DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  "And we're knowing the ways of the woods," Paulson went on, "and the ways of our enemies. Ye get in a fight and yell be glad that me and Chipmunk are with ye."

  Elbryan looked at Bradwarden again, since he and the centaur had been unofficially accepted as the leaders of the expedition. Bradwarden's hardened visage fast softened under the ranger's plaintive look. "Come along then," he said to the two men. "But one bad word for me piping and I'll be eating more than the meat that's on me back!"

  So they set out then, seven strong. Seven against the tens of thousands and — in odds that seemed even less favorable — seven mortals against one demon dactyl. At the edge of the forest surrounding Dundalis, Elbryan slipped down from his mount.

  Run free, my friend," he said to the horse. "Perhaps I shall return to you." The horse did not immediately run off, but stood stamping the ground, as if in protest.

  The ranger sensed that the stallion did not want to remain behind, and for a moment, Elbryan entertained the thought of riding all the way. But how could he do that in all good conscience, when he knew that Symphony might not be able to cross the mountainous Barbacan, and certainly would not be able to go into Aida's tunnels with him.

  "Run on!" he commanded, and Symphony bolted out of the immediate area, but stood quiet in the shadows of some trees not far away.

  So it was Elbryan, and not the horse, who walked away, when the others caught up to him. It was not an easy thing for the ranger to do.

  They struck out west more than north, wanting to cut a wide circuit around the long caravan that Avelyn had magically observed. Even from several miles to the north and west of Endo'-the-World, from atop a hillock, they could see a long line of dust rising into the air, moving south, descending upon Dundalis and the other towns.

  "All the way to the Belt-and-Buckle," Avelyn remarked grimly, and from that vantage point, it seemed impossible that the monk might be wrong.

  There were no roads out here once the group got beyond the logging areas of Endo'-the-World. The forest was old, with tall, dark trees and sparse undergrowth, and there were rivers to follow, some whose waters had come all the way down from the high peaks of the Barbacan. Occasionally, the group came upon a lone house or a few clustered together, the real frontier families, living beyond even the meager civilization of the three small villages. It was not a comforting thing for the seven to find that every house they chanced upon, including one whose occupants had been friends of Paulson's band, was deserted.

  They found the reason the tenth day out, when Elbryan noted a line of tracks preceding them in the muddy riverbank.

  "Goblins," the ranger informed his companions, "and a few humans."

  "Could be a rogue band," Bradwarden offered, "and nothing to do with our enemy in the north."

  "Goblins been in this region for a thousand years," Paulson added. "Me friends've fought with them often, so they felled me."

  "But do goblins normally take prisoners?" the ranger wanted to know, and that admittedly unusual circumstance tipped them off that this was no chance incident, no rogue band.

  The demon will draw all the goblins from all the holes, Avelyn had warned.

  How Elbryan wished he still had Symphony with him, that he could ride fast to catch up to the band!

  "We slip back into the woods to avoid them," Bradwarden said. "No problem with that."

  "Except that they have prisoners," Pony was fast to interject.

  "We're not knowing that," Bradwarden replied.

  "Human tracks with the goblins," Avelyn argued.

  "Might be that they had prisoners," Bradwarden answered bluntly.

  Elbryan was about to argue the point with the centaur, to point out that, whatever their mission, they first had to see if there were people in need of their assistance, when he got some unexpected help from Paulson.

  "They're running an army," the big man reasoned, "so they're needing slaves. If this raiding group is in league with the dactyl, then they're knowing better than to kill those who might be worked to death."

  Bradwarden threw up his arms in defeat, and motioned for Elbryan to run on and see what he might see. The ranger did just that, circling west of the riverbank as he made his way to the north. He came upon them at last at a bend in the river, where the goblins — many goblins! — had stopped to drink, but were keeping a score of humans, three quarters of them women and children, back from the badly desired water.

  The ranger bowed his head as he considered the options. Thankfully, there were no giants or even powries to be seen, but there were at least fifty goblins down there, with several, Elbryan noted, wearing the black-and-gray insignia of the dactyl's army. Even if he and his powerful band attacked the group, how might they stop the goblins from killing the prisoners?

  Elbryan went back to report to his companions, expecting that a furious argument would ensue. Was their mission the overriding factor here, for if they attacked and were beaten back, killed, or captured, then who would go on to the smoking mountain to stand against the demon dactyl?

  "Only fifty?" Bradwarden huffed. "And only goblins? I'll warm me bow on the first score, trample the second score, and give me club a taste on the last ten!"

  "How do we hit them without endangering the prisoners?" the ever-pragmatic Pony asked. The question was not meant to dissuade any attack, Elbryan knew in looking at his determined companion, but to logically guide the group in the best possible direction.

  "We separate them," Elbryan answered. "If even one or more ventures away into the woods, lags behind, or gets too far in front. . ."

  Six grim nods came back at the ranger. Within the hour, they were shadowing the caravan, learning their enemies' movement, discerning the pecking order among the goblin ranks. At one point, when the riverbank grew more narrow and impassible, the goblins sent a group of six out to find a new route.

  They died quickly, quietly, cut down by bows and daggers, by flashing sword and crushing cudgel. So fast and complete was the massacre that Avelyn never used his magic. The monk did get in close enough to one wounded goblin to finish it with a flurry of deadly punches, but he kept his magical energy in reserve.

  When it became apparent that the first six would not return, the goblins sent out a couple more to find them. Elbryan, Juraviel, and Bradwarden shot them down as soon as they were out of sight of the caravan.

  "They are onto us," Pony reasoned when the band of seven moved back to view the main group, goblins rushing about nervously, tightening the ropes do the prisoners, herding the miserable humans together. The worst of it for the onlookers came whenever a goblin beat a human, particularly when one slapped a small child to the ground. Gritting his teeth, holding discipline supreme to emotion, Elbryan held his companions at bay. The goblins were wary, he reminded them all; this was not the time to strike.

  "We hide the bodies," Elbryan plotted, "and let any more scouts they send out go unhindered. Let them find the paths. When, they are on the move again, the forest thick about them, we hit them hard."

  "Aye," the centaur agreed. "Give them a couple of hours to think that their miserable kin just ran away. Let them drop their guard again, and then we'll take the lot of them and pay them back for every slap."

  Elbryan looked to Avelyn. "You must play an important role," the ranger said. "We will cut the goblins to pieces, I do not doubt, but only your magic can protect the prisoners long enough."

  The monk nodded grimly, then looked at Pony. Elbryan did as well, sensing that the pair, Avelyn and Pony, shared a secret. The ranger's expression grew even more incredulous when he noticed Avelyn hand a piece of graphite to her, and green malachite after that.

  The goblins did indeed send out another pair of scouts, and these two moved unhindered through the woods, then went back to the main group reporting no sign of their missing eight companions. Since desertions among goblin ranks were surely not an uncommon thing, the goblin leaders seemed to relax almost immediately, and with new trails found, they soon started th
e caravan along its plodding way once more.

  And again, they were shadowed, every step, and even led, though they did not know it, by the ranger as he scouted out the perfect spot for the ambush.

  Elbryan had found just what he was looking for, a narrow pass between a steep, high ridge and a muddy pond, and was returning to lay out the plans when he found that his hand was being forced.

  Pony's expression was the first indication that something was wrong, and as soon as he gained a vantage point on the monsters, the ranger figured it out.

  A dispute had arisen between one or more of the prisoners and their goblin captors, and now the humans were being punished once more. Elbryan winced with every blow, feeling the pain as acutely as if the goblin's club had been aimed at him; but again, he tried to hold back, tried to keep perspective and hold the greater goal above his emotions.

  But then one prisoner, a young man of about the same age Elbryan had been when Dundalis was first overrun, was pulled from the line. The goblins' intentions for this one soon became obvious; they meant to make him an example.

  The young, man was forced to his knees, his head pulled low, exposing the back of his neck.

  "No, no, no," Elbryan whispered, and truly he was torn. All the plan and all the prisoners had a better chance if the ambush was carefully plotted and choreographed, and yet how could the ranger stand idly by and watch this unfortunate young man be sacrificed?

  Elbryan could not watch idly, of course, and as soon as Hawkwing came up, the others realized that the time for action was upon them.

  The goblin's sword went up high, but fell harmlessly to the ground as Elbryan's arrow slammed into the creature's chest. Elbryan came charging through the trees, screaming wildly, readying another arrow:

  Goblins scrambled, one calling out commands — until its words became a gurgle, its mouth filled with its own blood, Elbryan's second arrow deep in its throat.

  "Oh hurry!" Avelyn cried to Pony, for the two had laid plans of how they might get to the prisoners.

  Pony was trying to hurry, concentrating with all her will on the malachite. She had done this before, in practice with Avelyn, but now the pressure was intense, the price of failure too great.

  "Ho, ho, what!" Avelyn howled at her. "You know that you can do it, and do it well, my girl!"

  The encouragement pushed her over the edge, into the depths of the stone's magic. She felt her weight lessening, felt as light as a feather.

  Avelyn lifted her easily from the ground and threw her in the direction of the monstrous caravan. Pony floated up as she went, grabbing the branches of trees and propelling herself along. She crossed over Elbryan, the ranger engaged with sword now, battling a line of goblins and, amazingly, driving them back.

  She crossed over the goblins, scrambling high and keeping quiet, until she was, at last, directly above the huddled group of prisoners. Pony held her breath, noting the movements of the goblins, thinking by their actions and by the snatches of screamed commands she caught that they were indeed planning to harm the human prisoners.

  The woman looked worriedly at the other stone Avelyn had given her, then at her own sword, wondering which she would be better to trust. Either way, her situation was about to become desperate.

  Elbryan's rage did not relent. Two goblins rushed to intercept him, but he batted their weapons aside with a furious two-handed swipe of Hawkwing. He dropped the bow as it moved past the creatures; and in the same lightning-fast movement, drew out Tempest, thrusting it into the belly of the closest creature.

  The ranger punched out with his free hand; connecting solidly on the other goblin's chin, and he charged on, tearing free his sword.

  The stunned goblin rubbed its chin and tried to rise to follow, but Bradwarden was right on the ranger's heels and was quick to trample the wretched thing into the dust.

  Then the centaur was beside Elbryan, singing at the top of his voice, running goblins down and clubbing goblins down. Their momentum carried them deep into the goblin ranks, but began to ebb as the creatures finally organized a defense about them.

  The goblins came at them in a semicircular formation, but the integrity of the monstrous line was compromised quickly, for Belli'mar Juraviel, perched on a branch some distance away, plucked at them with his tiny but deadly bow.

  At the same time, Paulson and Chipmunk caught up to their fighting companions, the small man leading his way in with a line of hurled daggers.

  "On me, back!" the centaur roared to Elbryan. "We'll get to the prisoners!"

  But not in time, Elbryan thought, looking past the goblin ranks to the pitiful group. He prayed that Pony and Avelyn would do their part well, and wondered if his rage had betrayed them all.

  Avelyn could hardly see the goblin ranks and knew not at all which creature was in charge. As soon as Pony was away, the monk searched for some hiding spot for his bulky frame, but realized that he had little time to spare. He settled for a clump of birch trees, throwing his body into their midst as he threw his mind into the hematite he tightly clutched. He was into his spirit-walking, already rushing fast away, before his great bulk ever settled amid the tangled branches.

  The monk's spirit flew past Juraviel, the sensitive elf taking note, though the ghostly form was surely invisible. He swept past Paulson and Chipmunk, past Bradwarden and Elbryan, past the front ranks of goblins, until he came to the miserable prisoners and the monstrous guards about them. One in particular was calling out commands, and Avelyn's spirit made a straight line to that body, pushed into the physical form, and battled for control.

  Possession was never easily accomplished, a difficult and dangerous practice, but no one in all the world could summon the powers of the stones as thoroughly as Avelyn Desbris, and the monk was desperate now, for the safety of others and not for himself.

  He ejected the goblin's spirit almost immediately and continued barking out commands, but these did not concern the prisoners at all. "Flee!" he yelled to his charges. "Run to the trees, into the forest. Run away! Run away!"

  Many goblins did just that, more than eager to be gone since the furious ranger and the powerful centaur were crushing through their ranks.

  Others, though, meant to get their taste of human blood before they left.

  Pony saw them, two of them, ruining from the area of the fight but angling their course and their weapons to pound the prisoners as they passed. The woman's concentration was taxed to its limit as she tried to fall into her other stone while maintaining the weightlessness of the malachite, all the while, keeping her eyes on the monsters, measuring their progress.

  She was opt of time. Her mind let go of the malachite and she dropped the ten feet to the ground, landing right between the surprised goblins.

  They screamed, Pony screamed, and they spun about bringing their weapons to bear, as the woman grabbed their shoulders.

  Pony was quicker, falling into the stone, the graphite.

  There came a sharp crack, a sudden black flash; and the two goblins fell to the ground, twitching violently as they died.

  "Forget the woman!" Avelyn the goblin chief cried to another monster that was swinging about to bear down on Pony, and the monk rushed to intercept. He tried something new then, connecting his mind back to his physical body and bringing in new magic from a second stone that his own form clutched, as he went.

  "Kill humans!" the goblin howled in Avelyn's face, but the monk reached up with an arm that more resembled that of a tiger than of a human or a goblin. He took away the creature's protest as he took away its face.

  "Ho, ho, what!" the monk-turned-goblin roared, eyeing the transformed arm.

  "It worked!"

  Indeed it had; Avelyn had reached out across the distance, had connected with his own physical being while holding control of the goblin's form. But the strain had been great, too great, and the monk felt himself losing control immediately, his spirit soaring back past the fighting, back to the birch trees.

  In his last effort of
will, right before he lost consciousness, the monk reached back out to the goblin's body, and as the creature became aware of its physical form once more, it found its own arm — or at least an arm that was connected to its body — moving up to claw viciously at its own face.

  The surprised, confused creature stumbled backward, its other, normal appendage grabbing at its torn face. Surprise turned to horror, to agony, as it stumbled near Pony, and the woman drove her sword into its back, its tip poking right through the goblin's chest.

  Pony then turned her attention to the prisoners, bidding them to run off, out of harm's way. Most of the men and a few women would not go, however.

  Wearing masks of grief, no doubt for loved ones this monstrous band had slain, they charged the other way, into those monsters battling Elbryan and the others, fighting with weapons they snatched from goblin dead, with sticks or rocks found on the ground, or with their bare hands.

  It was over in a matter of minutes, with more than a score of goblins lying dead, the rest running, scattering into the forest. Several humans had been injured, as had Bradwarden — though the tough centaur thought little of his cuts and bruises — and Avelyn returned to them shortly, on unsteady legs, carrying the worst headache the monk had ever known. Still, without complaint, the good monk used his hematite once more, this time to lessen the wounds of the injured.

  Elbryan gathered up Paulson and Chipmunk and called to Juraviel, the four moving out from the gathering to ensure the goblins were not rallying for any counterattack.

  In more than an hour of searching, the foursome found only a pair of goblins hiding in one spot, and another running stupidly in circles.

  So the ambush had worked, near to perfection, and the prisoners were free, but that left the ranger with a new dilemma and a new and unasked for responsibility.

  "Belster is no doubt many miles to the south by now," Avelyn reasoned, "out of our leach. Even if I use the stones to contact him, we'll not easily get to him and hand off our new friends."

  "They are, a tough lot," Pony added hopefully, "but inexperienced with goblins and the like."