Frustrated, the ranger abandoned his bow and ran on, sword in hand.
The powrie, apparently realizing that it could not possibly outdistance the long-legged human, skidded to a stop arid turned about, a gleaming, serrated sword in hand.
"Nightbird," the dwarf breathed. "Yach, ye die!"
Elbryan said nothing, just came in hard and fast, batting Tempest twice against the powrie's blade, then thrusting the sword through the opened defenses, straight for the unarmored dwarf's heart.
The blade turned aside, compelled by some force Elbryan did not understand, and the startled ranger was overbalanced suddenly, falling forward.
He slapped his free hand across desperately, accepting the hit on his open palm from the smiling powrie's sword.
"What?" the ranger asked, skidding aside and turning to squarely face this deceptive foe.
Laughing, Ulg Tik'narn advanced.
From a short distance away, Brother Avelyn watched the scene curiously, saw Elbryan perform another apparently successful attack, only to have Tempest fly wide at the last instant. The ranger was not caught unaware this time, though, and he held his balance and reverted to defensive posture quickly enough to prevent any stinging counters.
Avelyn put away the stone he was holding, graphite, for the lightning had been of little effect on this one when he had last used it. There was something very unusual about this powrie, the monk realized, some defensive magic that Avelyn did not understand.
He took out the carbuncle he had taken from dead Quintall, fell into its magic even as Elbryan slashed his weapon — to no avail — twice at the laughing powrie's head.
Then Avelyn saw the reason, saw clearly the powrie's studded bracers, glowing fiercely with enchantment.
"Good enough, then," the monk growled. "Ho, ho, what!" Avelyn took out the other stone he had retrieved from dead Quintall, the powerful sunstone, and he sent its focused energies out.
"Yach, ye can not kill me, foolish Nightbird," Ulg Tik'narn was saying, holding wide his short arms and steadily advancing on the confused Elbryan. "Me master protects me. 'Bestes —'
The word ended with a gurgle as the waves of magic suppression rolled over the dactyl-forged bracers, as Tempest pierced through the dwarf's chest.
"I do not know the name," Juraviel admitted, looking across the campfire at Elbryan.
"But I do," Avelyn put in, resting his bulk against a fallen log.
"Bestesbulzibar, Aztemephostophe, Pelucine, Decambrinezarre —"
"All names of the dactyl demons," Juraviel said, for two of the strange titles rang familiar to the elf.
"Then we know, if the powrie can be believed, that there is indeed a beast, a physical beast, guiding our enemy," said Pony.
"Then we know," Avelyn said with certainty, and he threw down the enchanted bracers, evil items that the monk would not allow to be worn. "I have known for some time of this beast and of its home."
"The Barbacan," said Elbryan.
"The smoking mountain," Avelyn added.
A long moment of silence ensued, all five — the three humans, Juraviel, and Tuntun — feeling the weight of confirmation. and feeling suddenly vulnerable. There was indeed a very real dactyl, and it controlled Quintall's ghost, and — whether through Quintall or reports from its monstrous forces —
it knew of their raiding band, knew of Nightbird.
Avelyn stood up and started away; Pony rushed to catch up to him.
"I know my destiny," he said to her quietly, though Elbryan, who had moved to follow, and the two elves, with their keen ears, heard him clearly. "I know now why I was compelled by the spirit of God to steal the stones and run from St.-Mere-Abelle."
"You mean to go to the Barbacan," Pony reasoned.
"I have seen the army that has gathered there," Avelyn replied. "I have seen the darkness that will soon sweep down upon us, upon all the kingdom: St.-
Mere-Abelle and Palmaris, Ursal, and even to Entel on the Belt-and-Buckle.
Perhaps far Behren is not safe."
The monk turned back to look Pony directly in the eye, then past her, to Elbryan. "We cannot defeat the dactyl and ifs minions," Avelyn insisted. "Our people have grown weak, and the elves have become too isolated and too few. The only way in which the darkness might be averted is if our enemy is decapitated, if the binding force that holds powrie beside hated goblin, if the sheer evil willpower that focuses the wild giants is destroyed."
"You mean to travel hundreds of miles to do battle with a creature of such power?" Elbryan asked skeptically.
"No army gathered by all the human kingdoms could get near the dactyl,"
Avelyn replied, "but I might."
"A small group might," Pony added, looking at Elbryan.
The ranger considered that notion for a moment, then nodded grimly.
Pony looked back at Avelyn, stared deeply into the eyes of this man who had become to her as a brother. She saw the pain there, the fear that was not present when the monk had proclaimed that he alone would go. Avelyn was afraid for her, and not for himself.
"You say it is your destiny," Pony remarked, "and so, since fete has put me beside you, is it mine."
Avelyn was shaking his head, but Pony pressed on.
"Do not even think to try to stop me," she insisted. "Where am I to be safe, in any case? Here, when the powries lay traps meant for us? In the southland, perhaps, running ahead of the advancing hordes?"
"Or even in the elven home?" Juraviel added grimly, unexpectedly lending support to Pony's argument.
"'Where indeed?" asked the woman. "I would rather confront the monster face-to-face, to stand by Avelyn's side as he meets his destiny, as all the world holds its breath."
Avelyn looked at Elbryan as if he expected the ranger to protest. How could Elbryan, so obviously in love with Pony, allow her to go?
But Avelyn didn't fully understand the nature of that love.
"And I will stand by Pony's side," the ranger said firmly. "And by Avelyn's."
The monk's expression was one of sheer incredulity.
"Was not Terranen Dinoniel an elf-trained ranger?" Elbryan asked, looking about and finally settling his gaze on Juraviel and Tuntun.
"He was half-elf, as well," Tuntun put in, as if that fact put the legendary hero somewhat above Elbryan's station.
"Then I will have to go along to make up the other half," Juraviel said somberly. He met Tuntun's wide-eyed stare without surprise. "With Lady Dasslerond's blessings, of course," he said. "Ho, ho, what!" Avelyn burst out suddenly, surprised and obviously pleased by the unexpected support. But the boisterous moment could not last, not with so grim a prospect as a journey to the Barbacan before them. The monk looked in turn at each of them and nodded, then walked off to be alone with his conscience and his courage.
When Elbryan and Pony left the elves, they were surprised to find an eavesdropping friend, standing only a dozen or so paces into the forest, unseen and unheard despite his great bulk.
"Ah, but I knew it'd come to this," Bradwarden said. "Humans" — the centaur spat derisively — "always thinking o' ways to be remembered." He shook his head. "Get yer saddlebags for me, then, yell need one to carry supplies, and better if that one knows how to get away from trouble."
"You intend to accompany us?" Elbryan asked.
"A long road," the centaur replied. "Ye'll be needing me pipes to soothe yer nerves, don't ye doubt!"
P A R T F I V E
The Beast
It is settled, Uncle Mather, a new stasis, a level of play. Our enemies know of us, and there is certainly concern among their ranks, but they have a bigger goal before them and that diversion gives us some hope, gives us the ability to proclaim with confidence that they will not catch us.
But neither will we deliver any significant blows. A pair of catapults fell before our fires, but what are they compared to the hundreds of war engines in a line rolling down from the Barbacan? We have killed nearly a dozen giants in the last two weeks, b
ut how significant are they when a thousand more march against Honce-the-Bear? And now that we are known, our enemies take precautions, moving about in larger, better-prepared bands. Each kill comes harder.
So we will survive for the time, I believe, but we will do nothing decisive, not here, halfway between the fighting front and the source of the invasion. Yet, if Brother Avelyn is correct, if his destiny lies in the north and we can deliver him there, if he can battle and defeat the demon dactyl, then our enemies will be without their binding force. Who will quell the ancient and deep hatred between powrie and goblin when Bestesbulzibar is gone? It is likely that all the invasion will disintegrate into separate groups, fighting one another as much as the folk of the kingdom. It is likely that most of the giants, normally reclusive beasts, will turn back for their mountain homes, far from the villages of humans.
I do laugh when I consider how simple it all sounds, for I know that the path ahead is the darkest that ever I will tread, and that the end of that path is darker still.
Dark, too, is the journey for those men and women I leave behind, who will continue the fight while ushering their more helpless kin to a safer place — if one can ever be found. I hold no comforting illusions; that group is in danger as great as my own. Eventually, if they cannot find a haven, they will be killed, one at a time, perhaps, as was poor Cric, or perhaps the goblins will discover their camp in the night and slaughter them all.
What clouds are these that so cover our heads, blacker than the blackest storm?
It is the life that fate has chosen for us, Uncle Mather. It is the life that fate has thrust upon us, and I am proud indeed that few, so very few, have shrunk before their sudden, unasked for responsibilities. For every Tol Yuganick there are a hundred, I say, who will not give in to any threat, to any torture, who share loyalty and courage and who willingly take up the fight, even if that means their death, that their kin might win out.
I am a ranger, trained to accept duty, however harsh, and to accept whatever fate holds for me during the execution of that duty. That is my debt and my honor. I will fight, with all the skills the elves gave me, with all the weapons at my disposal, for those tenets I hold dear for the protection of innocents end for the higher principles of justice above all else. And an that course, in these times, I have by reason of necessity become leader of the folk of the three villages. But they, these innocents placed in the path of war, and not I, are the true heroes of the day, for each of them — the trappers who could have been far from harm's way; Bradwarden, whose fight this is not; Belster O'Comely and Shawno of End-o'-the-World-each of them willingly fights on, though they are not bound by debt. Every man, every woman, every child willingly takes up arms because of their common heritage, because they understand the value of unity, because they care for the fate of those in the towns to the south.
I understand now what it means to be a ranger, Uncle Mather. To be a ranger is to accept the frailties of humanity with the knowledge that the good outweighs the bad, to serve as an example, often an unappreciated one, that when darkness descends upon those about you — even many of those who, perhaps, persecuted you — they will recognize your value and follow that lead To be a ranger is to show by example those about you what they might be when the need arises, to reflect openly the better aspects of what as in every human character.
The men and women I leave behind will serve as I have served, will lift up the spirits and the will, the courage and the conviction, of all those they subsequently meet.
And for myself, I pledge now that I will deliver Brother Avelyn to the Barbacan, to the fiendish head of our enemy. And if I perish in the journey, then so be it. If all of us, my beloved Pony included, perish and fail, then let another take up my sword and my cry.
The blackness will not fall complete until the last free human spirit has succumbed.
-ELBRYAN THE NIGHTBIRD
CHAPTER 45
Parting
It took Elbryan and the other leaders of the rebel force several days to get everything organized with the twenty-five warriors and eight score refugees they would leave behind. The remaining band would cease its hit-and-hide warfare and concentrate on getting all the folk to safer points in the south, trying to parallel the advancing army without engaging it.
For those few heading north to the Barbacan, it was a difficult parting, but especially so for Elbryan, who had come to feel as a ... father to these people, as their trusted protector. If they were found and destroyed, the ranger knew he would never forgive himself.
But the other argument was more compelling; if the dactyl could not be defeated, then there would be no safe havens, then all the world as the humans knew it would be destroyed. Pony reminded the ranger often that he had trained those warriors who would escort the refugees, that they went with not only his blessing but also his woodland skills. And, like a father who has watched his children grow beyond his protection, Elbryan had to let them go.
His course, a darker road by far, lay the other way.
They set out at an easy pace, with Elbryan riding Symphony — but only for a short distance — that he might hasten out to run a perimeter guard, and with Pony and Avelyn walking beside Bradwarden, who had pipes in hand, but wouldn't start playing until they had put the monstrous enclaves of Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o'-the-World far behind them.
Just out of sight of the encampment, the small group came upon a party of elves — there might have been five — or there might have been twenty, so fleeting were their glimpses of the ever-elusive sprites — dancing amid the budding branches of several trees.
"What says Lady Dasslerond?" Elbryan inquired of Belli'mar Juraviel.
"Fare well, says she," replied the elf. "Fare well to Elbryan the Nightbird, to Jilseponie, to good Brother Avelyn, to mighty Bradwarden, and," he finished with a flurry, beating his tiny wings furiously to set himself gently down on the ground, "to Belli'mar Juraviel, who will represent Caer'alfar on this most important quest!" The elf dipped a low bow.
Elbryan looked up at Tuntun, who was sitting on the branch and smiling — a grin that did not seem so sincere to the perceptive ranger. "See to him, Nightbird," the elven female said threateningly. "I will hold you personally responsible for my brother's safety."
"Ho, and a mighty responsibility that is, when facing the likes of a demon dactyl!" howled Bradwarden.
"If I had my say, Belli'mar Juraviel would remain with his own," Elbryan replied. "Of course, if I had my way, then Pony — Jilseponie — would remain with the folk of the three sacked villages, as would Avelyn, and Bradwarden's pipes would greet the dawn each day in this forest, his home."
"Ho, ho, what!" bellowed Avelyn. "Brave Nightbird would fight the beast alone!"
"Aye, and cut a killing swath through the army ye seen 'tween the arms o' the dactyl's mountain!" added Bradwarden.
Elbryan could only laugh at their jibes. He kicked Symphony into a short gallop, rushing down the path.
"Fare well to you, Nightbird!" he heard Tuntun call, and then he was alone, riding the perimeter, glad for this newest addition to the party, despite his comments to the contrary.
He sensed a movement not far away and asked Symphony to walk slowly. He relaxed when Paulson and Chipmunk came onto the path, some distance ahead and apparently oblivious of him.
"If we missed them, I'll beat ye silly," the large man huffed at Chipmunk, who wisely shifted to the side, out of arm's reach. Elbryan did not miss the fact that they were dressed for the road, though the others would not be going to join with the refugees until the next morning. The ranger moved his mount into the cover of a pair of pines and let the two approach, hoping to discern their intent, thinking that they might have had enough of it all and were striking out on their own.
Aside from Paulson's typical grumbling, he caught no direction to their conversation.
"My greetings," he said suddenly as they neared, startling the pair.
"And to yerself," said Paulson. "Glad I am
that we did not miss yer departure."
"Have you plans of your own?"
Paulson eyed him directly. "What's for us with Elbryan gone?" he wanted to know.
The ranger looked hard at the man, then shrugged. "We will need to get the refugees to the south. There can be no further delays."
"Ye've got more than a score of fighters for that task," Paulson answered.
"A score that will need Paulson and Chipmunk to lead them," Elbryan reasoned.
"They'll more listen to Belster O'Comely," Paulson argued. "And the able man's already taken charge, by all accounts from the big camp. Our job here is done."
"Then you are free of responsibility," Elbryan replied, "to go as you will, where you will. And to go with my thanks and the gratitude of all who survived the invasion."
Paulson looked at Chipmunk, and the small man nodded nervously.
"With you," Paulson said suddenly. "The way we're seeing it, the goblin that killed Cric was sent by this Bestesbulzi-thing, so we're holding it responsible."
Elbryan's expression was skeptical.
"Are ye knowing anyone better for the woods?" Paulson argued.
"Ye just said that we were free to choose," Chipmunk added sheepishly, ducking behind Paulson's bulk as he spoke.
The others caught up to the ranger then, Bradwarden — with Juraviel nestled comfortably on his back, the elf tucked between the heavy packs — moving up right beside Elbryan.
"Our friends Paulson and Chipmunk would like to join us," the ranger explained.
"We decided that a small group'd get through all the better," Bradwarden complained.
"The two of us take up less room than yerself alone, centaur," Paulson argued.
Elbryan smiled wryly at Bradwarden before the fearsome centaur could take offense. "True enough," the ranger agreed.
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