DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  “We have to get word to them, then,” Tomas replied. “When they finally break ranks, they must know where to find us.”

  Belster considered that for a moment, then shook his head, his expression grave. “If in their fear they turn directly to the south, they will be chased, and thus we will be chased,” he reasoned. “They have already been instructed to flee into the forest if the attack is routed. They will find their way from there, wherever they choose to go.” Those were indeed the most difficult words Belster O’Comely had ever spoken. He knew the reasoning to be correct, but still felt as if he was abandoning his comrades.

  Tomas’ first reaction called for an immediate protest, but he sublimated it quickly, seeing Belster’s pained expression, and, because of that, taking the moment to consider the wider situation. He found he had to agree with the decision, and understood that no matter how difficult the situation might become for the archers, it would be no less so for Belster’s retreating group, for by all reports they would have to cross miles and miles of land even thicker with monsters.

  Another man came running toward them then, from the south. “The powries and goblins have four giant allies,” he reported. “They’ve just crossed Arnesun’s Creek.”

  Belster closed his eyes and felt weary indeed. Four giants, any one of which could probably wipe out half of his warriors. Even worse, giants could return the arrow volleys by hurling huge stones or spears the size of tree trunks.

  “Should we change the plan?” Tomas asked.

  Belster knew it was too late. “No,” he said gravely. “Send the eastern flank into action. And may God be with them.”

  Tomas nodded to the scout and the man ran off, passing the word. Barely ten minutes later the forest to the south erupted with screams and roars, with the sound of zipping arrows and the thunder of giant-hurled boulders.

  “Powries, goblins, and giants,” Juraviel explained to Elbryan and Pony when he caught up to them northwest of Caer Tinella. “A strong force, heading north, with purpose, it would seem.”

  Elbryan and Pony exchanged concerned looks; they could guess easily enough what that purpose might be.

  “Up with us,” Elbryan bade, lowering his hand to the elf.

  “Three on Symphony?” Juraviel asked doubtfully. “He is as fine a horse as ever there was, I do not question, but three is too many.”

  “Then run, my friend,” Elbryan bade the elf. “Find where you might best fit into the battle.”

  Juraviel was gone in the blink of an eye, scampering through the forest.

  “And keep your head low!” Elbryan called after him.

  “And you, Nightbird!” came the already distant reply.

  The ranger turned to Pony, giving her that prebattle expression, a look of sheer determination she had come to know so well. “Are you ready with the stones?”

  “Always,” Pony answered grimly, marveling at the change in the man. In the span of a few seconds he had gone from Elbryan to Nightbird. “You just remember all that I taught you with the hematite.”

  The ranger chuckled as he turned back and kicked his great stallion into a run. Pony had a diamond out, calling forth its magics to light the way, and as they rode she removed the cat’s-eye circlet from around her head and set it on her companion’s. Then she let the diamond light die away. Nightbird would guide Symphony, for with his telepathic connection to the horse through the magical turquoise, it was almost as if the horse could see through his eyes. Even with that guidance, though, the ranger found the trail difficult, with thick brush and tightly packed trees, and paths that seemed to always lead him farther to the west instead of directly north, and so it was Juraviel, cutting a straighter course than the riders, for trees were hardly an obstacle to the nimble elf, who actually got within hearing distance of the battle first. He saw the monsters soon after, running hard left to right, to the east, apparently in pursuit.

  “Giants,” the elf said grimly, spotting the huge forms. Even as he watched, one of the behemoths launched a heavy stone through the tangle of trees, smashing branches.

  A man came tumbling down hard from that tree. A host of goblins and the stone-throwing giant made for him, while the other monsters continued their chase.

  Juraviel glanced all around, hoping that Nightbird and Pony would come onto the scene. Alone, what might he do against so powerful a force?

  The noble elf shook those thoughts away. Whatever he might do, he had to try; he could not stand idly by and watch a man be murdered. Up a tree he went, running along a solid branch.

  The fallen man was still alive, his head lolling, groans escaping his lips. On came a goblin, spiked club in hand.

  Juraviel’s first bowshot took the creature in the kidney.

  “Blimey!” the goblin howled. “I been stuck!”

  Juraviel’s second arrow took it in the throat, and it fell over, gurgling, clasping futilely at the mortal wound.

  The elf wasn’t watching, though, after having seen the giant’s tactics. Sure enough, a heavy stone came slamming into the tree, where Juraviel had just been standing.

  The elf, far to the side in another tree, giggled loudly—giants hated that. “Oh, big and stupid is not the way!” Juraviel sang out, emphasizing his point by shooting an arrow right into the giant’s face.

  Even so perfect a shot had little physical effect, though, the behemoth waving the tiny arrow away as if it were no more than a stinging insect. The emotional toll, however, was more to Juraviel’s liking. The giant roared and charged blindly, smashing through trees, ordering the goblins to follow.

  Soon the elf was running, skipping lightly along high branches and stopping every so often to hurl a taunt, or, when the opportunity presented itself, to shoot an arrow, just to keep his pursuers on course. He doubted he would kill the giant, or would even get enough of a clear shot to bring down a goblin, but he figured that having the behemoth and half a dozen goblins chasing him far from the field of battle was a solid contribution.

  The elf’s keen ears picked up the sound of battle again soon after, but it was far to the north now, or at least he and the pursuers were far to the south, closer to Caer Tinella than the spot where the man had fallen.

  Juraviel meant to keep them running all night if need be, past Caer Tinella and all the way to the south of Landsdown.

  “Oh, well done,” Elbryan congratulated when he saw the second band of human archers moving east, behind the monstrous force.

  Pony looked at him curiously.

  “I know this tactic,” the ranger explained. “They hit side to side, trying to confuse their enemies.” A smile widened on the ranger’s face.

  “I know it, too,” Pony agreed, catching on. “And so does—”

  “Belster O’Comely,” the ranger reasoned. “Let us hope.”

  “And let us see where we might fit in,” Pony added, kicking Symphony’s flanks. Off the great stallion surged, thundering along the path, closing ground to the second wave of Belster’s army. Elbryan took care to guide Symphony to the south of the opposing forces—except for one monstrous group that, for some reason Elbryan and Pony could only guess at, had gone charging off far to the south. Pulling up behind the cover of a line of thick pines, the ranger slid down from the horse and handed Pony the reins.

  “Stay safe,” he whispered, reaching tip to touch the woman’s hand. To his surprise, Pony handed the small diamond over to him.

  “I cannot use it without drawing too much attention,” she explained.

  “But if they get close—” Elbryan started to protest.

  “Do you remember the copse in the Moorlands?” Pony replied evenly. “They were close then.”

  That image of carnage quieted the ranger’s concerns. If the monsters did get close to Pony, pity them, not her.

  “You take the diamond and mark out targets for me,” the woman explained. “If you can use the hematite, you can also use the diamond. Seeking out the magic of each stone is much the same process. Put a glow on a b
and of powries, and then run clear.”

  Elbryan grabbed her hand more tightly and pulled her down to the side, going up on tiptoes that he could give her a kiss. “For luck,” he said, and started away.

  “For later,” Pony replied slyly just as Elbryan moved out of sight. She remembered their pact as soon as she had spoken the words, though, and gave a frustrated sigh. This war was getting too long for her liking.

  For Elbryan’s liking as well. With the cat’s-eye, the ranger could see well in the night. Still, when Pony’s teasing reply drifted to his ears, he almost fell over a log.

  He took a deep breath and put aside any images her comment had inspired, bringing himself fully into the present, to the situation at hand. Then he was off and running, using the sounds of fighting to guide his movements, to bring him closer to the action. Adrenaline coursed through his veins; he fell into that almost trancelike state, the warrior incarnate, the same perfect balance and honed senses that he found inbi’nelle dasada, his morning sword-dance.

  He was Nightbird now, the elven-trained warrior. Even his step seemed to change, to grow lighter, more agile.

  Soon he was close enough to view the movements of the combatants, both human and monster. He had to keep reminding himself that they, unlike he with his gemstone, could not see very far ahead, that the powries and goblins were perfectly blind outside the tiny perimeter of their torchlight. And for those not carrying torches, this night fighting in the dark forest was as much a matter of feeling their way along as of seeing their enemies. The ranger watched, measuring the situation, trying hard not to chuckle at the utter ridiculousness of it all, as humans and powries often passed right by each other, barely ten feet apart, without ever noticing.

  The ranger knew that it was time to find his place. He spotted a pair of goblins huddled low at the base of a tree, peering to the west, the direction from which the most recent assault had been launched. He saw the pair clearly, but without any source of light, they did not see him. Silent and swift, Nightbird put himself along a clear run to them, then inched closer, closer, and leaped into their midst. Mighty Tempest flashed left, then right, then Nightbird turned back to the left, driving his sword out straight with all his weight and strength behind it, a sudden, explosive thrust that skewered the first.

  He tore the blade free and pivoted back the other way, to find the other goblin down on its knees, clutching its belly, staggered from the first strike. Tempest slashed across, powerful and sure, lopping off the creature’s ugly head.

  Nightbird ran on, cutting swiftly across open patches of grass, climbing into trees at times to gain a better vantage of the unfolding scene around him. Always he tried to remain cognizant of where Pony might be waiting and of what help the woman might offer.

  Seconds seemed like long minutes to anxious Pony, sitting quiet on Symphony within the sheltering boughs of the pine grove. Every so often she spotted or heard some movement not so far away, but could not tell if it was human or powrie, or perhaps even a deer frightened by the tumult of the battle.

  All the while, Pony rubbed her fingers about several chosen stones: graphite and magnetite, the powerful ruby and protective serpentine and malachite.

  “Hurry along, Elbryan,” she whispered, anxious to get into the fray, to launch the first blows that she might be rid of this typical nervousness. That was how battles—except, of course, for unexpected fights—always started for her, with the churning stomach and the beads of sweat, the tingling anticipation. One strike would rid her of that edginess, she knew, when purpose and adrenaline would surge through her body.

  She heard a commotion not far ahead and spotted a form, a huge silhouette. Pony needed no diamond light to discern the identity of that massive creature. Up came the graphite, the lightning stone, Pony holding it up at arm’s length, gathering its energies. She hesitated a bit longer, letting the power mount, letting the giant and its handful of allies settle into position on a ridge across a short depression of thin trees.

  Still she waited—she doubted that her lightning stroke would kill many of the creatures, and certainly it would not destroy the giant. If she loosed the magic, her position would be given away and she would indeed be in the thick of the fight. Perhaps a better opportunity would be presented to her.

  But then the giant roared and hurled a huge stone to the west, where a group of humans was fast approaching, and the issue was settled. Goblins and powries howled in glee, thinking they had ambushed and would quickly overrun this one small band.

  Then came the stroke, a sudden, jarring, blinding burst of searing white energy. Several goblins and a pair of powries went flying to the ground; the giant was thrown back so forcefully that it uprooted a small tree as it stumbled.

  And most important of all, from Pony’s perspective, the human band had been warned, had seen the full extent of the enemies crouched in this area in one sudden, brightening instant.

  But so, too, was Pony’s position surrendered. Fires flickered to life in the small vale between her and the monsters, lightning-clipped trees going up like candles. The giant, more angry than hurt, came right back her way, reaching into a huge sack to produce another boulder.

  Pony thought to loose another lightning blast, but graphite was a particularly draining stone, and she knew that she would have to be more focused this time. She fumbled with the stones; she saw the giant’s arms go up high, and could only pray that his throw would be off the mark.

  Another light appeared, bright and white, the glow of a diamond, backlighting the giant and its allies. It lasted only a second or two, giving Pony a clearer picture of the enemy and distracting the giant for just an instant.

  All the time Pony needed. Out came the magnetite, the lodestone. The woman focused on the stone’s magics, saw through its magnetic energy, seeking an attraction, any attraction. She “saw” the powrie swords, the belt buckle of one dwarf. The image of the giant in the diamond backlight came clear in her mind, particularly its upraised arms, the great hands that held the boulder.

  The giant was wearing metal-banded gauntlets.

  Pony quickly focused the magnetite energy, blocked out all other metallic influences except one giant gauntlet. She brought the power of the stone to an explosive release and let it fly, many times the speed and power of one of Elbryan’s deadly bowshots.

  The giant dismissed the flash of light behind it and brought the boulder over its head again, thinking to throw it in the direction of the unseen lightning caster. But suddenly its right wrist exploded in searing pain and lost all strength, and the boulder fell from its grasp, bouncing off one square shoulder before tumbling harmlessly to the ground.

  The giant hardly felt the bruise on the shoulder, for its wrist and hand were thoroughly shattered, what little remained of the metal gauntlet crushed in against the behemoth’s hand. Two fingers hung loose on flaps of skin; another finger was altogether gone, just gone.

  The giant staggered back a couple of long strides, blinded by surprise and agony.

  Another lightning bolt slammed in then, driving the monster right over backward, dropping it, groaning, to the ground. Hardly conscious, the behemoth did hear the sounds of its few remaining comrades, all of them running away into the dark night.

  Pony eased Symphony out of the pines and into the valley, picking her way through the tangle. She drew out her sword as she rode, and found no opposition when she came upon the squirming giant.

  She killed it quickly.

  Confident in Pony’s abilities and judgment, Nightbird didn’t stay around after he had marked out the target with the diamond light. Back in the darkness again, the ranger made his way farther north, cutting right across the monster and human lines.

  He saw a group of men crawling through some ferns, and, on a low branch above them, a pair of goblins holding cruel spears, both peering down at the fern bed, trying to find an open shot.

  Up came Hawkwing, and a split second later one of the goblins dropped heavily from the branch
.

  “Huh?” its companion said, turning to where the other had been standing, trying to figure out why it had jumped away.

  The ranger’s second shot took it through the temple, and it, too, fell away, dead before it hit the ground.

  The men in the ferns scrambled, not knowing what had dropped about them.

  Nightbird moved ahead quickly, closing the distance. One man came up, hearing his approach, bow drawn and ready. “What?” he asked incredulously, and then added in a whisper as the ranger rushed by him, “Nightbird.”

  “Follow me,” the ranger instructed. “The dark is no obstacle; I will guide you.”

  “It is Nightbird,” another man insisted.

  “Who?” asked another.

  “A friend,” the first explained quickly, and the small group, five men and three women, set off after the ranger.

  Soon enough the ranger spotted yet another band of allies crouching in the dark, and led his group that way. Suddenly his force was twenty strong, and he led them out to find enemies. He understood the realities of night-fighting in the dark forest, and the huge advantage the cat’s-eye afforded him and his band. All around the group the larger battle quickly deteriorated into pockets of screaming and cursing frustration, with arrows launched blindly into the darkness, or opponents inadvertently stumbling into each other, or even comrades stumbling into one another, often lashing out before they paused long enough to identify their allies. Somewhere far back in the distance there came a cry, the grating voice of a powrie, followed by a tremendous explosion, and Nightbird knew that another unfortunate enemy had stumbled upon Pony.

  He bit his lip and resisted the urge to rush back and check on his love. He had to trust in her, had to remind himself repeatedly that she knew how to fight, day or night, and that, in addition to her expertise with a sword, she carried enough magical power to carry her through.

  Another battle erupted far in the opposite direction, a group of goblins stumbling across the northern end of what remained of the human line. This time the results were less clear-cut, with screams of outrage and agony, both human and goblin, splitting the air. The fighting drew more combatants, spreading until all the forest seemed thick with tumult, monsters and humans rushing this way and that. The ranger set his band in a purely defensive posture, then moved out to walk a perimeter. Any humans who ventured near were ushered in, the numbers of the group soon rising to more than thirty. Whenever any enemies ventured near, Nightbird circled about them, bringing up the diamond light so his archers could take their sudden and deadly toll.