DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  As he neared one low roof, Nightbird slung Hawkwing over his shoulder, drew out Tempest, and climbed to a standing position, legs far apart and bent for balance. Through the turquoise stone set in the horse’s chest, he communicated with Symphony, bidding the horse to keep a steady run and move in close to the building on their right-hand side.

  A goblin was just rising as Nightbird came in. Tempest’s slash nearly decapitated it, and the ranger was quick to withdraw the sword, yanking it free, then stabbing back out, nailing a second goblin under the chin.

  Nightbird dropped back to a sitting position, slid Tempest between thigh and saddle and readied his bow once more, firing as he rode. A powrie leaped out in his path, another on the roof to the left. Nightbird focused on the higher target, driving an arrow into its chest even as it launched a spear his way. Symphony took care of the powrie on the ground, running the dwarf down, nearly stumbling, but holding strong.

  Nightbird managed to get his bow across to partially deflect the well-aimed spear, and that defensive movement surely saved his life, though the spear struck home anyway, a grazing hit across the shoulder. It hooked his shirt as the fabric tore away, and with a growl Nightbird reached around and pulled it free, thinking to drop it.

  He tucked it under his arm instead, lancelike, as he bore down on an open doorway, a powrie charging out to meet him. Up came the powrie’s shield, but not quick enough, and the spear tip glided over the top, catching the screaming dwarf right in the mouth, bashing in its teeth, then sinking deeper, right out the back of the head and into the wood of the doorjamb.

  Nightbird let go of the weapon and had not even the time to look back and regard his work.

  The powrie, stuck in a standing position, twitched repeatedly as it died.

  Nightbird cut a fast corner, then another, angling for the northeastern edge of town. Around yet another bend, he found himself in trouble, for there, blocking the path before him, stood a pair of giants, behemoths no single arrow would fell and that Symphony could not hope to run down.

  By the time Juraviel got to the battered barricade, it was clear of monsters, for those few that had survived the ranger’s charge and Pony’s blast were scattered to the streets of Caer Tinella, chasing Symphony’s swift and elusive run. A flutter of his wings sent Juraviel over the wall, to the roof of one of the buildings it connected at this juncture. Across the way stood a goblin, leaping up and down and shouting directions to its comrades on the ground as it spotted the rushing rider.

  Juraviel crept up to within five paces, bow in hand. He went down to one knee to better angle the shot, and his arrow caught the goblin right under the base of its skull, driving upward. The creature flipped from the edge of the roof and landed hard on its back, quite dead, in the street.

  A movement from behind sent the elf in a spin, another arrow ready to fly. He held the shot, and luckily so, for the form scrambling over the edge of the roof was not that of a goblin or powrie, but of a man, slight of build and climbing nimbly.

  “What are you doing here?” the elf whispered as Roger came up to crouch beside him.

  “A question I could also be asking you,” the young man answered. His gaze focused on the line of prisoners. “There must be thirty of them,” he said, and he started at once for the southeastern corner of the roof.

  Juraviel let him go and did not follow. The more angles from which they struck out at the monsters, the more confusion they would likely cause, and that confusion might be the only thing that would allow foolish Nightbird to get out of this place alive!

  Fluttering wings brought the elf silently to another rooftop, farther into the town and more to the north, and from there he found many opportunities. Off went his arrows, one, two, three, hitting powrie and giant, and yet another powrie on the other side, killing none—though his last arrow had hurt the dwarf badly—but bringing screams of outrage and taking the focus, for these nearby groups at least, off his friend. Monsters closed on the building from every direction.

  Juraviel went straight up, into the darkness of night, angling his flight slightly so he landed on yet another building. Then he ran to the far edge of that roof, put an arrow into an unsuspecting goblin for good measure, then fluttered off to yet another building, the large central barn.

  In his wake he left monsters screaming and howling, and no longer believing that the ranger had come into the town alone.

  Symphony’s hooves sent dirt flying wide as the horse angled hard, the ranger trying to pass the giants on the right side. The closest behemoth raised its club, but the ranger was quicker, sliding Tempest back in hand and slashing across, catching the giant’s uplifted arm right below the elbow.

  The giant roared in pain and could not finish the attack, and so Nightbird and his horse rushed past and seemed to break clear.

  But then yet another giant stepped out to block the path, and the trail was narrower up ahead, giving the ranger nowhere to run. He dropped Tempest across his lap and went back to Hawkwing, fitting an arrow and leveling the bow in the blink of an eye.

  He would only get one shot.

  He had to be perfect.

  The arrow, fired from barely fifteen feet away, got the giant right in the eye, and how it howled! It clutched at its face and spun halfway about, shrieking and screaming.

  “Run on!” Nightbird commanded the horse. Out flashed Tempest; the ranger tightened his legs about the powerful stallion, and Symphony, understanding Nightbird’s commands, understanding the desperation of the situation, willingly obliged and never slowed, hitting the behemoth in full gallop.

  The ranger got a strike in at the same moment, his sword slashing hard at the side of the tumbling giant’s neck. Down the brute went, and Symphony, stunned, held his balance, Nightbird tugging hard to turn the horse about as the other two came in.

  “Keep this one out of the fight,” the ranger bade Symphony, and then he tossed his sword to the ground and took up his bow, diving into a roll from the horse’s back, fitting an arrow as he went and letting fly as he came rolling around back to his feet. The missile drove deep into a giant shoulder, but the behemoth seemed hardly to notice it.

  The ranger conjured images of the poor prisoners on the other side of the town, men being roasted alive on the powrie bonfires, and from those scenes he drew rage, and from his rage he drew strength. He reached out for Tempest, and the magical blade, hearing his silent call, flew to his hand and flared with inner power. Nightbird, too focused to even notice the spectacle of his sword, charged straight ahead.

  His attack surprised the giants, enough for the ranger to slide in on one knee, ducking beneath the sidelong swipe of one brute. Out flashed his sword, smacking off the behemoth’s kneecap, and as the creature instinctively lifted its leg to grab at the wound, the ranger ran forward, right under the upraised heavy boot, diving past the other leg, out of reach of the second behemoth as it came around the first for a swing.

  Nightbird pivoted and struck once and then again, scoring two stabbing hits on the giant’s buttocks. The brute spun and swung wildly, holding its club in one hand, its free hand alternately holding its arrow-stuck shoulder, its slashed knee, its stabbed butt.

  The club came nowhere near to hitting the nimble ranger. He dropped into a squatting position, letting it soar over his head, then came up hard, chasing the hand, striking out and hitting again, right on the giant’s wrist.

  The behemoth howled; the club went flying free.

  But the move had put Nightbird in a sorry position with the second giant, and he could not completely avoid the brute’s swinging club. It clipped him on the shoulder and sent him flying, tumbling right over in the air, coming down headfirst and tumbling again, and then again after that as he hit the ground in a desperate attempt to absorb some of the shock.

  He came around in a roll, studying his foe. Truly this was the ugliest giant he had ever seen, with one lip torn away and a garish tattoo of a goblin ripped in half covering its forehead. One ear was also missi
ng and the other sported a large gold earcap. Grinning wickedly, the brute looked to its stung companion, nodding as the behemoth indicated that it was still ready for the fight. The ugly brute slowly stalked in.

  Even for the elven-trained ranger, two giants were more than a match.

  But at least it would remain only two, Nightbird noted, glancing at Symphony. The giant on the ground was trying to rise, but the horse reared repeatedly over its head, front hooves pounding away.

  The giant, blind in one eye, reached out desperately, then tried to rise again as Symphony spun about.

  The horse was only lining the brute up for a kick, though, and the giant wasn’t halfway to standing when Symphony lashed out with both rear legs, connecting solidly on the giant’s face and laying it out straight.

  Then the horse came right over the head again, front legs tapping a steady beat.

  Nightbird didn’t see the last move, too concerned with scrambling away from the closest giant’s sudden rain of blows, overhand chops that could not be ducked. The ground shook with each tremendous impact.

  The other giant retrieved its club, but seemed in no hurry to join its companion.

  Still, Nightbird heard the pursuit closing from all around and knew he was running out of time.

  Pony had not been idle. After her lightning blast rocked the barricade, clearing the way for Elbryan and then Juraviel—and then, though she hadn’t known it, for Roger Lockless—the woman ran down the slope, angling to the north. She tried to keep track of the ranger’s movements within the town, following the sound of shouting monsters and the ringing silverel as Tempest did its work, and she was fairly certain that her love was also making his way around the northern edge.

  Pony’s run became a series of short bursts, moving from cover to cover, looking back toward the town, trying to gain some information. She saw the heads of two giants, saw one lurch suddenly and cry out in pain, and knew that Nightbird had come upon them.

  When a third giant’s head and shoulders appeared, towering above the low buildings, Pony realized that her love was in, serious trouble.

  The woman fumbled about in her pouch of stones, trying to find one that might help. The ruby was no good, for she hadn’t the time to go to Elbryan’s side. She might use the graphite to skim a lightning bolt off the rooftops, but that, she feared, might also sting her love, especially if he was in close battle.

  “Malachite,” the woman decided, pulling forth the green, ringed stone. She would levitate one of the brutes, float him up high into the air, and make the odds a bit more even.

  As she pulled out the stone, though, she saw another, the lodestone, and thought it even more clever.

  Pony lifted her hand and took aim, focusing her vision through the magic of the gem, seeking out a metallic target at which she could launch her missile.

  But there seemed to be nothing; the giants wore no armor and were wielding wooden clubs!

  Pony growled and looked deeper, and still found nothing. She was about to change back to the malachite—her heart soared when she saw another giant go down—when at last she found a slight pull coming from the side of the remaining giant’s head, from the area near its ear.

  Nightbird leaped ahead and to the side, avoiding yet another downward smash. Out flashed Tempest, a sudden lunge, but the giant was already turning its huge body, moving limbs and torso safely out of reach.

  This one was skilled, the ranger realized. He gave a nervous glance to the side, to see the other giant watching.

  Then he and the ugly brute went through a second round of attack and counter, again with no decisive winner, though this time Nightbird did score a minor hit. Still, the giant only howled—with laughter and not with pain—and its companion seemed even more bolstered and ready to join.

  “Argh, get ye in here!” the ugly behemoth bellowed, but the words ended abruptly as the giant’s head suddenly snapped to the side. The monster’s head came back up straight, but its eyes were no longer seeing the ranger, were suddenly veiled in darkness. Without a movement to brace its fall, the giant dropped face first into the dirt.

  The earcap was missing, Nightbird noted. No, not missing, but pushed in, driven right through the giant’s skull and into its brain!

  Not missing a beat, the ranger spun on the last giant and roared in victory, and the fomorian fell all over itself, burying a powrie that came around the corner as it tried to get away.

  The ranger understood this mystery quite clearly. He said a little thank-you to Pony, whom he knew to be the source, then split the giant’s skull in half with Tempest and pulled the magnetite from the gore.

  “Symphony!” he cried, and ran to retrieve his bow.

  The great horse whinnied and spun, pausing only to launch another double kick into the prone giant’s face. Symphony came by Nightbird in a canter and the ranger leaped up and pulled himself into his saddle, sliding Tempest under his thigh and putting Hawkwing to the ready in one fluid movement.

  He shot the powrie the giant had trampled as it stubbornly tried to regain its footing, then ran over the unfortunate dwarf with Symphony for good measure, breaking into the clear behind it, then turning fast down another alley, and the chase was on once more.

  Unlike the ranger, Roger Lockless was doing all he could to avoid drawing attention to himself. The nimble thief worked his way carefully from rooftop to rooftop when the buildings were close enough, or down the side of one structure and up the side of another when they were not. Twice he found himself unintentionally on the same roof as an enemy, but both times he kept calm and as quiet as a shadow and moved along without being noticed, for that enemy, be it goblin or powrie, was inevitably distracted by the tumult of the ranger’s passing.

  The bonfire guided Roger, leading him unerringly across Caer Tinella until he was perched on a roof no more than twenty feet from the ragged prisoners, a score and a half of them, sitting on the ground, in deep despair, chained together at the ankles. Many monsters were about, and two in particular, a huge giant, the largest Roger had ever seen, and a nervous Kos-kosio Begulne, caught his attention—and, it seemed, caught the attention of all the other monsters in the area.

  “Doomed we are!” the powrie wailed. “Nightbird’s come and all the world’s a cursed place!”

  The giant shook its huge head and calmly bade the powrie to be quiet. “Are you not the one who wanted to bring him in?”

  “Ye’re not knowing!” the powrie snapped back. “Ye wasn’t there, in the middle o’ the fight, when he killed us in the valley.”

  “I wish he had,” the giant said dryly. That gave Roger pause. A giant with wit? The mere thought of it sent a shudder down his spine; a giant’s only weakness was often between its ears.

  With a shrug, the young man slipped down the back side of the building, shadowed from the light of the fire, then tiptoed into the line of human prisoners, slipping to a seat right between a pair of very surprised and very beleaguered men. They did well to keep quiet, and Roger, lockpick in hand, went right to work on the shackles.

  “Doomed, says I!” the powrie wailed. “Both of us!”

  “You’re half right,” the giant said quietly. With a sudden move, Maiyer Dek lifted Kos-kosio into the air and tossed the thrashing powrie onto the burning pyre. The dwarf wailed and scrambled out of the flames, but they stubbornly followed, grabbing at clothes, at hair, eating flesh; even the magical bracers the dwarf had taken from fallen Ulg Tik’narn could not save Kos-kosio Begulne from a horrible death.

  All the monstrous gathering was in tumult then, some screaming for the death of the prisoners, others—powries all—for a revolt against the giant.

  And in the middle of it all Roger Lockless calmly went about his work, shifting down the line, one man at a time, opening shackles and bidding the men to stay calm until all were free.

  “Hear me!” Maiyer Dek roared, and it was impossible for any within a hundred yards to not hear the booming, resonant voice. “This is only one human, one puny huma
n. A hundred pieces of King’s gold and ten prisoners to the one that brings me the head of Nightbird!”

  That put the monsters in line, had them leaping and crying out excitedly, had many of them running off to find the fighting.

  For just a split second Roger Lockless entertained the thought of those monsters catching and killing Elbryan. With a low growl the young man quickly berated himself for even thinking such things, and silently thanked the ranger for again allowing him the distraction he needed to finish his work here. And while he opened the next shackle, Roger Lockless prayed for Elbryan’s safe escape.

  “I am with you, Nightbird,” came a most-welcome voice above the ranger as he turned tight about a building, monsters in close pursuit. He heard the twang of an elvish bow, and then the flutter of wings, and a moment later Belli’mar Juraviel was on Symphony behind him, bow in hand.

  “You shoot those in front, I will cover flanks and rear,” the elf offered, letting fly another arrow even as he made the statement. His bolt hit the mark, scoring solidly on a giant’s face, but the behemoth only roared and brushed the insignificant hit away. “Though I fear I’ll run out of arrows in an attempt to kill even one giant!” Juraviel added.

  It didn’t matter too much, anyway, for none of the monsters behind would get near the fast-running Symphony. Head down, nostrils puffing, the stallion tore up the ground, and the ranger, telepathically linked to the horse through the turquoise, did not need his hands to guide him. Those monsters who came out in front, or at an angle where they might intercept, met with the thunder of Nightbird’s magnificent bow and the pounding of Symphony’s hooves, and the companions ran on, soon turning into the lane that ran the extent of Caer Tinella’s western side, just inside the barricade.

  Symphony, and the ranger wholeheartedly agreed, skidded to an abrupt stop.