DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  It became insane, out of control. More soldiers approached, some running, others riding. More soldiers went flying away. More horses skidded backward, some falling over, then sliding away on their sides.

  Pony held to her focus, thought of her dead parents, of her dead child. She started to run, bowing her head, watching only the clearing path before her and trying hard to block out the sounds of confusion and destruction behind.

  "Chaos, my King! Chaos!" the soldier cried, stumbling into the room where Danube and Constance quietly talked.

  Duke Kalas rushed in on the messenger's heels.

  "It is the woman, Jilseponie," the frantic soldier explained. "She moves openly through the streets with a power we do not understand, throwing us away before we can get near her!"

  "Through the streets?" the King echoed. "Heading where?"

  "Across the city to the west," the man cried. "Toward you, my King!"

  Kalas started to cry out, but Danube cut him short, holding up his hand and shaking his head.

  "To Chasewind Manor, more likely," Constance reasoned.

  "She is after Markwart," the King agreed. "Prepare my carriage."

  Constance tried to tell the King that he should remain protected. But Danube, like so many others in Palmaris that late afternoon, recognized that something momentous had begun here, and he would not be denied.

  From the high wall encircling St. Precious' roof, Brother Talumus watched the commotion with mounting horror. He spotted Jilseponie moving determinedly along a distant street; he saw a pair of soldiers, and then a monk, go flying away from her as if they had stepped into a hurricane.

  The level of magic awed him. He wondered what he had done in going to Master Engress, in beginning the course that had led to freedom for this one and her dangerous companions. They were supposed to run away, into hiding in deep mountain holes, never to be seen again.

  But Talumus recognized that Jilseponie was not running away now, and knew instinctively where she was going.

  Out from the abbey went Talumus and many other monks, running to the side of their Father Abbot.

  In a darkened room deep within St. Precious, Belli'mar Juraviel kept his head down and waited for the tumult to subside. He had come in secretly, down an unused chimney, immediately after instructing Roger to go and warn their friends, thinking to rescue Tempest and Hawkwing, the elven weapons that did not belong in the hands of Markwart's Abellican Church.

  He had hoped to meet his friends again, on the quiet fields north of the city. But in listening to the words of the scrambling monks that rushed outside the door of the small room, the elf knew that he would find no such enjoyment.

  And now, worst of all, Juraviel had to sit quietly and wait until he could make his escape from the fortified abbey.

  At an intersection not far from the abbey, Brother Talumus and his group found another band of monks running their way. De'Unnero and some of the monks from St.-Mere-Abelle had gone out to the fields north of Palmaris to search for signs of the escaped prisoners, and they, like everyone else in the city, it seemed, had come to learn of the brewing disaster.

  "It is the woman," Talumus explained as the abbot ran to him.

  De'Unnero considered the commotion all about him, the pointing fingers, the rushing soldiers and peasants, and turned west, toward the wealthier section of Palmaris, toward Chasewind Manor, and ran off at full speed.

  And all the city swirled behind him, behind Pony, moving to converge on the great manor that used to house their beloved Baron and now held the dignitaries of the Abellican Church.

  Too many soldiers and too many monks. They had not even reached the merchant section when a cry rang out and a host of monks charged at them. The group split apart on the ranger's orders. Brother Castinagis was caught almost immediately, though he put up a terrific fight and managed to drop two monks to the ground before being pulled down.

  Brother Viscenti, surrounded, weapons leveled his way, threw up his hands in surrender, and then Braumin went down, offering no resistance other than begging his fellow monks to bear witness to this, to learn the truth of Markwart.

  A monk leaped in front of Nightbird, dropping into a sudden crouch and spinning, leg flying high.

  The ranger ducked and hit the foolish monk with a punch in the chest that seemed almost to break the man in half, and sent him shuddering down to the ground.

  Another monk leaped in from the side, flying for the ranger's head. Nightbird caught him in midair and used his momentum to throw him far to the side, crashing into a vendor's cart of fish.

  On ran the ranger, pained to see his friends pulled down behind him. Only Dellman was still running, and then he, too, was stopped, surrendering at the point of an Allheart soldier's spear.

  Nightbird heard the clamor of horses coming down a side street and, fearing a patrol of soldiers, swerved aside down an alley.

  But then he heard Roger's cry for him to come back, and he spotted his friend waving to him from a rooftop.

  The horses were riderless, a stampede that seemed almost fitting in the wildness of the moment. Nightbird motioned to Roger, then ran to catch a horse.

  "Oh, but I'd be a better ride than that old nag!" came a familiar, most-welcomed voice, and Nightbird focused on the sound just as Bradwarden threw the blanket from his telltale human torso, revealing himself.

  He thundered by, and the ranger leaped atop his back.

  "Chasewind Manor!" the ranger yelled.

  "Ye think I'm not knowin'?" the centaur yelled back. "Even the damned horses knew!"

  The gates of Chasewind Manor were closed and chained —the great metal gates of Chasewind Manor.

  Pony winced, for a monk moved right behind them as she neared, and when her repelling magic blew the gates wide, snapping the chain, the poor man got smashed hard and thrown backward.

  He lay on the ground, groaning, as Pony strode by.

  Three others came out to face her. The first held a metal-tipped spear, which promptly snapped back into his face, dropping him straight to the ground, and then flying away as if it had been launched by the mightiest of ballistae. The second monk, having the misfortune of wearing a metal ring, assumed a fighting stance, then flailed wildly as he followed the spear.

  But the third carried no metal and held his ground —until grim-faced Pony calmly held out her other hand and laid him low with a stroke of lightning.

  Inside the great house, Bishop Francis and Abbot Je'howith scrambled to warn the Father Abbot. They found him sitting comfortably in his throne in the great audience hall.

  They tried to tell him to flee.

  Markwart, who wanted this confrontation as much as Pony wanted it, laughed at them. "Hinder her not," he instructed. "And know that when this day is through, our power will be even greater in Honce-the-Bear. Begone!"

  The two monks, confused and frightened, glanced nervously at each other and ran off.

  The King's carriage, surrounded by Allheart horsemen, thundered through the blasted gate just as Pony entered the house.

  "There!" Duke Kalas cried to his soldiers, pointing to the woman. "Stop her!"

  "No!" the King countermanded, and then he motioned for Kalas to sit beside him. "Let us see how this plays out," Danube explained to the surprised Duke. "This has been Markwart's fight from the beginning."

  More soldiers, more monks, and even common folk, rushed into the courtyard.

  "To the wall!" came the cry of a soldier, and all eyes turned to see the huge centaur crash through the hedge at the top of the eight-foot wall. Bradwarden could not make the leap cleanly, though he managed to get his forelegs and the bulk of his torso over the barrier before crashing. Then he and his rider rolled over, falling to the ground, Nightbird kicking far away from the tumbling centaur.

  "Oh, but that hurt," Bradwarden groaned, struggling to rise. Nightbird started for him, but the centaur, seeing soldiers and monks closing fast, waved him away. "Go to her!" he cried.

  Nightbird tu
rned to face a soldier charging in with sword raised overhead, meaning to cleave the ranger's head in half.

  Up came Nightbird's crossed arms, and he stepped forward, catching the man's hands on the downswing. He let the sword descend a bit lower, then threw it up high, punching the soldier in the face. Then he grabbed the man's arms and pulled the sword down again, knifing his hand between the soldier's hands, taking his sword. In the same devastating, brutally efficient movement, the ranger's free hand smashed the man on the side of the face and launched him sidelong to the ground.

  Now Nightbird had a sword, and the door of the great house was in sight. But a dozen soldiers and twice that number of monks moved to block his path.

  "Let him pass!" King Danube cried, standing tall in his carriage. Neither monk nor soldier dared to go against the man, their ranks parting as the ranger charged.

  "Only him!" Danube called. "Ring the house and let no others enter!"

  "You take a great chance," Constance remarked.

  The look Danube gave her and Kalas was one of the coldest either of them had ever seen. "Damn Markwart," Danube quietly spat. "May Nightbird and Pony emerge as victors with the Father Abbot's head in hand."

  Constance's eyes widened at the bold declaration, but Duke Kalas smiled and had to fight hard to stop himself from wrapping his King in a great hug.

  Nightbird reached the door just as Je'howith and Francis came out. Francis moved to grab the ranger —and was promptly launched aside by a mighty punch, one that put him on his back on the grass.

  Old Abbot Je'howith put up his hands and stepped aside.

  "Ever the diplomat," King Danube remarked dryly.

  The crowd converged on Chasewind Manor from every section of Palmaris, wealthy merchants and lowly peasants; a crowd of St. Precious' monks, confused and some crying; even a gathering of Behrenese, chanting loudly for the release of Captain Al'u'met.

  Duke Kalas moved his forces, soldiers and monks alike, into defensive formations, holding back the crowd. The Duke understood that this whole situation could explode into a riot. In that case, he informed his soldiers, the safety of the King was paramount, no matter who had to be trampled into the dirt.

  For the most part, the crowd stayed back, though the yells intensified. One man, an Abellican monk, did run through the line of soldiers, sprinting for the manor house.

  The soldiers stopped him before he reached the doors.

  "Do you know who I am?" the monk cried

  The nervous soldiers did indeed recognize the former bishop, and they glanced nervously at Kalas, who was far to the side. Despite De'Unnero's insistence and bullying, though, the Duke shook his head and the soldiers held their ground.

  De'Unnero turned toward the King's carriage. "I demand —" he began.

  "You demand nothing of me," King Danube cut him short. "Hold the house secure!" he cried to the soldiers. "None are to enter!"

  De'Unnero broke away, sprinting for the door. When soldiers beat him to the mark, he continued his run around the front of the house, then along the side.

  Duke Kalas instructed several men to follow, but he wasn't concerned, for Chasewind Manor had only two doors, the great front entrance and a smaller way in, also heavily guarded, on the side of the house opposite where the former Bishop had run.

  Frustrated, De'Unnero ran frantically around to the back. Then he skidded to a stop looking up at the one window large enough to accommodate a man.

  But that window was thirty feet off the ground.

  In front of the house, Brother Braumin and the other three monk prisoners were dragged through the gates by Allheart soldiers. Kalas ordered the men to take them away to a prison, but Danube overruled him.

  "Let them stay," the King decided. "This may well determine their fate. Keep them secure, but allow them to bear witness."

  Another man slipped onto the lawn as well, easily blending in with the crowd. Roger spotted Bradwarden immediately, the centaur standing but obviously wounded, held steady between two mounted Allheart soldiers.

  Roger felt as trapped as his friend, for there seemed no way in. All he could do was stand and watch.

  Once inside the manor house, the ranger had little trouble following Pony, for she had left a trail of devastation: twisted metal, blasted doors, shattered glass, and more than one groaning monk.

  He went down the corridor into a great, pillared hall and up a wide, sweeping staircase. Then down another narrow hall and into the most decorated corridor in all the house. And at the far end of the long corridor, he spied a door, carved and decorated, and he knew without doubt that Pony was behind that portal.

  And so was Markwart.

  The soldiers came around the back corner, calling to the monk to stand his ground.

  De'Unnero ignored them, and transformed his lower torso into the shape of the tiger. He glanced at the soldiers and snarled, and the men fell all over one another trying to keep back.

  De'Unnero looked to the window. "You cannot escape," he heard one soldier say, and then he was flying, up, up.

  On Nightbird ran, along the huge, decorated window overlooking the back gardens, thinking to put his shoulder down and barrel right into the room. But then he fell aside with a surprised cry as the window crashed in, De'Unnero, bursting into the hall.

  In the blink of an eye, the two men faced off.

  "So I get my wish," the former Bishop purred.

  There he sat, so smug in his great chair, the embodiment of everything Pony hated, of everything she considered evil in humankind.

  "Clever of you to get out of St. Precious," Markwart congratulated. "Master Engress died for that."

  "You intend to kill everybody who opposes you," she replied, "destroy them all."

  "If I must," said Markwart, leaning forward suddenly in his chair. "Because I am right, you fool. I speak to God."

  "You speak to Bestesbulzibar, none other!" Pony snapped back, advancing undaunted. She lifted her arm, hematite in hand, and went into the stone eagerly, all her hatred leading the way.

  But the spirit of Markwart was waiting for her, and though she hit it with all the momentum of her emotions behind her, managed to push the spirit back toward the physical form, it was but a temporary advantage.

  Markwart, so powerful, held her at bay, retaliating with the power of a demon.

  Nightbird knew the danger of De'Unnero, knew that he had to fight a long and progressive dance, gaining one tiny advantage at a time. From their previous battle, he understood that De'Unnero was his equal, or near it, and that every movement must lead to something stronger, for this was a game of strategy, not a test of speed.

  One tiny advantage gained, leading to the next.

  And yet, how could the ranger endure such a prolonged, calculating dance when that ornate door at the end of the hall beckoned to him, when he knew Pony was beyond that portal, facing Markwart, a foe who had beaten her before? How could he wait?

  He charged powerfully at De'Unnero, closing ground and thrusting ahead with the unbalanced sword he had taken from the guard outside.

  De'Unnero leapt above and to the side, and came back at once, forcing the ranger to dodge, throwing himself against the wall for balance and swiping the sword harmlessly across.

  "He is torturing her," the monk teased, coming at the ranger, then sliding to the side, keeping between Nightbird and the door.

  Nightbird didn't take the bait. He came off the wall calmly, in full balance and control, reminding himself that he would do no good for Pony if he was lying dead out here. He skipped forward and stabbed, then fell back as De'Unnero, one arm now the arm of a tiger, countered with a sudden rush and swipe.

  Forward came the ranger, but the monk had measured Nightbird's reach and was retreating cautiously before the sword could get anywhere near the mark.

  And so it went, back and forth, with neither making any brazen offensive attacks and neither giving the other any opening.

  But then, from within the room, Pony cried ou
t.

  De'Unnero's smile was wide as he turned his gaze from the ranger to consider the door.

  Nightbird charged, stabbing and slashing.

  And De'Unnero charged, feinting a leap then diving to the ground, a more comfortable approach for his tiger legs, skittering under the extended sword and smashing the side of the ranger's knee, claws hooking and tearing and throwing the man to the ground.

  Nightbird rolled on his back and brought his sword up, forcing De'Unnero to skid to a sudden stop. The ranger used that break to roll backward, landing lightly on his feet and coming forward with two quick steps and a thrust to De'Unnero's shoulder. Had it been Tempest in the ranger's hand, the blade would have slashed right through, tearing muscle and splitting bone. But this sword nicked away.

  Still, the monk reeled with the pain and fell back, clutching at his human arm with his tiger paw.

  On came Nightbird, perfectly balanced. But he did not appreciate the true power of those feline legs. De'Unnero stumbled backward, then dug in his claws quickly —and launched himself at the ranger. He caught him between sword thrusts, slapped the blade aside, and drove on, slamming into him, locking Nightbird's arms at his sides in a powerful hug.

  And that hug was all the more deadly since one of the monk's hands carried the daggerlike claws of a great cat.

  Nightbird felt those claws digging into his back, near his kidney. With a great burst of strength, he believed that he could break the hold, but he recognized that in doing so, De'Unnero's tiger paw would tear half his back away! He dropped his sword and squirmed to get one hand up under the tight hold.

  De'Unnero clenched all the tighter, claws extending, stabbing deep holes.

  But Nightbird had his right arm under the tiger paw, and worked slowly with his superior strength to throw the monk off balance, to force De'Unnero to exert energy to keep his footing as well as his tight hold.