His shoulder at last rose higher than his elbow. He inched his other hand up, walking it up the stone, hunting the next hold. This time he found a deeper crack, and he managed to wedge his fingers in, then swing one foot out and placed his toes in the crack. The next move was easy: the muscles of his arm and leg worked to bring him closer, then angle him upward. The next hold was in a wider gap, and from there, the ranger found a grip for both hands above him, a narrow ledge, a place to rest.
Elbryan pulled himself up —and he nearly toppled in surprise, for there, waiting for him, sat Ni'estiel, a pipe in his mouth, blowing smoke rings into the air.
"Too slow," the elf criticized.
The ranger pulled himself over into a sitting position and took a welcome deep breath. "I would have come up faster if I, too, wore a pair of wings," he replied dryly.
"Faster still if you were not trapped in so large and unwieldy a body," Ni'estiel said. "And why have you decided to make so arduous a climb with the sun already low in the western sky? The season's cold will be unforgiving so high up after the sun is gone. How well will your fat human fingers grasp a ledge of icy-cold stone? "
"I wanted a look ahead," the ranger explained. "Roger found some goblin sign, a small lean-to."
"You could have simply asked," answered Tiel'marawee, fluttering up to land beside her kin.
"Asked? I did not know if the Touel'alfar had come along for the journey," the ranger admitted. "Nor did you seem eager to help me, whatever course lay before me."
The elves glanced at each other, Ni'estiel shook his head, and then they turned back to face the ranger, neither of them looking particularly pleased.
"What have I done?" Elbryan asked bluntly. "Surely your attitude toward me has not been that of friend to friend, and yet I cannot understand what has so changed our friendship."
"Friendship?" Tiel'marawee echoed skeptically. "I spoke to you not at all during your years in Andur'Blough Inninness, Nightbird. Why would you assume that we two are, or ever were, friends?"
The words stung the ranger, and he had to admit their truth. "But I am elf-friend," he reasoned. "Is not a friend of Lady Dasslerond a friend to all the Touel'alfar?"
"It is a friendship that you have strained," Ni'estiel said plainly.
"What have I done?" the ranger replied, his voice rising. "When Belli'mar Juraviel left —"
"You taught her," Ni'estiel said.
"Taught?" Elbryan echoed, caught by surprise, but as soon as he paused to consider the word, he understood.
"Bi'nelle dasada was our gift to you," Tiel'marawee explained. "It was not yours to offer another."
"Juraviel and I already had this conversation," the ranger tried to explain.
"Belli'mar Juraviel's word on this is far from final," Ni'estiel retorted. "Lady Dasslerond will decide if you are to be punished for your foolish action. But understand this, Nightbird: even if the lady chooses to ignore your error, we of the Touel'alfar know what you did and are not pleased."
"Not at all," Tiel'marawee added.
"Pony is of my own heart and soul," Elbryan answered. "Even Belli'mar was amazed when he saw the harmony of our dance. And am I n'Touel'alfar or of the people? Which is it, I ask, because surely, for all the words of friendship and kinship —"
"And how many years has Jilseponie spent in Andur'Blough Inninness?" Ni'estiel interrupted sarcastically. "How many hours speaking wisdom with one of the Touel'alfar, learning the emotional strength to go with the formidable weapon of bi'nelle dasada?"
"Our dance —" the ranger began.
"Is a matter of the physical," Ni'estiel cut him short. "But the truth of bi'nelle dasada transcends the physical and goes to the spiritual. Any person might learn the physical movements, but what a dangerous and terrible thing bi'nelle dasada would become if it were merely that."
"The warrior is a blend of heart and body," Tiel'marawee added. "It is the injection of the soul into the movements of the body that brings heart and compassion, that tells when the blade should be used in addition to how to use it."
"And this is what you have violated, Nightbird," Ni'estiel went on. "So you have taught the woman, and who will she choose to teach? And they, in turn, will pass it along to others; and what is left, then, of our gift?"
Elbryan was shaking his head, for he knew Pony better than that, knew she would keep the secret between them; he knew her heart, and knew, beyond the comprehension of his elven detractors, that there was no one else with whom she, or he, could possibly share so intimate an experience. But the ranger didn't voice those thoughts, and understood the fears of his elven friends. Despite the differences in size and strength —in fact, partly because of those differences—the average elf could easily defeat even skilled human soldiers in combat. Bi'nelle dasada was their edge, a fighting style that the slashing styles of heavier humans could not match.
Despite his empathy, the ranger felt he had not violated the elven trust, that Pony was an extension of his very soul and that she was every bit as worthy as he to know the dance.
"Lady Dasslerond will go to her," he reasoned.
"Lady Dasslerond, and Belli'mar Juraviel and many others, are already in Palmaris," Ni'estiel admitted.
For a moment, the ranger feared that Dasslerond and the others might harm Pony to protect their secret, but that dark thought passed. The elves could be dangerous; their way of looking at the world and concepts of good and evil were very different from the ways of humans. But they would not harm Pony.
"I apologize to you for my transgression," Elbryan said. "No, I apologize for the discomfort my choice has brought to you. But I assure you that once Lady Dasslerond has had the opportunity to meet and know Pony, and once she has witnessed the beauty of Pony's sword dance —a beauty of the spirit as well as the body—she will understand and will be at peace."
By their expressions, the ranger could see that his words satisfied the two elves —as much as they could be satisfied now.
"Lady Dasslerond did not go to Palmaris to measure your lover's ability in the sword dance," Ni'estiel said, and he looked at his elven companion as if seeking approval, something the ranger did not miss. He stared at Ni'estiel hard, prompting the elf to continue.
"She went to see Jilseponie, the lover of Nightbird, soon to be the mother of Nightbird's child," Ni'estiel remarked.
"Pony and I have decided that we will not bear any chil —" the ranger started to reply.
The slightest breeze could have blown Elbryan from the ledge at that awful and wonderful moment, the most confusing and dizzying array of feelings washing over him.
"How do you know this?" Elbryan asked breathlessly.
"Belli'mar Juraviel knew. He told us on the road in the southland, when he came upon our band as we shadowed Roger Lockless and the five monks," Tiel'marawee admitted. "Thus did Lady Dasslerond decide to go south, with the majority of our kin, while we two alone continued north."
Elbryan could hardly breathe. It all made perfect sense to him, seemed to explain so many things, such as the absence of warning and aid from the elves during the goblin attack, and yet it made no sense at all. How could Juraviel have known that Pony was pregnant? The elf had been with Elbryan since Pony had gone to Palmaris.
And then the awful truth hit Elbryan. Pony had known. And she had left him. She had run to Palmaris out of fear that continuing north might cause injury to the unborn baby. And she had not told him!
"You judge her, ranger," Ni'estiel observed.
Elbryan turned a blank stare over him.
"And yet you do not know the truth," Ni'estiel went on.
"How did Juraviel know?" the ranger asked. "Did Pony tell him? And if she did, then why did she not tell me?"
"You know only what your fears tell you," Tiel'marawee added. "You are thinking the worst, and yet should you not be full of joy?"
Elbryan held up his hands helplessly, for he did not know what to think or to feel. "I have to go to her," he said.
"Sp
oken like a human," Ni'estiel remarked dryly.
"Perhaps, if your assumptions are correct, you have just answered the question," Tiel'marawee added. "Abandon all and rush to her side, but you will do no practical good there."
"You doubt that I should be with Pony at this time?"
"If the situation allowed for it, then of course you should," Ni'estiel replied sternly. "But that is a matter of the joy you deserve, and not of any practical purpose. Pragmatism demands that you finish your task here, and then go to your lover."
"Now go back down and take your sleep," Tiel'marawee said to him. "We shall scout the road ahead and speak with you in the morning."
The ranger nodded, and gradually, as he dismissed the negative assumptions and began basking in the reality of the situation, a smile widened across his handsome face. Surely he wanted Pony to have his child —a hundred children! Surely this was a blessed thing, the result of a true union of love.
"The bottom of the sun finds the horizon," Ni'estiel warned.
Elbryan's smile faded when he looked down at the formidable descent. "A long climb," he said with a groan, stretching his tired muscles.
"Did you not just insist that you were not n'Touel'alfar?" Tiel'marawee said to him in a lighter, teasing tone. "Flap your wings, then, elf."
With a groan, the ranger began to climb down.
Ni'estiel and Tiel'marawee, true to their word, set out immediately to the north. They found the lean-to Roger had discovered and more goblin signs beyond that, including a camp only recently abandoned. They weren't particularly surprised, or alarmed, by the discoveries, since they were far into the Wilderlands and definitely in goblin-infested territory. To find no goblin sign would have been more surprising, and more alarmed would they have been had any of their findings indicated that powries, a far more cunning foe, were in the area. That wasn't the case, the two elves were fairly certain, for powries built different and stronger structures, even for temporary camps, than goblins.
"Only goblins," Ni'estiel said to Tiel'marawee as Sheila began her ascent over the eastern horizon, lighting the encampment enough for Ni'estiel to point out one particularly rickety structure. Now all they had to do was find the somewhat dim-witted creatures, and instruct Nightbird and his friends on how they might simply avoid them.
Another set of eyes also viewed that structure. The eyes of a cat, scanning the dark forest as clearly as a man might see it in the light of day. Keen eyes saw the elves, keen ears heard their words, and a keen nose smelled the blood within their tiny and tender bodies.
The tiger De'Unnero crept closer. He was not knowledgeable of the Touel'alfar, but he knew these two for what they were, and by what he had overheard he knew they were friends of Nightbird. And De'Unnero did know the legends of the elves, mostly that they were powerful and deceptive enemies.
Better to deal with them efficiently, he decided; better to take the ring of defense away from his primary prey.
The tiger came a stride closer on quiet, padded feet.
Ni'estiel froze, as did Tiel'marawee; the elves, attuned to their environment, sensed his presence, the sudden hush that preceded the charge of the predator.
Out came slender swords, and on came De'Unnero, a great pounce that sent him flying to land on Ni'estiel.
The elvish blade stabbed repeatedly, sinking into muscle and flesh, but so, too, raked the great claws, tearing deep lines, severing the tendons controlling that arm.
Tiel'marawee was there in an instant, her sword flashing, and De'Unnero had to leap away. But now they lined up one against one, for Ni'estiel could do little more than roll about in agony and cry out for Tiel'marawee to flee.
"Yes, do try," the tiger said, and both elves stopped short, eyes widening in shock.
Then the tiger began to transform, first its head and then its torso, though the limbs, except for one arm, remained feline.
"What manner of demon is this?" Tiel'marawee said, and on she came, thinking to catch the creature in mid-change and score a deadly strike.
Too quick for the obvious move, De'Unnero sent his still-feline arm swinging across to intercept the sword, accepting the pain of the solid hit. Then out snapped his human arm, just missing a solid and devastating connection on Tiel'marawee's face as the elf spun away.
"Very impressive," the monk's now-human face said. "All that I would expect from the legends of the Touel'alfar."
"Who are you?" Tiel'marawee asked, her tone indicating that she was in control now. "What dactyl demon has arisen this time to bring grief to the world?"
"Demon?" the Bishop echoed with a chuckle. "Why, my dear, tender little elf, you could not be further from the truth. Do you not recognize Marcalo De'Unnero, the Bishop of Palmaris?"
Tiel'marawee blanched. It seemed impossible, ridiculous, and yet she found that she did not disbelieve him. "And thus your Church names the Touel'alfar as enemies?" she asked bluntly, trying to remain calm, though her composure frayed as she glanced over at Ni'estiel, who was now lying still, obviously near death.
"I name anyone who befriends the outlaw Nightbird as an enemy of the Church!" De'Unnero growled at her.
That set Tiel'marawee back on her heels once more. "And so you convict and execute without trial," she replied.
"That is my prerogative," the Bishop answered, and his powerful tiger legs sent him soaring forward.
She was ready for him and leaped straight up, flapping her wings to bring her above the Bishop. Then she dropped, like a bird of prey, sword stabbing like a talon.
De'Unnero hit the ground and rolled, swinging his arm frantically to intercept her blade. These elves did live up to their legend! He batted the sword and tried to grab it, but Tiel'marawee was already moving to the side, landing a dozen feet away and coming around in perfect balance to meet any forthcoming attacks.
"Well done," the Bishop congratulated, standing straight as a man once again, his legs reverting to human form. He dismissed the gem magic altogether then, and showed Tiel'marawee that he was completely human now.
"You err, Bishop of Palmaris," Tiel'marawee said. "Do you mean to start a war with the Touel'alfar? We are enemies beyond your comprehension, do not doubt."
"I tremble, good elf," De'Unnero replied. "And in truth, I might heed your words and see if a bargain could now be struck, except ..." He paused and laughed aloud.
"Except that I am intrigued by your mastery of the sword, and your movements so lithe and balanced," he finished. "And now I must learn the extent of that skill." With that, he fell into a fighting crouch, legs apart and balanced, arms swaying and crossing defensively in front of him. He carried many wounds already —blood shone in the moonlight against his bare skin—but though her enemy was merely human, Tiel'marawee understood that she had to be cautious. This one was quick and balanced, and too strong. She would wait him out, let him tire, let his blood continue to flow from those wounds she and Ni'estiel had given him.
A gasp for breath from Ni'estiel reminded her that she did not have the time, though, and so she came on in sudden fury, sword stabbing straight ahead.
Tiel'marawee miscalculated.
The elvish fighting style featured straight-ahead thrusts, sudden bursts that moved the tip of a slender elvish sword many feet forward in the blink of an eye. But De'Unnero's style, the open-handed maneuvers of the Brothers of the Abellican Order, was also a straight-line form, and so he crossed his forearms before him and brought them up in a gentle, but perfectly timed manner, lifting Tiel'marawee's sword high with only minimal damage to himself.
That left her open to a counter; she knew it and tried another lightning-fast defensive dodge.
De'Unnero's open palm crashed against the side of her cheek, stunning her, stealing her strength so completely for that instant that her sword fell from her grasp.
"Flee!" Ni'estiel cried in a voice filled with blood.
The word caught in Tiel'marawee's mind and stuck there, her legs and wings pumping hard to get her away. She hated th
e thought of leaving her companion, but understood, as elves always understood, her duty to the greater cause of the Touel'alfar, a demand now that she survive to bear witness, to tell Lady Dasslerond of the Bishop and his Church.
Her speed amazed De'Unnero. Moving away and up into the air, she would have gotten away cleanly except that the Bishop called upon his gemstone again and leaped at her with the power of a tiger's legs, grabbing her with an arm that once again bore the paw and claws of the great cat.
He caught her on the side, just below a wing —and only good fortune kept those claws from tearing the wing in half and dropping Tiel'marawee back to the ground. Tiel'marawee cried out in agony, but kept flying upward, knowing that to be dragged down was to be killed. A great patch of her skin from hip to knee tore away, but then she was free to fly, higher and higher, going to a tree branch, but then pushing on without hesitation, forcing herself to focus on the one mission before her: to get back alive to Nightbird.
Deeper into the stone went De'Unnero, thinking that as the tiger he would pace her and catch her and devour her.
She fluttered through the trees; he raced along the ground, leaping up whenever she swooped lower to dodge a branch or to find a foothold. Tiel'marawee tried a different tack, landing on a high branch and pulling her bow around, then launching a stream of small arrows at the tiger. She scored hit after hit, even as the tiger scrambled away, but though more than half her quiver was empty, she realized that she had done little real damage to the creature, that its wounds seemed to be healing almost as fast as she was inflicting them!
This was not a mystery to Tiel'marawee, who knew of the gemstones and understood that this man had used one to transform himself into the cat and was using another one to heal.
The one thing her volley had done was buy her some space. She put another arrow into the bushes where the tiger had disappeared, then rushed away, hoping that the cat would stay hidden long enough for her to get far, far from the spot.
And Tiel'marawee needed that, she realized, for her torn leg had gone numb, and the blood flowed freely. She felt cold at the edges of her small body, and her peripheral vision showed only darkness as death crept closer and closer.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 173
