"No," Pony argued. "They would not believe it to be more important than was the village itself, and that we deserted."
"And I doubt that powries, and certainly not goblins and giants, hold any appreciation for beauty," Elbryan added.
Juraviel fell silent, digesting the logical arguments. Still, it bothered the elf that the monsters had gone into that particular valley.
It bothered Elbryan, too, for the scarring of the evergreens made no sense. The monsters' take of lumber would not have been useful; the spruce and pines were too short for catapults, too wet and sappy for wood fires, and too pliable for any construction. With deeper forests all about them, filled with taller trees of harder wood, why would the powries go into the evergreen, valley? Only to lure their enemies, Elbryan had to reason, particularly Jilseponie and him, the two to whom the valley was indeed sacred.
But it made no sense to the ranger, for the plan was too subtle.
How might the monsters have garnered such information about the leaders of their enemies?
"They knew," Elbryan said flatly: "They had to know."
"How?" Juraviel demanded.
A whistle from the trees — from Tuntun, they realized — alerted them of a visitor, and a moment later, Brother Avelyn ambled in to join them. He looked much better, seeming his old bouncy self, except for a slight limp.
"Ho, ho, what?" Pony said to him playfully, drawing a smile from the monk.
"They knew," Avelyn remarked as he sat down hard on the ground. "They knew, and they know much of us. Too much."
"How have you discerned this?" Juraviel asked.
"A ghost told me," Avelyn replied. Elbryan perked up his ears, wondering if the monk had been in contact with Uncle Mather.
"While you fought in the valley, I went far to the north," the monk explained. "I tell you now that this force which has come upon us is but a predecessor, a testing probe, and that our enemy, the demon dactyl, has many times this number of soldiers to send down upon us."
"Then we are doomed," Pony whispered.
"Our enemy has another ally, as well," Avelyn went on, looking directly at Elbryan. "The ghost of a man you killed, in my defense."
"Brother Justice," the ranger reasoned.
Avelyn nodded. "His name is Quintall," he said, for the other title seemed perfectly ridiculous now. "I spoke with this ghost briefly, before we battled, and I tell you, he knew of us, of you and of Pony."
"He and I once did battle," the ranger reminded.
Avelyn was shaking his head before Elbryan even finished the predictable sentence. "He knew that you were in trouble, in the valley. He predicted that both of you would be slain."
"Then it was a trap," Juraviel said.
"Indeed," remarked Avelyn. "They knew how best to draw us — you, two, at least," he said to Elbryan and Pony.
"How could they?" Pony wanted to know. "Brother — Quintall did not know us well, certainly did not know our affinity with the pine vale."
"Perhaps the ghost has been about us," came a voice from a nearby tree.
The group glanced over to see Tuntun sitting calmly on a branch.
That seemed plausible enough, but Avelyn suspected that he would have sensed Quintall's presence had the spirit indeed been about. "Perhaps," the monk admitted, "or might it be that Quintall is not the only one who has fallen to the darkness of the dactyl?"
To the small group whose very lives depended on absolute secrecy, there could have been no more unsettling possibility than that of a traitor in their midst. A thousand questions filtered through Elbryan's and everyone else's thoughts as he considered each person of the band. When he came to privately question the loyalty of Bradwarden, the ranger realized that this exercise was truly folly.
"We know no such thing," Elbryan said firmly after a lengthy pause in the conversation. "Likely it was the ghost, a spy for our enemies. Or perhaps the powries are more cunning than we first believed. Perhaps they have prisoners hidden away and have tortured information from them."
"None from Dundalis, surely," argued Pony. "None who might know of our fondness for the valley."
"It is all speculation," the ranger insisted. "Dangerous thoughts. How will we function if there remains no trust among us? No," he decided, his stern tone showing that he would brook no compromise on this point, "we will not cast suspicion on any in our group. We will not speak of this outside our immediate circle, and not speak of it at all unless some more substantial evidence can be found."
"We must be careful then," Avelyn offered.
"Will this grove be next?" Pony asked, a question that unnerved Elbryan.
"All the world will be next," Tuntun said, shifting the focus, "if Avelyn's words are true."
"They are," the monk insisted. "I saw the monstrous gathering in such numbers as I would never have imagined."
"In greater numbers than their nature would allow," agreed Juraviel, "were they not guided."
Pony, who hadn't been involved in the previous discussion at Avelyn's bedside, seemed not to understand.
"Powries and goblins would not ally for long if there was not a greater power, a greater evil, holding them together," Juraviel explained.
Pony looked at Avelyn, thinking of his prophecies of doom all those weeks together on the road, thinking of the weakness of the world the monk constantly berated and of the name he gave to it. "The dactyl?" she asked. "You are certain?"
"The dactyl is awake," Avelyn said without hesitation.
"As we feared in Caer'alfar," Juraviel added.
"But I thought that the dactyl was the weakness in men's hearts," Pony reasoned, "not a physical being."
"It is both," Avelyn explained, recalling the training he had received at St.-Mere-Abelle and thinking it ironic now that those same men who had taught him of the demon dactyl had, through their own weakness and impiety, helped to facilitate the return of the monster. "It is the weakness of man that allows the demon to come forth, but when it does, it is a physical monster indeed, a being of great power who can command the wills of those with evil in their hearts, who can dominate the monstrous hordes and tempt men such as Quintall, men who have fallen from the ways of God, to its side."
"There are more beliefs than those of your church," Tuntun put in dryly.
"And all our gods are one God," Avelyn replied quickly, not wanting to offend the elf. "A God of differing names perhaps, but of similar tenets. And when those tenets are misinterpreted," the monk went on, his voice turning grave, "when they are used for personal gain or as a means of exacting punishment or forcing submission upon others, then let all of Corona beware, for the demon dactyl will rouse from its slumbers."
"It is a dark time," Juraviel agreed.
Elbryan bowed his head but in thought and not in despair. Such philosophical discussions did not elude the ranger, but Elbryan understood that his role here was to consider their position in terms of their day-to-day existence, that he might properly guide those folk, closer to two hundred than to one, who had come under his care. At that moment, the ranger had more immediate problems than some mythical monster hundreds of miles away, for if there was indeed a traitor in their midst, then the threat would increase.
"They knew, Uncle Mather," Elbryan whispered when at last the image came to him at Oracle. "They knew that scourging the valley would wound me, would, perhaps, even bring me out of hiding. Y4 how can they know of me, more than the name of Nightbird, which I have not hidden, and of my exploits against them? How could they know of my loves, of a place that is special only within my heart?"
The ranger sat back, leaning on the back wall of the small cave. He continued to stare silently, not expecting an answer but hoping that, as was often the case, the image of his uncle Mather would guide him through the jumble of his own thoughts, to reason through his dilemma.
He saw another image in the mirror — or was it merely in his mind? — one of a man he had selected to go along on the raid to the evergreen vale, but who had refuse
d, claiming sickness. Elbryan knew well that the man had not been ill, and he considered the sudden cowardice truly out of character. But with no time for such petty problems, the ranger had dismissed the incident.
Elbryan envisioned again the return of the battered group to the main encampment: Paulson ,dropping down wearily from Symphony's back, Pony leaning against Bradwarden as if, were it not for the centaur's solid frame, she would have simply tumbled over to the ground. He saw reflected in the mirror those images that had been peripheral to him at that time: a supposedly ill man standing at the side of the camp and, more important, the expression on that man's face, hardly noticed at the time, but clear now to Elbryan.
The man was surprised, truly surprised, that they had returned.
Using all the stealth he had learned in his years with the Touel'alfar, Elbryan followed Tol Yuganick out of the encampment late one dark night, several days after the abandoned raid on the evergreen valley.
The big man, supposedly in search of firewood, looked back over his broad shoulders often, Elbryan noted, obviously trying to ensure that he was not' being followed. His precaution did little against the stealthy skill of the ranger, though, and so Tol was oblivious of Elbryan's presence, obviously so, when he met with a bandy-limbed powrie less than two miles from the band's present hideout.
"I did as you demanded," Elbryan heard the big man complain. "I delivered them, right where I said I would."
"Yach! Ye said the ranger," the powrie grumbled back, "and his woman friend. Ye made no talk of other warriors or of that wretched centaur!"
"Did you think Nightbird would be so foolish as to go so near Dundalis alone?"
"Silence!" the powrie snapped at him. "Take care yer attitude, Tol Yuganick; Bestesbulzibar is not far, I promise, and he hungers for human flesh."
Elbryan silently mouthed the unfamiliar name and noted how Toys ruddy face blanched at the mere mention. The ranger didn't know what this creature, Bestesbulzibar, might be, but his respect for it as an enemy was already considerable.
"We must defeat Nightbird," the powrie insisted, "and soon. My master has noticed the problems here, though we are many leagues behind the battle lines, and my master is not pleased."
"That is your problem, Ulg Tik'narn, and not my own!" Tol growled. "You have used me, powrie, and left a foul taste in my mouth that no river could wash out were I to swallow the whole of it!"
Elbryan nodded, glad that the man felt some remorse for his traitorous actions.
"And I'm done with you and with Bestesbulzibar the winged devil!" He turned indignantly on his heel and started to stride away.
"Yach, and with the ghost that finds yer dreams," the powrie asked slyly, "the ghost who beckons to Bestesbulzibar's every call?"
Tol Yuganick hesitated and turned back.
"And what might Nightbird do if he discovers your treachery?" Ulg Tik'narn asked.
"We had a deal," Tol protested.
"We have a deal," Ulg Tik'narn corrected. "Ye'll do as I say, fool human, or me master will destroy ye most unpleasantly."
Tol bowed his head, his face contorting as he struggled, pragmatism against conscience.
"Ye already a fallen thing," the powrie went on, chuckling. "Yer course cannot be reversed, yer errors cannot be corrected. Ye delivered Nightbird to us once, and now ye must do so again, for unless he's taken, there'll be no rest for ugly Tol Yuganick, no sleep that will evade the intrusions of the ghost Quintall, no path that will get you far enough from the flight of Bestesbulzibar, who is all-powerful."
Elbryan could hardly draw breath at the realization that he and his little band had made such an impact on the very heart of this monstrous army. He recognized the name of the turncoat spirit, of course, and considering that the powrie referred to Quintall as but a pawn of Bestesbulzibar, the ranger suspected the identity of that creature.
"There is a grove," Tol began reluctantly, "diamond-shaped."
The words stirred Elbryan; he put an arrow to Hawkwing before he even realized and had the bow leveled, its mark the space between treacherous Tol's eyes.
"It is even more special to the ranger, a place that he will not allow to be defiled, whatever the odds," Tol went on.
Elbryan didn't want to kill the man; whatever Tol's weakness, the ranger didn't want to shoot him dead without explanation, without hearing the threats that had been laid upon the man to turn him so.
But Elbryan held no such sympathy for powries, and so he shifted the angle of the bow just a bit, gritted his teeth, and let fly, the arrow whipping across the twenty feet, unerringly, so he thought. At the last moment, the arrow turned in mid-flight, thudding hard into a tree. Ulg Tik'narn was away in the blink of an eye, running fast into the forest night, but before Tol could move, the ranger leaped before him, Tempest in hand. A glance at the fleeing powrie told Elbryan that the ,creature posed no immediate threat.
Tol, on the other hand, had his huge sword in hand, eyeing Elbryan nervously.
"I heard," the ranger said, "everything."
Tol didn't reply, just glanced around, looking for an escape.
"You cannot outrun me in the woods at night," Elbryan said evenly.
"Then you outrun me," the big man retorted. "I've wanted your head since the first day we met, smelly ranger, and be gone now or be sure that I'll get it!"
Elbryan recognized the true fear behind that bluff. Tol had no desire to fight him, had no desire to face the mighty cut of Tempest.
"Throw your weapon to the ground," Elbryan said calmly.
"I'll not play judge to you, Tol Yuganick, not out here. You come with me back to the camp and speak your crimes plainly, and let us see what the people choose for you."
Tol scoffed at the notion. "Drop my weapon, that you might more easily wrap a noose about my neck?" he said.
"Unlikely," the ranger replied. "The folk are merciful."
Tol spat at him. "I give you one last chance to run," he said.
"Do not do this," Elbryan warned, but Tol came upon him in a wild rush, his heavy sword slashing.
Tempest flashed left, parried up, went out left again and then right, Elbryan easily fending off the clumsy attacks. The ranger poked the smaller blade ahead, bringing its tip near the hilt of Toys jabbing sword as he deftly sidestepped the large man's forward thrust. A twist of Elbryan's wrist brought Tempest's blade hard against the big man's hand, and a further twist turned Tol's hand right over awkwardly.
Elbryan shoved wide his sword arm, and Tol's weapon went flying harmlessly to the side, splashing down into a muddy puddle.
The big man gasped in desperation, unarmed and eyeing the deadly ranger.
"Do not," Elbryan began, but Tol turned and stumbled away.
Elbryan flipped Tempest up above his head, lining the blade for a throw.
He held back, though, as Tol passed the nearest tree, as a pair of muscled equine legs flashed out, connecting solidly on the side of the man's head, launching him head over heels to crash hard at the base of a wide ash tree.
Bradwarden stepped into the small clearing.
"I followed him out here," Elbryan explained.
"And I followed yerself," the centaur replied. "And I was carrying Avelyn on me back. Ye should be more to looking past yer arse, though yer target's past yer nose."
Elbryan glanced all about. "And where is the monk?"
"Chasing a powrie," Bradwarden explained. "Said not to worry about that little one."
Elbryan looked over at Tol, the man's head lolling about on his shoulders.
He was in a sitting position, wedged in tightly against the hard trunk.
"I'll not presume to judge him," the ranger said.
"Always for mercy, as ye were with the three rogue trappers."
"And that choice was the best," Elbryan reminded.
"Aye, but this one is not," the centaur insisted. "This one's a fallen thing, with no redeeming. His crime cannot be tolerated, so I say, for he'd have given us all to the beast to save
his skin." Bradwarden eyed the dazed man contemptuously. "He knows it, too. Suren that ye're showing him less mercy by letting him live with the terrible thing he's done."
"I'll not play judge."
"But I will," Bradwarden said firmly. "Ye might want to be going now, me friend. Avelyn might be needing ye, and ye might want to not be watching this."
Elbryan eyed the brutal centaur squarely, but understood that he had little power to sway Bradwarden's determination. And whatever his feelings of mercy, Elbryan would not battle Bradwarden for the sake of Tol Yuganick, who had indeed fallen too far. He looked back at Tol, the man oblivious and probably already mortally wounded by the powerful kick.
"Be merciful," the ranger said to Bradwarden. "He laments his choice."
"He made the choice willingly."
"Even if that is true, mercy is friend to the just," Elbryan insisted.
Bradwarden nodded somberly, and Elbryan scooped up Hawkwing and ran off into the night, behind the departing powrie, though the ranger held faith that Avelyn would know how to deal with the dwarf. Less than ten steps into the woods, he heard a single thump, a centaur's kick against a head propped by a tree trunk, and he knew that it was finished.
He felt sick to his stomach, but he could not disagree, not out here with so many lives at stake. Tol had chosen, and Tol had paid for his choice.
Around a bend far down the dark trail, the ranger happened upon a band of powries lying on the ground, most dead but some still twitching in the last moments of their lives. A lightning bolt had hit them, the ranger realized, and he knew that he was close.
He paused end tuned his senses to the night, and he heard speaking, not so far away. Running fast, but silently, Elbryan soon spotted Avelyn, making fast work of yet another powrie, the burly monk holding the dwarf under his arm, repeatedly slamming the creature's head into a tree trunk.
Elbryan meant to stop there, but a movement farther to the south along the trail caught his attention. He came in sight of the is last powrie — the one, Ulg Tik'narn, who had been speaking with Tol Yuganick. Sliding down to one knee, Elbryan had Hawkwing up and leveled. Again his shot was true, but again, the arrow swerved at the last possible moment and flew off harmlessly into the night.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 56
