DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Brother Dellman has been asking many questions since we departed St. Precious,” Brother Braumin said, trying to lighten the conversation.

  That notion brought a welcome smile to Master Jojonah’s face.

  “The Father Abbot’s actions concerning our prisoners seem out of place, of course,” Brother Braumin went on.

  “Prisoners?” Jojonah interrupted. “He brought them?”

  “The Chilichunks and the centaur,” Brother Braumin explained. “We know not where they are being held.”

  Master Jojonah paused. He should have expected as much, he realized, but in the commotion over Abbot Dobrinion’s death, he had almost forgotten about the unfortunate prisoners. “St. Precious did not protest the taking of Palmaris citizens?” he asked.

  “Rumors say that Abbot Dobrinion was not pleased at all,” Brother Braumin replied. “There was a confrontation with Baron Bildeborough’s men, over his nephew, who was reportedly once married to the woman who accompanied Brother Avelyn. And many say that Abbot Dobrinion was in league with the Baron against the Father Abbot.”

  Jojonah chuckled helplessly. It all made sense, of course, and now he was even more certain that no powrie had murdered Abbot Dobrinion. He almost said as much to Brother Braumin, but wisely held his tongue, understanding that such terrible information might break the man, or launch him on a course so bold as to get him killed.

  “Brother Dellman has paid attention to the events, then?” he asked. “He is not closing his eyes and ears to the truth about him?”

  “He has asked many questions,” Brother Braumin reiterated.

  “Some bordering on being openly critical of the Father Abbot. And of course, we are all concerned about the two brothers who did not make the return trip to St.-Mere-Abelle. It is no secret that they were in the Father Abbot’s highest favor, and their demeanor has ever been a conversation point among the younger brothers.”

  “We would all do well to watch closely the hunting dogs of Father Abbot Markwart,” Master Jojonah said gravely. “Do not trust Brother Youseff or Brother Dandelion. Go now to your duties, and do not visit me unless your news is most urgent. I will contact you when I see the opportunity; I will wish to hear of Brother Dellman’s progress. Pray ask Brother Viscenti to befriend the man. Viscenti is enough removed from me that his conversations with Brother Dellman will not be noticed by the Father Abbot. And Brother Braumin, do find out about the prisoners, where they are and how they are being treated.”

  Brother Braumin bowed and turned to go, but stopped as Master Jojonah called to him once more.

  “And keep in mind, my friend,” Jojonah warned, “that Brother Francis and some of those other, less obvious hunting dogs of Father Abbot Markwart will never be far away.”

  Then Master Jojonah was alone with the ancient texts of the Abellican Order, parchments and books, many of which had not been viewed in centuries. And Jojonah felt the ghosts of his Church in the adjoining crypts. He was alone with that history now, alone with what he had spent his life accepting as divine guidance.

  He prayed he would not be disappointed.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jilly

  “Jilly,” Connor repeated, as softly and gently as he could.

  The look on the woman’s face was caught somewhere between sheer incredulity and horror, the expression of a child faced with impossible and terrible circumstances.

  Elbryan, gazing up at his love, had seen that expression on her face only once before, up on the north slope overlooking Dundalis, when their first kiss had been interrupted by the sounds of their town dying. He put a hand firmly on Pony’s thigh, supporting her, holding her in place, for she was surely swaying unsteadily on Symphony’s broad back.

  The moment passed; Pony pushed aside the troubling emotions and found the same inner resolve that had carried her through the trials of so many years. “Jilseponie,” she corrected. “My name is Jilseponie, Jilseponie Ault.” She glanced down at Elbryan, gathering strength from his unending love. “Jilseponie Wyndon, actually,” she corrected.

  “And once, Jilly Bildeborough,” Connor said quietly.

  “Never,” the woman spat, more sharply than she had intended. “You erased that title, proclaiming before the law and before God that it had never been. Is it now convenient for the noble Connor to reclaim that which he disposed of?”

  Again the ranger patted her firmly, trying to calm her down.

  Her words stung Connor profoundly, but he accepted them as earned. “I was young and foolish,” he replied. “Our wedding night… your actions hurt me, Jilly… Jilseponie,” he corrected quickly, seeing her grimace. “I—”

  Pony held up her hand to stop him, then glanced down at Elbryan. How painful this must be to him, she realized. Certainly he did not need to suffer through a recounting of the night she was wed to another man!

  But the ranger stood calm, his bright eyes showing nothing but sympathy for the woman he so loved. He didn’t even let those green orbs reflect his anger, jealous anger, toward Connor, for he knew that to do so would be unfair to Pony. “You two have much to discuss,” he said. “And I have a caravan to watch over.” He patted Pony’s thigh one more time, this time gently, almost playfully, showing her that he was secure in their love, and then, with a playful wink, the perfect gesture to lessen the tension, he walked away.

  Pony watched him go, loving him all the more. Then she glanced about, and, seeing that others were too near and might overhear, she kicked Symphony into a walk. Connor and his mount followed closely.

  “It was not meant against you,” Connor tried to explain when they were alone. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

  “I refuse to discuss that night,” Pony said with finality. She knew better, knew that Connor had indeed tried to hurt her, but only because her refusal to make love with him had wounded his pride.

  “You can so easily dismiss it?” he asked.

  “If the alternative is to dwell on that which needs no explanation and can only bring pain, then yes,” she answered. “What is past is not as important as what is to come.”

  “Then with your dismissal, allow forgiveness,” Connor begged.

  Pony eyed him directly, looked deeply into his gray eyes and remembered those times before the disastrous wedding night, when they had been friends, confidants.

  “Do you remember when we first met?” Connor asked, reading her expression. “When I came out into the alley to protect you, only to find rogues raining down about me?”

  Pony managed a smile; there were some good memories, many good ones, mixed in with the ultimately painful ending. “It was never love, Connor,” she said honestly.

  The man looked as though she had slapped him with a wet towel.

  “I did not know what love was until I came back and found Elbryan,” Pony went on.

  “We were close,” the man protested.

  “We were friends,” Pony replied. “And I will value the memory of that friendship before we tried to make it more than that. I promise you.”

  “Then we can still be friends,” Connor reasoned.

  “No.” The answer came straight from Pony’s heart before she could even spend a moment to consider it. “You were friends with a different person, with a little lost girl who did not know from where she had come, and did not know to where she was going. I am not that person anymore. Not Jilly, not even Jilseponie, in truth, but Pony, the companion, the lover, the wife, of Elbryan Wyndon. My heart is his, and his alone.”

  “And is there no room in that heart for Connor, your friend?” the man asked gently.

  Pony smiled again, growing more comfortable. “You do not even know me,” she replied.

  “But I do,” the nobleman argued. “Even when you were, as you proclaim, that little lost girl, the fire was there. Even when you were most vulnerable, most lost, there was, behind your beautiful eyes, a strength that most people will never know.”

  Truly Pony appreciated the sentiment. Her relationship wit
h Connor had never been properly resolved, had been left on a note too sour to do justice to the enjoyable months they had spent together. Now, with his simple words, she felt a sense of closure, a true sense of calm.

  “Why did you come out here?” she asked.

  “I have been out north of the city for months,” Connor replied, a bit of the swagger finding its way back into his voice. “Hunting goblins and powries—and even a few giants, I dare say!”

  “Why did you come out here now?” the perceptive woman pressed. She had seen it on his face: Connor had not been nearly as surprised to see her as she to see him, and yet, given the last each knew of the other’s whereabouts, the surprise to him should have been greater. “You knew, did you not?”

  “I suspected,” Connor admitted. “I have heard tales of magic being used against the monsters up here, and you have been linked to the enchanted gemstones.”

  That gave Pony pause.

  “Call back your… husband,” Connor said. “If you are, as you say, ready to let go of the past and pay attention to the future. I did indeed come out here for a reason, Jill… Pony. And more of a reason than to see you again, though I would have traveled the length and breadth of Honce-the-Bear for that alone.”

  Pony bit back her response, questioning why, then, Connor had not done just that in all the years she had been indentured to the army. There was no need for such bickering, no need to tear the scabs from old wounds.

  They met shortly thereafter, Connor, Pony, and Elbryan, and with Juraviel comfortably tucked within the sheltering boughs of a nearby tree.

  “You remember Abbot Dobrinion Calislas,” Connor started, after pacing nervously for what seemed like an hour, trying to figure out where to begin.

  The woman nodded. “The abbot of St. Precious,” she said.

  “No more,” Connor explained. “He was murdered a few nights ago, in his own room at the abbey.” The nobleman paused, studying their reactions, and was at first surprised that none of them seemed overly concerned. Of course, Connor realized, they did not really know Dobrinion and his good heart; their experience with the Church was less than enamoring.

  “They said a powrie did it,” Connor went on.

  “Dark times indeed if a powrie can so easily get into what should be the most secure building in a city braced for war,” Elbryan remarked.

  “I think that he was killed by the Church he served,” Connor said outright, watching the ranger closely. Now Elbryan did lean forward a bit, growing more than a little intrigued. “The monks from St.-Mere-Abelle were in Palmaris,” Connor explained. “A great contingent, including the Father Abbot himself. Many had just returned from the far north, from the Barbacan, so it is said.”

  He had their attention now.

  “Roger Lockless saw such a caravan flying swiftly to the south past Caer Tinella and Landsdown,” Pony reminded.

  “They are looking for you,” Connor said bluntly, pointing to Pony. “For those gemstones, which they claim were stolen from St.-Mere-Abelle.”

  Pony’s eyes went wide. She stuttered a few undiscernible words as she turned to her lover for support

  “We feared as much,” Elbryan admitted. “That is why we were insistent on bringing the folk to the safety of Palmaris,” he, explained to Connor. “Pony and I cannot remain with them—the risk for the folk is too great. We would see them to safety, then go our own way.”

  “The risk is greater than you believe,” Connor put in. “The Father Abbot and most of his companions have left, heading back to their own abbey, but he left a pair—at least a pair—behind, men trained to kill, do not doubt. I believe it was those two who killed Abbot Dobrinion. They came after me, as well, for my connection to Pony is known to them, but I managed to elude them, and now they will hunt for you.”

  “Brothers Justice,” the ranger reasoned, shuddering at the thought of dealing with another like Quintall—apparently a pair of them this time.

  “But why would they murder Abbot Dobrinion?” Pony asked. “And why would they come after you in such a manner?”

  “Because we opposed the Father Abbot’s methods,” Connor replied. “Because…” He paused and cast a truly sympathetic look Pony’s way. She would not like this news, not at all, but she had to be told. “Because we did not approve of his treatment of the Chilichunks—treatment he had planned for me, as well, before my uncle the Baron intervened”

  “Treatment?” Pony replied, leaping to her feet. “What treatment? What does that mean?”

  “He took them, Pony,” Connor explained. “In chains, back to St.-Mere-Abelle, along with the one called Bradwarden, the centaur.”

  Now the stunned Elbryan was on his feet, as well, moving before Connor, too overwhelmed to even voice the question.

  “Bradwarden is dead,” came Juraviel’s voice from the trees.

  Connor spun about but saw nothing.

  “He was killed in Aida,” the elf went on. “Upon the defeat of the demon dactyl.”

  “He was not killed,” Connor insisted. “Or if he was, then the monks found a way to resurrect him. I have seen him with my own eyes, a beleaguered and pitiful creature, but one very much alive.”

  “As I saw him,” put in Roger Lockless, coming out of the trees to join the group. He moved to Elbryan’s side and dropped a hand on the man’s strong shoulder. “The caravan, at the back of the caravan. I told you as much.”

  Elbryan nodded, remembering well Roger’s description, remembering his own emotions when Roger had told of the monks’ passage by the two towns. He turned to Pony then, who was eyeing him directly, those telling fires burning brightly behind her blue orbs.

  “We must go to them,” she said, and the ranger nodded, their path suddenly clear.

  “The monks?” Roger asked, not understanding.

  “In time,” Connor interrupted. “And I will go with you.”

  “This is not your affair,” the ranger said suddenly, wanting to retract the words, words prompted by his desire to get this man far from Pony as soon as possible, even as he spoke them.

  “Abbot Dobrinion was my friend,” the nobleman argued. “As are the Chilichunks, all three. You know this,” he said, looking to Pony for support, and the woman nodded. “But first, we, you, must deal with the killers. They are not to be taken lightly. They got to Dobrinion and made it look enough like a powrie assassination to deflect all attention. They are cunning and they are deadly.”

  “And they will be dead, soon enough,” the ranger said with such determination that none would dare offer a doubt.

  “We will meet again,” Elbryan assured Belster O’Comely early the next morning, taking the man’s hand firmly. Belster was holding back tears, Elbryan knew, for he suspected, and Elbryan could not disagree, that this was the last time they would see each other. “When the war is settled and you open your tavern again in the Timberlands, then know that Nightbird will be there, drinking your water and scaring away your other patrons.”

  Belster smiled warmly, but he didn’t expect that he would be making the journey back to Dundalis even if the monsters were driven away very soon. He was not a young man, and the pain of the memories would be great indeed. Belster had fled Palmaris because of debt, and only because of debt, but that time seemed many centuries ago, given all that had happened, and he was quite sure he could open an establishment right in the city without fear of his past coming back to haunt him. There was no reason to tell all of that to the ranger, though. Not now, and so he only held fast his assuring smile.

  “Lead them well, Tomas,” the ranger said to the man standing beside Belster. “The road should be clear, but if you find trouble before you find Palmaris, then I trust you will see them through.”

  Tomas Gingerwart nodded gravely, and stamped his new weapon, the pitchfork, on the ground. “We owe you much, Nightbird,” he said. “As we owe Pony, and your little unseen friend, as well.”

  “Do not forget Roger,” the ranger was quick to reply. “To him the folk of Cae
r Tinella and Landsdown owe perhaps the most of all.”

  “Roger would never let us forget Roger!” Belster said suddenly, jovially, in a voice that reminded Elbryan so much of Avelyn.

  That gave them all a laugh, a proper note to end the discussion. They shook hands and parted as friends, Tomas running to the front of the caravan and calling for them to move along.

  Pony, Connor, and Juraviel joined Elbryan soon after, watching the train depart, but not so far down the road Tomas stopped the group momentarily and a lone figure moved away, running back toward the ranger and his friends.

  “Roger Lockless,” Pony said, not surprised. Behind him the caravan started away once more, drifting to the south.

  “You were to serve as Tomas’ principal guide,” Elbryan said when Roger moved to join him.

  “He has others who can serve in that role,” the young man replied.

  The ranger’s look was stern and uncompromising.

  “Why is he to stay?” Roger protested, pointing to Connor. “Why are you, with Palmaris only three days’ march? Would not Elbryan and Pony prove of great value to the city’s garrison in these dark times?”

  “There are other matters which you do not understand,” Elbryan said calmly.

  “Matters that concern him?” Roger asked, pointing again at Connor, who resisted the urge to walk over and punch the young man.

  Elbryan nodded gravely. “You should go with them, Roger,” he said, speaking in the tone of a friend. “We cannot, for there is a matter that must be settled before any of us show our faces in the city. But trust me when I say that the danger here is greater for you by far than any danger you might find in Palmaris. Be quick now, and catch Tomas and Belster.”

  Roger shook his head resolutely. “No,” he answered. “If you are to stay up here, fighting on, then so am I.”

  “There is nothing left for you to prove,” Pony put in. “Your name and reputation are secured and well-earned.”