“The Father Abbot represents those tenets,” Brother Dellman argued.
“So we would hope,” replied the master. He glanced at Braumin Herde again, and the man was visibly anxious about the course of Jojonah’s questioning.
“What say you, Brother Braumin?” the master asked bluntly. “You have been in the service of the Church for more than ten years; what do your studies of the tenets of the Abellican Order tell you of our course now? By those tenets, are fifty lives, or a hundred lives, worth the risk of the greater good?”
Braumin straightened, honestly surprised that Master Jojonah had put him on the spot, had called him out to reveal publicly what was in his heart. His thoughts whirled back to the powrie battle at St.-Mere-Abelle, to the peasant Father Abbot had possessed, then leaping the body to its death. That act was for the greater good many powries were destroyed in the actionand yet it still left a lingering foul taste in Braumin’s mouth and a cold blackness in his heart.
“Are they?” Jojonah pressed.
“They are,” Braumin answered sincerely. “One life is worth the risk. With so important a quest before us, we should not go out of our way to seek those in peril, but when God sees fit to present them before us, we have a sacred obligation to intervene.”
The two younger monks gasped in unison, surprised by the words, but also somewhat relievedan expression, particularly on the face of young Brother Dellman, that Master Jojonah marked well.
“And you two,”, Jojonah asked of them, “what say you of our course?”
“I would like to save the village,” Brother Dellman replied. “Or at least warn them of the impending invasion.”
The other monk nodded his agreement.
Jojonah struck a pensive pose, weighing the risks. “Are there any other monsters in the area?” he asked.
The two young monks looked to each other curiously, then shrugged.
“And how strong is this coming force?” Master Jojonah went on.
Again, no answer.
“These are questions we must have answered, and quickly,” Master Jojonah explained. “Else we must follow Father Abbot Markwart’s decree and be on our way, leaving the villagers to their grim fate. Go then,” he bade them both, shooing them away as if they were stray dogs. “Get you to those with the quartz stones. Find me my answers, and be quick about it”
The young monks bowed immediately, turned and sped away.
“You take a great risk,” Brother Braumin remarked as soon as the pair were gone. “And more a risk for yourself than for our quest.”
“What risk to my soul if I let this pass?” Jojonah asked, a point that temporarily stole Brother Braumin’s argument.
“Still,” the younger monk said at length, “if the Father Abbot”
“The Father Abbot is not here,” Master Jojonah reminded him.
“But he will be if Brother Francis discovers that you plan to intervene against these monsters.”
“I will deal with Brother Francis,” Master Jojonah assured him. “And with the Father Abbot, if he does indeed find his way into Francis’ body.” His tone showed that to be the end of the debate, and, despite his well-founded fears, Braumin Herde was smiling as Jojonah determinedly walked ahead of him. The master, his mentor, was taking a stand, Braumin understood. Sometimes, when the heart called loudly enough, one just had to dig in his heels.
The night was dark; a full moon had risen early, but had been blotted out by thick and threatening storm clouds. A fitting night, given the monstrous force approaching Tol Hengor. Nearly two hundred strong, the vicious band had already overrun two villages, and had no reason to believe that this next one in line would prove any more difficult. They came into the western end of the valley in their customary semicircular battle formation, with goblins forming the frontal shield perimeter, every other one carrying a torch, and the powries and giants clustered in the middle, ready to support either flank or charge straight ahead. Though they were walking between two ridges, along lower, less defensible ground, they did not fear any ambush. The Alpinadoran humans were not bowmen, typically, and even if the warriors of this village had perfected the art of distance fighting, their numberreported by scouts at no more than three dozenwould not be sufficient to cause too much distress. In addition the giants, who could take many arrow hits, would respond to any flanking attack with a devastating boulder barrage, turning the ambush back on the ambushers. No, the powrie leaders knew, Alpinadoran humans were dangerous in close combat, fighting hand-to-hand with their great strength, and not in hit-and-run tactics. And so the monsters had chosen this head-on formation rather than risk breaking the band into smaller,more scattered lines by traveling over the rougher ground of the ridges.
Thus it was with supreme confidence that the powries moved their combined force through the wide vale, all of them itching for the taste of human blood, all of the powries wanting to brighten the crimson stain of their berets.
They couldn’t comprehend the power that had come against them in the form of the monks of St.-Mere-Abelle. A dozen lay in wait on either side of the vale, Brother Francis leading those on the northern wall, Brother Braumin in command of those in the south. Master Jojonah sat far in back of Braumin’s group, pressing a hematite, that most useful and versatile of stones, against his heart. He was the first to fall into the magic, releasing his soul from its corporeal bonds and drifting out into the night air.
His first task was easy enough. He willed his invisible spirit along at great speed, moving down to the west end of the valley, meeting the coming force, scouting out its strength and formation. The spirit whisked back the way it had come, first to the northern ridge and Brother Francis, then across the way to Brother Braumin, relaying the information to both groups. Then, with a thought, Master Jojonah was gone again, back to the approaching monsters.
Now came the master’s more difficult assignment: to infiltrate the monstrous force. Invisible and silent, he glided past the front goblin line and into the central group, going after a powrie body, but wisely reconsidering. Powries, so the ancient tomes declared, were especially resistant to magic, and particularly to any form of possession. They were tough and intelligent and strong of will.
Still, Master Jojonah did not want to get into a goblin body. He could cause a bit of mischief in one, of course, but nothing substantial, likely. Goblins were always an unpredictable and traitorous type, so the powries and giants wouldn’t even be caught too much by surprise when one of them suddenly turned against the group, and a frail goblin body wouldn’t do much damage against the likes of a tough powrie, let alone a giant.
That left one option for Master Jojonah, who knew he was venturing into wholly unexplored territory. He had never read of any possession of a giant, and knew very little about the behemoths, except for their bad temperaments and tremendous battle prowess.
His spirit moved cautiously beside the handful of fomorians.
One in particular, a huge specimen indeed, seemed to be in control of the group, bullying the others and hurrying them along.
Jojonah thought out the different tactics he might use in this attempt, which led him to believe that one of the other behemoths might prove a better target. None of the group, not even the apparent leader, seemed overly intelligent, but one stood out at the other end of the spectrum, a big loping creature, wagging its head and giggling at the sound made by its flapping lips.
Jojonah’s spirit slipped into the monster’s subconscious.
Duh?the giant’s will asked.
Give me your form!Jojonah telepathically demanded.
Duh?
Your body!the monk’s will commanded.Give it to me! Get out!
“No!” the horrified giant roared aloud, and its will locked with Jojonah’s, instinctively trying to expel the monk.
Do you know who I am?Jojonah explained, trying to calm the behemoth before its companions could catch on that something was suddenly very wrong.If you understood, fool, you would not
deny me!
Duh?
I am your god,Jojonah’s spirit coaxed.I am Bestesbulzibar, the demon dactyl, come to aid in the slaughter of the humans. You are not honored that I chose your body as my vessel?
Duh?the giant’s spirit asked again, but this time the tone of the telepathic inquisition was markedly different.
Get out,Jojonah prompted, sensing the weakness,or I will find another vessel and use it to utterly destroy you!
“Yes, yes, my master,” the giant blubbered aloud.
Silence!Jojonah demanded.
“Yes, yes, my master,” the giant repeated in an even louder voice.
Jojonah, partially entrenched now, could hear the world through the behemoth’s ears, could hear the sound of the other giants gathering about this one, asking questions. He felt it as if it were his own shoulder when the giant leader pushed the loud and confused behemoth.
The targeted giant, convinced that this was indeed the demon dactyl, was trying desperately to comply, though it had little idea how it might vacate its own body. Jojonah knew he had to work fast, for possession, even upon a willing vessel, was never an easy task. He fell deeper into the hematite, used its magic to infiltrate every aspect, every synapse, of the giant’s brain. The giant’s id instinctively recoiled and fought back, but without the giant’s conscious will backing it, it had little power.
Jojonah felt the blow keenly when the biggest giant laid his new form low.
“Shut yer mouth!” the big brute demanded.
“Duh, yes, master,” Jojonah responded. Truly, the heavy jowls and heavy limbs proved an awkward experience for the monk as he tried to talk and pull himself up from the ground.
The big giant hit him again and he lowered his head submissively. “I be quiet,” he said softly.
That seemed to mollify the leader for the time being, and the group moved along, back into their place in the formation, oblivious to the fact that they had picked up an extra spirit in the process.
The dozen monks on each side of the valley stood in a line, hands joined, the fourth and tenth of each group holding a graphite, and Brother Francis, in a concession made by Jojonah to quiet the man’s outrage, holding a small diamond. Francis was the guide-post to both groups, the one who would select the time. The monks had to strike hard and unerringly; any retaliation from the monsters could cost them dearly.
Francis let the front rim of the goblin semicircle pass below him. The key to victory, they had all agreed, was to destroy the powries quickly and to hurt the giants enough to steal their heart for the fight. With the leaders eliminated, the reasoning went, the cowardly goblins would show little desire for any battle.
Francis was the only one in his line with his eyes open, the rest falling into the magic of the two graphites. He saw the goblins passing, some less than twenty yards away, and he could make out the towering silhouettes of a handful of giants. Francis took a deep breath and called forth the power of the diamond, flashing a brief signal to waiting Brother Braumin across the way.
“Now, brethren,” Francis whispered. “It is time.” And then Francis, too, fell into the communal magic, transferring his energy through the line to the graphites.
Brother Braumin’s words to his group were nearly identical.
A split second later the first thundering bolt erupted from the hand of the fourth monk in Francis’ line, followed by a blast from across the way, and then from the tenth in Francis’ line, and then again from across the way. Back and forth the lightning barrage went, each monk in sequence loosing his energy into the combined pool of power of his respective line. Many of the younger monks could not even use such stones on their own, but in their mental joining with Francis and Braumin and the older students, their energy was tapped, each in turn.
The whole of the valley trembled with the thunderous report; each successive searing flash revealed fewer monsters scrambling about.
In the center of the enemy formation, powries scrambled and were thrown down repeatedly, staggered and jolted. The giants, larger targets by far, took even more hits, but their great forms withstood the assault much better, and four of the five were still standing after the first complete volley, with only one taken downand that one by a falling tree, not by a direct hit of magical lightning.
The largest of the giant group, ignoring its trapped and screaming companion, pointed up the northern slope and called for a boulder retaliation. Its intent and its expression changed quickly, though, when the giant beside it lifted a huge rock high into the air and then smashed it down upon its head.
Master Jojonah felt the sudden protests of the possessed giant’s true spirit.I kill him and we be leader! he telepathically improvised, and that calmed the stupid giant considerably. Still, for all the giant’s efforts to remain in the background and let what it believed to be the dactyl control its corporeal form, it simply didn’t know how to let go. Thus, the giant was giggling louder than ever as Jojonah instructed the arms to hit the giant leader again and again, finally beating the dazed creature to the ground.
The two remaining giants howled and moved to restrain him.
Jojonah tucked the boulder into his chest, then flung it out into the face of the nearest attacker, staggering the giant. The other hit him with a flying tackle, though, the pair squashing one of the few remaining powries as they tumbled to the ground.
Hey,the possessed giant’s spirit protested, and Jojonah sensed that the dim-witted creature was finally catching on.Hey!
The giant’s will took up the struggle for dominance anew, attacking Jojonah. And then the second lightning volley began.
Jojonah forced the giant form to its feet and ran right in the path of the searing lightning. Then, as he felt the burning energy blast against his chest, he relinquished the battered body to its rightful owner and his spirit flew free, hovering in the empty air to regard the scene.
The largest giant, blood pouring from its head, somehow managed to stagger back to its feetonly to be hit by the next lightning bolt, and then another right after that. The behemoth tumbled to the ground again, all strength and resilience gone, and waited for death to take it.
The lightning continued to roll in, each blast weaker than the previous, as the monks expended their magical energy. But there would be no significant retaliation, Master Jojonah recognized, for all that remained of the monstrous force were less than half of the goblins, a dozen powries, and a single giant, and all of those were too frightened, too battered, and too surprised to even think of continuing the fight. Scattered torches marked their flight back to the west, back out of the valley the way they had come in.
In their retreat, the monsters made their way past one other silent observer, a man who had thought to come in for quiet attacks at the rear of the formation. Any who inadvertently ventured too close to the ranger found death at the end of a huge sword. And when Andacanavar discovered that one of the giants remained alive, he moved in on the limping behemoth, hitting it a series of fierce blows that laid it low before it even realized that the man was there.
When at last the valley fell silent, Brother Francis led his monks quietly across the way to rejoin their peers. Then the whole of the group moved back from the southern ridge, back to the wagons and Master Jojonah, where they quickly formed up their train and started away, not wanting to be discovered by either monster or Alpinadoran.
Andacanavar watched it all with a mixture of hope and confusion.
CHAPTER 9
Old Friends Well Met
“So it is true!” the portly man cried, seeing Elbryan and Pony as they walked into the encampment beside the returning archers.
“Belster, my old friend,” the ranger replied. “How good it is to see you faring well.”
“Well indeed!” Belster declared. “Though we’ve been a bit short of rations of late.” He patted his ample belly as he spoke. “You will see to that, I am sure.”
Both Pony and Elbryan chuckled at that remarkever did Belster O’Co
mely have his priorities in order!
“And where is my other friend?” Belster asked. “The one whose appetite rivals my own?”
A cloud passed over Elbryan’s face. He turned to Pony, who was even more distressed.
“But the reports from the forest spoke of great stone magic,” Belster protested. “Magic such as only the Mad Friar used to hurl. Do not tell me that he died this very night! Oh, what tragedy!”
“Avelyn has passed from this life,” Elbryan replied somberly. “But not this night. He died in Aida, when he destroyed the demon dactyl.”
“But the reports from the forest…” Belster stuttered, as though trying to use logic against the ranger’s words.
“The reports of the fighting were correct, but spoke of Pony,” Elbryan explained, putting his arm across the woman’s shoulders. “It was she who put the stones to their powerful use.” He turned to his love and lifted his other hand to stroke her thick golden mane. “Avelyn taught her well.”
“So it would seem,” Belster remarked.
The ranger pulled himself away from the woman and struck a determined pose, staring back at Belster. “And Pony is ready to carry on the work where Avelyn finished,” he declared. “In the bowels of smoky Aida, Avelyn destroyed the demon dactyl and turned the tide of this war, stealing the binding force from our enemies. Now it lies before us to finish the task, to rid our lands of these wicked creatures.”
To all those around, the ranger seemed to grow a bit taller as he spoke, and Belster O’Comely smiled knowingly. This was the charm of Elbryan, the mystique of Nightbird. Belster knew that the ranger would inspire them all to new heights of battle, would guide them as one pointed and focused force, striking hard at every weakness among their enemy’s ranks. Despite the news about Avelyn, despite his mounting fears about the missing Roger Lockless, it seemed to Belster that the world got a bit brighter that night.
The tallies of the victory proved impressive. The forest was littered with the bodies of dead goblins and powries, and several giants. Six men had been wounded, one gravely, and three others were missing and presumed dead. Those who had carried in the worst of the wounded did not expect the man to live through the nightindeed, they had only carried him back that he might say his farewells to his family and be properly buried.
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