravan of wagons, laden with goods and turned into a defensive, roughly circular formation. Several wagons were burning, and Elbryan and Pony could hear the shouts from the men below, calling for water, or for preparation of the defenses. The pair could see, too, that many people were down, and the agonized screams of the wounded rolled up out of the bowl.
"Merchants," the ranger remarked.
"We should go down to them," Pony said. "Or at the least, I should, bringing the soul stone."
Elbryan looked at her skeptically, not wanting to use that stone, or any other, so near to St.-Mere-Abelle. "Wait for Juraviel's return," he bade her. "I see no dead monsters about the ring, and so it seems likely that this battle has just begun."
Pony nodded her agreement, though the wails of the wounded pained her greatly.
Juraviel was back soon enough, fluttering to a tree limb just above their heads. "The scene is both good and bad," the elf explained. "First and most importantly, the attackers were goblins, and not powries, a lesser foe by far. But they are four score in number, and preparing a second strike." He pointed across the dell, to the southern ridge. "Beyond the trees."
Elbryan, ever the tactician, and understanding goblins' ways, surveyed the area. "They are confident?" he asked Juraviel.
The elf nodded. "I saw few wounded, and none in argument of further attack."
"Then they will come in right over that ridge," the ranger reasoned, "using the down slope to speed their run at the merchants. Goblins never concern themselves about their own dead. They'll not expend the time or the effort to coordinate a more comprehensive attack."
"Nor will they have to," Juraviel added, looking down at the wagons and the pitiful attempt at defense. "The merchants and their guards cannot hope to hold them off."
"Unless we help them," Pony was quick to put in, and her hand subconsciously slipped to the pouch of gemstones, a motion Elbryan did not miss.
He looked Pony in the eye and shook his head. "Do not use the gems unless we absolutely need them," he instructed.
"Four score," Juraviel remarked.
"But they are only goblins," said the ranger. "If we can kill one of four, the rest will likely flee. Let us prepare the battlefield."
"I will go and watch the goblins," the elf said, and he disappeared from sight so quickly that both Elbryan and Pony blinked in disbelief.
The two led the horses around the dell, moving down across the road, out of sight of the merchant wagons, then up the southern slope to the tree line. "They are hungry and frightened," Elbryan noted.
"The merchants or the goblins?"
"Likely both," the ranger replied. "But I speak of the goblins. They are hungry and frightened and desperate, and that makes them doubly dangerous."
"So if we kill one in four, they will not run?" Pony asked.
The ranger shrugged. "They are too far from home, with no prospects of getting back. I suspect the rumors are true, that the powries deserted them out here, in a land filled with enemies."
Pony gave him a sidelong glance. "Do you intend to offer mercy?" she asked.
The ranger chuckled at the thought. "Not for goblins," he said firmly. "Not after Dundalis. I pray they do not flee, for then they will live to cause more sadness. Let four score come over the hill, and let four score die at our hands."
They were up to the top of the ridge by then, and the goblins were in sight, huddled on the side of a ridge half a mile to the south.
There weren't many trees between the two positions and the goblins, but both Pony and Elbryan quickly discounted any ideas of spotting Juraviel as he made his way down to them. They turned instead to the tree line, to see what surprises they could put together for the oncoming horde. Pony moved to the underbrush, looking for young trees suitable for snares, while the ranger focused on one large and dead elm, precariously perched on the very edge of the ridge.
"If we could drop this in their midst, it would cause more than a little confusion," the ranger remarked when Pony moved to join him.
"If we had a team of plow horses, we might indeed," Pony replied sarcastically, for the dead tree was indeed huge.
But Elbryan had an answer to that. He reached into a pouch and took out a packet of red gel. "A gift of the elves," he explained. "And I think this trunk might be rotted enough for it to work."
Pony nodded. She had seen Elbryan use that same gel in Aida, to weaken a metal bar so completely that a single swipe of his sword had cut right through it. "I've already s
et one snare, and I can see possibilities for several more," she said. "Also, a few sharpened sticks in the underbrush might cause some havoc."
The ranger nodded absently, too immersed in his own work to even notice as Pony went back to hers.
Elbryan found the weakest point along the trunk and tested its width and give. He was convinced that with several mighty swings of Tempest, he could fell the tree, but that would not be good enough, for he would never find the time in the midst of a horde of goblins. But if he could properly prepare it now...
He took up his sword and gave a light chop, then fell back cautiously as he heard the responding crackles of buckling wood. Again he found the proper place and cut into the tree, and then again. He went to the packet next and tore it open, then smeared a line of the reddish substance—a mixture the elves used to weaken items—across the critical point, putting it in line with a pair of trees farther down the slope.
As he finished, Pony came back to him, riding Greystone. "We should tell them," she said, motioning toward the merchant caravan.
"They know that someone is up here already," the ranger replied.
"But they should know of our plans to help," Pony reasoned, "that they might properly prepare a complementary defense. We cannot hope to stop all the goblins, no matter how effective our traps and swords." She pointed down the slope to a stump barely visible above the tip of the tall grass. "The descent is steep there, and the lead goblins will be at full speed and in range of any bows the merchants might have," she explained. "That could be a critical point. If I can string a trip rope, we could slow the goblins' progress and allow the merchants many more shots."
"Three hundred feet," Elbryan replied, surveying the distance from the stomp to the nearest cover.
"The merchants likely have that length of rope and more to spare," said Pony. She waited for his nod, then turned Greystone about and moved cautiously down the slope. Two-thirds of the way, less than fifty yards from the caravan and wide open in the grass, she noted the many bows leveled at her, though more and more were dipping low as the archers recognized that she was no goblin.
The Demon Spirit - Book 2 of the Demon Wars series Page 53