“Master Jojonah wishes to speak to you,” one young man offered and another later confirmed, but of course Andacanavar had no way of knowing who this mysterious Master Jojonah might be. So he continued to wander about the encampment, gathering what information he could find. He soon realized that he was being followednot by any corporeal being, but by the displaced spirit. Again and again the disembodied spirit tried to get back in, and though Andacanavar repelled the assaults, the ranger understood that he was growing weary and would not be able to hold out for long.
He spotted a much older man then, and guessed him to be the leader of the group, perhaps the one the others had spoken of. Beside the man, wearing an angry expression, was another monk of about the same age as the one he had possessed.
“Finished already?” Master Jojonah asked, coming over to him.
“Yes, Master Jojonah,” Andacanavar answered respectfully, hoping that his tone, and his guess about the man’s identity, were correct.
“And are we rid of the spy?” the other monk asked sharply.
Andacanavar resisted the urge to punch the surly man in the face. He stared at the monk long and hard, purposefully ignoring the question in the hope that the pair would further elaborate.
“Brother Braumin?” Master Jojonah prompted. “The Alpinadoran is gone?”
“What would you have me do?” Andacanavar asked sternly, pointing his ire at the younger of the two, for it seemed obvious to him that this man and the one he had possessed were not on good terms.
“What I would have you do is irrelevant,” Brother Francis answered, casting a telltale sidelong glance at Master Jojonah.
“Since you have had no time to walk the Alpinadoran far away from here, I assume you imparted a convincing suggestion that he should depart,” Master Jojonah said calmly.
“Perhaps we should have invited him in,” Andacanavar dared to respond. “He knows the lay of the land, no doubt, and might have been able to better guide us.” The ranger eyed Brother Francis as he spoke, and recognized a budding suspicion there, for the man wore an expression now of total surprise and even of horror.
“I considered that course,” Master Jojonah admitted, defusing his hotheaded companion’s mounting rage. “But we must adhere to the Father Abbot’s decree.”
Brother Francis snorted.
“If we brought him in, he would ask questions,” Master Jojonah went on, ignoring Francis so completely that Andacanavar recognized that the older monk was quite used to this young monk’s impertinence.
“Questions we cannot afford to answer,” Jojonah continued. “We will pass through Alpinador quickly, and better not to involve any of the northmen in our quest. Better not to open any old wounds between our Church and the barbarians.”
Andacanavar didn’t press the issue, though he was indeed relieved to learn that this powerful contingent was not in the northland for any reasons hostile to Alpinador.
“Go back and look over our scouting friend,” Master Jojonah instructed, “and see that your suggestion is being followed.”
“I will do it,” Brother Francis interrupted.
The ranger wisely held back his initial reaction, for that reply would have been too sharp and insistent, even desperate. He had no desire to battle yet another spirit this day. “I am capable of finishing the task assigned to me, Master,” he said to the man.
The other monk’s expression showed the ranger his slip; that title was reserved, he realized now, for the older man alone. Brother Francis went from angry to suspicious to incredulous, staring hard through narrowed eyes at the ranger in the monk’s body. Andacanavar tried to cover his miscue, turning quickly to the older man, the true master, but he found Jojonah wearing a similar doubting expression.
“Pray give me the stone, brother,” Master Jojonah said.
Andacanavar hesitated, considering the implications. Could he get back to his own body without that stone? Would the master use it to discover the truth of the ruse?
As though it sensed the ranger’s sudden hesitance, the disembodied spirit took that opportunity to attack once more.
The ranger knew it was time to leave.
Master Jojonah and Brother Francis leaped forward to grab the body of faltering Brother Braumin as his eyes flickered and his legs buckled. Brother Francis went right for the hematite, pulling it free of the man’s hand.
But Andacanavar’s spirit had no trouble locating the ranger’s body, or in reentering. He was up and moving almost immediately, though he wondered where he might hide from probing spiritual eyes.
Back in the camp, Brother Braumin steadied himself, then bent over, hands on knees, gasping for his breath.
“What happened?” Master Jojonah asked.
“How did you fail against one who is not even trained” Brother Francis started to demand, but Jojonah cut him short with a glare.
“Strong,” Brother Braumin remarked between gasps. “That one, that Alpinadoran, is strong of will and quick of thought.”
“You would have to say that,” Brother Francis said dryly.
“Go out yourself with the soul stone,” Brother Braumin snapped at him. “It would do you well to find humility.”
“Enough of this!” Master Jojonah demanded. He lowered his voice as he noticed that many others were gathering about. “What were you able to learn?” he asked Braumin.
The younger monk shrugged. “He learned from me, I fear, not the other way around.”
“Wonderful,” remarked a sarcastic Francis.
“What did he learn?” Master Jojonah demanded.
Again Brother Braumin could only shrug.
“Ready the teams,” Master Jojonah instructed. “We must be far from this place.”
“I will find the spy,” Brother Francis offered.
“We will search for him together,” Master Jojonah corrected. “If this man defeated Brother Braumin, hold no illusions that you are a match for him.”
Brother Francis fumed, trying to find some retort. He turned away, as if to depart.
“Shall you join in the search?” Master Jojonah asked bluntly.
“I am seeing no need for that,” came a resonating voice, and all the monks turned as one to see the giant Alpinadoran striding confidently into their camp, crossing through the ring of wagons without so much as a sidelong glance at those monks standing guard. “I am in no mood for any more of this spiritual dueling this day. Let us speak openly and plainly, as men.”
Master Jojonah exchanged incredulous looks with Brother Francis, but when they turned to Brother Braumin, the only one who had made any true contact with the ranger, they found that he was not surprised. Nor did he look overly pleased.
“He is a man of honor,” Master Jojonah said with some confidence. “Would you agree?”
Brother Braumin was too preoccupied to reply. He had locked stares with the Alpinadoran, the two sharing an almost primal hatred. They had battled intimately, seen each other’s soul bared in hatred. For Andacanavar, this man had tried to violate him; for Brother Braumin, this man had proven himself the stronger in a way so personal that it brought him shame.
So they stood and stared at each other, and all the others around them, even Brother Francis, let the moment linger, recognizing the need for it.
Then Brother Braumin moved past his turmoil, reminding himself that the man, after all, had only been defending himself. Gradually, the monk’s visage softened and he gave a slight nod. “My attempt to convince you seemed the safer way,” he apologized. “For you most of all.”
“I’d be finding a horde of giants less threatening than what you tried to do to me,” Andacanavar replied, but he, too, gave a nod, a forgiving gesture, and turned his attention to Master Jojonah.
“My name is Andacanavar,” he said. “And my land is beneath your boots. Many are my titles, but for your own purposes, you might be thinking of me as the protector of Alpinador.”
“A haughty title,” Brother Francis remarked.
> The ranger let the comment pass. He found it curious that though the other young monk was the one who had tried to steal his body, he liked that man, and certainly respected him, more than this one. “I am no spy,” he began, “for there is nothing sinister in my motives. I followed you from the valley for I have seen your strength and cannot be letting you walk the land free. Such power as you have shown could rain disaster on my people.”
“We are not enemies of Alpinador,” Master Jojonah replied.
“So I have learned,” said Andacanavar. “And so I have come to you openly, walking into your camp as a friend, perhaps an ally, with my weapon on my back.”
“We have asked for no help,” Brother Francis remarked in a stern tone, drawing a glare from Master Jojonah.
“I am Master Jojonah,” the older monk quickly interjected, wanting to shut up the troublesome Francis, “of St.-Mere-Abelle.”
“Your home is known to me,” the ranger said. “A great fortress, by all the tales.”
“The tales do not lie,” Brother Francis said grimly. “And each of us here is well-versed in the arts martial.”
“As you say,” the ranger conceded, again turning his focus to Master Jojonah, who seemed by far the more reasonable man. “You know I came among you, using his body,” he explained. “And in so doing, I learned that you mean to pass right through my land. I might be helping you on that matter. None knows the way better than Andacanavar.”
“Andacanavar the humble?” Brother Francis remarked. “Do you name that as one of your titles?”
“You know that you are offering insults a bit too freely,” the ranger replied. “Perhaps you should be careful, else those lips get ripped off.”
Too proud to stand for such a threat, Brother Francis steeled his gaze and took a bold stride forward.
The ranger exploded into motion, too quickly for any of the monks to even cry out. He pulled a small axe from his belt, then lurched to the side so he could throw it in an underhand motion.
The axe spun end over end, flying right between the legs of startled Brother Francis, then soared on, embedding itself deep into the sideboard of a wagon some twenty feet behind Francis.
The stunned monk, all the monks, turned about to regard the throw, then turned back to Andacanavar, every one of them wearing an expression of greater respect.
“I might have thrown it a bit higher,” the ranger said with a wink. “And then your voice’d be sounding a bit higher.”
Brother Francis did well to prevent himself from trembling, both from rage and fear. His face was white, though, revealing his true emotions.
“Move back, Brother Francis,” Master Jojonah scolded in no uncertain terms.
Francis looked at the older man, matched Andacanavar’s sly grin with an angry stare. Then he did move back in place, feigning a frustrated rage, though in truthand everyone knew ithe was glad that Master Jojonah had intervened.
“You see, I have also had a bit of training in what you call the arts martial,” the ranger explained. “But I am hoping to keep my skills for powries and giants and the like. Your Church and my people have not been friendsand I am seeing no reason to change that nowbut if your enemies are the powries, then name Andacanavar among your allies. If you want my help, then know I will get you through my land along the safest and swiftest path. If you do not want my help, then say it now and I leave you.” He gave Brother Braumin a sly look, and chuckled as he finished, “And know that I can walk myself far, far away, and am in need of no help from the lot of you.”
The young monk blushed deeply.
Master Jojonah looked to his two companions and, predictably, found two different silent messages coming back to him. He turned to the huge stranger, knowing that ultimately this was his own decision to make. “I am not at liberty to tell you our destination,” he explained.
“Who’s asking?” replied a grinning Andacanavar. “You are going north and west, and intending to leave my land. If you’re planning to hold that course, I can show you the swiftest and easiest way.”
“And if we do not mean to hold that course?” Brother Francis interjected. He glared at Master Jojonah as he spoke, making clear his position concerning the stranger.
“Oh, but you do,” the ranger replied, holding firm his grin. “You are heading for the Barbacan, for Mount Aida, by my guess.”
Supremely disciplined, none of the three monks standing before the ranger offered any hint concerning his blunt assumption, but the openmouthed expressions worn by many of the younger monks surely confirmed Andacanavar’s suspicions.
“That is only your guess?” Master Jojonah asked calmly, figuring the man must have heard as much while in Brother Braumin’s body. Andacanavar had just become a more dangerous person, the old monk realized, and lamented, for he feared that he might have to let Brother Francis have his way and kill this noble man. “And just a guess?”
“My reasoning,” Andacanavar clarified. “If you are meaning to strike at the backs of the monsters that are attacking your homeland, then you are too far to the north and east. You should have gone back to the west before you ever set foot in Alpinador. But you would not have made such a mistake, not with your magics as guide. And so you are heading for the Barbacan, it seems plain to me. You want to know about the explosion there, about the great cloud of gray smoke that covered the land for more than a week and even put some of its ash on my homeland.”
Jojonah’s fears fast shifted to curiosity. “Then there truly was an explosion?” he asked bluntly, despite his fears of giving away too much information.
Beside him, Brother Francis nearly choked.
“Oh, but the biggest explosion the world has known since I have been in it!” the ranger confirmed. “Shook the ground under my feet, though I was standing hundreds of miles away. And a mountain of clouds rolled up, debris from a whole mountain blown into the sky.”
Master Jojonah digested the confirmation, then found himself in a truly terrible dilemma. Father Abbot Markwart’s edicts on this matter were clear enough, but Jojonah knew in his heart that this man was no enemy, and might indeed prove to be of great assistance. The master looked around at his entire entouragefor all the monks were gathered about by that timefinally settling his gaze on Brother Francis, who, of course, would likely prove the most troublesome.
“I have seen into his heart,” Brother Braumin put in after a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Too much so for my own liking,” the ranger remarked dryly.
“And for my own,” the monk replied, managing a weak smile. He turned back to Jojonah and, putting aside his inner turmoil with the man, a conflict he knew to be illogical, said, “Let him lead us through Alpinador.”
“He knows too much!” Brother Francis argued.
“More than we know!” Brother Braumin shot back.
“The Father Abbot” Brother Francis began in threatening tones.
“The Father Abbot could not have foreseen this,” Brother Braumin was quick to interrupt. “A good man is Andacanavar, a powerful ally, and one who knows the way. A way we could easily lose in this jagged terrain,” he added, speaking loudly so all could hear. “One errant turn in a mountain pass could defeat us, or cost us a week of backtracking.”
Brother Francis started to respond, but Master Jojonah held up his hand, indicating he had heard enough. The monk, feeling very old indeed, rubbed his hands over his face, then looked at his two companions, then at the ranger. “Dine with us, Andacanavar of Alpinador,” he bade the man. “I’ll not confirm our destination, but will tell you that we must indeed be out of your land to the north and west, and as soon as is possible.”
“A week of hard driving,” the ranger said.
Master Jojonah nodded, though he knew that with their magic they could cut that time by more than half.
By noon of the next day, Master Jojonah no longer held any doubts about the wisdom of letting Andacanavar lead the caravan. The road remained rough, for western
Alpinador was an unforgiving place, a land of ice-broken stones and jagged mountains, but the ranger knew his way well, knew every trail and every obstacle. The monks, after their long rest, eased the trails with magic, lightening wagons with levitational malachite, clearing debris from the road with strokes of lightning, and of course they continued to bring in the wild animals.
It took Andacanavar a while to catch on to this subtle trick. At first he wondered what trickery the monks were using to hunt the game, but when the caravan left a pair of deer behind them on the trail, both animals nearly dead from exhaustion, the ranger was truly perplexedand far from happy. He went back to the deer and examined them.
“What do you call this?” he asked of Brother Braumin when the monk, on Jojonah’s instructions, joined the curious ranger on the trail.
“We use the energy of the wild animals,” the monk explained honestly. “Like food for our horses.”
“And then you leave them to die?” the ranger asked.
Brother Braumin shrugged helplessly. “What are we to do?”
The ranger gave a great sigh, trying hard to sublimate his anger. He pulled a large and thick knife from a sheath on the back of his belt and methodically and efficiently killed both deer, then knelt in the dirt and offered a prayer for their spirits.
“Take that one,” he instructed Brother Braumin, while he lifted the larger animal by the hooves and slung it over his shoulder.
The two caught up to the wagons soon after, Andacanavar dropping his carcass right in front of Jojonah’s team. The master called for a halt and went out to the man.
“You take their life energy and leave them to die?” the ranger accused.
“An unpleasant necessity,” Master Jojonah admitted.
“Not so necessary,” the ranger came back. “If you have to kill them, then use them, all of them, else you are insulting the animal.”
“We are hardly huntsmen,” Master Jojonah replied. He gave a sidelong glance as Brother Francis moved up to join them.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 87
