Demon Wars 01 - The Demon Awakens

by The Demon Awakens [lit]

  The ranger wasn't sure how to proceed. He felt that he should steal that bloody cap, as further proof for the townsfolk that danger was sweeping their way. Reports of goblins would do little more than stir up some interest and maybe incite a few patrols, Elbryan knew, a response he remembered from his own days as a villager. But a bloody cap tossed in their midst, proof that powries were in the region, might scare more than a few folk from their homes, might send them running down the road to the south.

  How to get the cap, though?

  Stealthy thievery seemed the order of the day. The four were down and resting; perhaps they would drift off to sleep. One of the goblins brought out a bulging waterskin, and as soon as the creature poured some of the foaming liquid into a mug, Elbryan knew that it held some potent drink indeed.

  Elbryan's blood began to boil with rage as the goblins talked of flattening the towns and killing all the men, as they described in detail the pleasures that might be had before they killed the women.

  The young man found his breath hard to draw; the brutish talk brought him back to that awful day in his youth, made him see again the carnage in Dundalis, made him hear again the screams of his family and his friends.

  All thoughts of stealthy thievery flew from the fierce ranger's mind.

  A few minutes later, one of the goblins went off a short distance into the brush to relieve itself. Elbryan could still see the creature, a darker spot in the brush, its back to him, swaying back and forth as it watered a bush.

  The ranger shifted slowly to a sitting position. He lifted an arrow to Hawkwing's string and gently pulled back. He glanced down at the other three, growing louder and more boisterous as they drank deeply. The dwarf was telling some rowdy story, the two goblins laughing riotously at every grotesque detail.

  Elbryan measured the words, waiting a moment longer, sensing that the dwarf was at some high point.

  Hawkwing's bowstring hummed, the arrow flying true, diving into the back of the peeing goblin's head. The creature gave a slight moan and tumbled headlong into the brush.

  The dwarf stopped abruptly and hopped to its feet, staring out into the night.

  The goblins were still laughing, though, one of them making some crude remark that its companion probably passed out on top of its own urine.

  The dwarf wasn't so sure and waved the pair to silence, then motioned for them to move out a bit.

  Up on the branch, the ranger fitted two arrows to his bow, one above the other and drew back the string. The two goblins paced out in front of the dwarf, side by side, calling softly to their missing companion, though neither seemed over-concerned.

  Elbryan shifted his bow to horizontal, took careful aim, and let fly. The arrows whipped out, not quite parallel, their angle separating them as they flew. They were two feet apart as each burrowed into its respective goblin, dropping the creatures where they stood. One made not a sound, the other, hit below a lung, let out an agonized howl.

  Elbryan leaped from the branch, letting fly another arrow in midair, this one silencing the wounded goblin forever. The ranger hit the ground in a roll, flicked the feathered tip and string from Hawkwing, and came to his feet, staff at the ready.

  The dwarf was ready, too, a two-headed flail spinning in its hands. It came on in a wild rush, showing no sign of fear.

  Elbryan leaped back, easily avoiding the short reach of the flail, then stepped ahead and poked hard with the tip of his staff, smacking the dwarf right in the face.

  The stout creature hardly slowed, rushing ahead, whipping its flail back and forth.

  Elbryan dodged and darted out to the side and, when the dwarf turned to chase, swinging its weapon with extended arms, Elbryan presented his staff vertically, both balls of the flail wrapping about it.

  The ranger pulled hard, expecting to take the weapon from the dwarf's hand, but the powrie was stronger than Elbryan believed, and only pulled back even harder. Always ready to improvise, Elbryan eased his muscles and ran straight ahead into the dwarf, turning his staff to smash its tip into the dwarf's face once more.

  Elbryan tugged again and the chained balls slipped off the staff's end, freeing both weapons. The ranger had the advantage, though, and he batted Hawkwing back and forth, clubbing the dwarf twice on either side of its hard head.

  The powrie retreated a step and shook its head fiercely, then, to Elbryan's disbelief, came charging right back in. Its swing was awkward, the flail coming in from a wide angle, and Elbryan thrust his staff out that way in one hand, enwrapping the balls once more. The ranger stepped straight ahead, cupped his fingers, flattened his palm, and slammed the powrie with a series of short heavy blows, each one snapping the dwarf's head back.

  His attacks showing little effect, the ranger spun to the side, grabbed up his staff in both hands, and tugged hard, pulling the flail free of the powrie's grasp and launching it across the clearing. Sensing that the furious dwarf would be charging again, Elbryan came all the way around and jabbed Hawkwing hard into the creature's throat, stopping it in its tracks.

  The ranger spun again and smashed the staff down diagonally across the powrie's jaw, cracking bone, but the dwarf only growled and pursued. Elbryan simply could not believe the punishment this creature had accepted!

  The powrie dipped its broad shoulder, trying to tackle the ranger. Elbryan set his feet and launched a vicious uppercut jab with the staff, using the powrie's momentum against it.

  But still the dwarf came on, locking its thin arms about Elbryan's waist and squeezing him tight, driving him back toward the trunk of the huge tree.

  The ranger dropped Hawkwing, reached behind him to his pack, and tore free his hatchet. With a growl, he chopped it down hard on the back of the powrie's neck.

  Still the dwarf drove him backward.

  Elbryan hit the creature again and again, then nearly lost his weapon when he collided with the tree, the powrie's legs driving on, as if the dwarf meant to push him right through the bark.

  And given the unearthly strength of the dwarf, Elbryan wondered if the creature might actually do so!

  Now the ranger's arm pumped frantically, and finally after perhaps the tenth blow, the powrie's grasp at last loosened.

  Elbryan timed his maneuver, hit the dwarf once more, then spun out to the side, and the overbalanced, semiconscious powrie ran headlong into the tree, hugging it now, holding on to it dearly, for if the dwarf let go, it knew it would fall to the ground.

  Elbryan walked up behind the creature and bashed his hatchet with all his strength into the back of the dwarf's neck, splintering bone. The powrie whimpered, but held on.

  Elbryan, horrified, hit it again, and the dwarf slumped to its knees, finally dead, but still hugging the tree.

  Elbryan looked at his weapons, so ineffective against the sturdy powrie. "I need a sword," the ranger lamented. He took the dwarf's cap and gathered up Hawkwing, quickly replacing the feathered tip and stringing the weapon. As he started out of the clearing, he heard a gasp, and turned and fitted an arrow so fluidly and quickly that the newest goblin that had stumbled upon the scene hardly moved before an arrow took it through the throat, sending it stumbling backward into another tree.

  Elbryan's next shot pierced its heart and drove deep into the tree behind it, and the goblin slumped, quite dead, but standing, pegged to the tree.

  The ranger ran off, arriving at the appointed spot as the moon settled behind the western horizon. Bradwarden and Symphony were waiting for him, the centaur bearing ill news. A section of the army had indeed broken off from this main group, so the tracks had shown, heading south and west.

  "End-o'-the-World," Elbryan reasoned.

  "They're near to the place already," said Bradwarden, "if not sleeping in the village itself."

  Elbryan hopped up on Symphony. There would be no sleep for him this night, he knew, nor the next.

  CHAPTER 38

  Mercy Repaid

  "Remain here," Elbryan bade Bradwarden when the pair reached the diam
ond-shaped grove, "or in the region, at least. See what the news is from Weedy Meadow and prepare the folk of Dundalis for the decision that will soon be before them."

  "The humans aren't much for talking to the likes of a centaur," Bradwarden reminded the ranger. "But I'll see what I can see and set me animal friends about to the north and west, looking for goblin sign. Ye're for End-o'-the-World, then?"

  Elbryan nodded. "I pray that I arrive in time, or that the three trappers got word to the folk."

  "Pray for the second, for hoping for the first, I fear, will be a waste o' yer time," Bradwarden replied. "And for the trappers, pray instead that the folk're smart enough to heed their words."

  Elbryan nodded grimly and tugged his reins, swinging Symphony about. The stallion was already lathered from the long run south, but Symphony had more heart than any other horse and understood his rider's urgency. Off the stallion pounded through the predawn forest, running on all through the next day. From one high hillock, Elbryan noted hopefully that no smoke appeared in the west, that End-o'-the-World apparently was not burning.

  Elbryan first noticed the ghostly figures moving through the mist as twilight descended. The ranger still had a dozen miles before him to get to End-o'-the-World, and so shapes moving through the forest, moving eastward, did not bode well. He brought Symphony up behind a thick tangle of white birch and strung Hawkwing, ready to fight all the way to the westernmost village if need be.

  Somewhere not far ahead and to the side, a small shadow glided through the trees, a slender form not much higher than Elbryan's waist. The ranger put up his bow and drew back, finding the mark. He saw the form stumble out of some brush and stagger along the trail. It was the right size for a goblin - a small one - but the way it moved did not seem right to the perceptive ranger. This was not a lead soldier in an army's march, but one exhausted, in desperate flight. The ranger waited a few moments longer as the figure neared, as it came out into a clearing under the moonlight.

  A young boy, no more than ten years.

  Elbryan prodded Symphony into a short gallop, too quickly for the frightened youngster to scramble away. The ranger bent low to the side and caught the fleeing boy under the arm, easily hoisting him up into the saddle, trying to quiet his cries.

  A movement from the other side caught the ranger's attention. He pushed down hard to secure the squirming youngster and swung about, Hawkwing in his free hand, ready to fend off an attack.

  The would be attacker skidded to an abrupt stop, recognizing the man.

  "Paulson," Elbryan breathed.

  "And to yerself, Nightbird," the large man replied. "Be easy on the boy. He's been through the fighting."

  Elbryan looked down to his diminutive captive. "End-o'-the-World?" he asked.

  Paulson nodded grimly.

  Other people walked into the small clearing then, dirty, many with wounds, and all with that hollow, shocked expression showing that they had just come through hell.

  "Goblins and giants hit the place two days after we arrived," Paulson explained.

  "And dwarves," added Cric, coming into the clearing beside Chipmunk. "Nasty folk!"

  "Powries," remarked Elbryan, holding up the cap he had procured.

  "We got some o' the folk on the road south before the fight," Paulson went on, "some smart enough to hear our words o' doom. But most stayed. Stubborn."

  Elbryan nodded, thinking of his own village. Few in Dundalis would have left even if they knew a goblin force was coming to avenge the goblin that had been killed by the hunting party. They would have stayed and fought and died, because Dundalis was their home and, in truth, they had nowhere else to go.

  "They came in hard, Nightbird," Paulson went on, shaking his head, "and in numbers I'd not've believed possible had I not seen the army in the north for meself. We got out, me and Cric and Chipmunk, and we took about a score of folk with us, running blind through the woods these few days, thinking that we've got goblins on our heels all the way."

  Elbryan closed his eyes, sympathetic to the tale, understanding completely the plight of these people, the horrible emptiness that some of them now felt, the complete hopelessness.

  "There is a sheltered meadow two hundred yards from this spot," Elbryan told Paulson, the ranger pointing back the way he had come. "Take your band there and huddle together to fend off the cold. I will scout out the lands west and return quickly, that we might make our choice."

  Paulson gave a quick nod. "We could be using some rest," he admitted.

  Elbryan let the boy down to Paulson's waiting grasp, and the ranger was touched by how gently the bearish man handled the youngster. He sat for a while atop Symphony, regarding the refugees, wondering what he might do for these people.

  Then he set off, riding hard through the moonlit woods. He was out an hour and more before he decided that there were no goblins in the area, no dwarves, and certainly no giants. Elbryan thought that a curious thing; why hadn't the wretched humanoids pursued the fleeing humans? And why, he wondered, had the western sky been clear of smoke? Surely the goblins would have burned End-o'-the-World, as they had burned Dundalis years before.

  Back at the sheltered meadow, Elbryan gave his permission for the refugees to start a couple of low fires. It was risky setting a light in the dark forest, but these folk sorely needed the warmth.

  Elbryan slipped down from Symphony at the side of the meadow, bade the horse to stay in the area and listen close for his call, then he went into the small encampment and found a place about the fire with the three trappers.

  "I would have thought that you three would take the south road with those who were wise enough to flee," Elbryan remarked after a short, uncomfortable silence. The ranger noted then the way Cric looked hard at Paulson, the way Paulson kept his own gaze low to the fire.

  "Wasn't time," the big man replied unconvincingly.

  Elbryan paused for a long while, studying Paulson, trying to find some clue to this uncharacteristically chivalrous action. Finally, Paulson looked up, locking stares with the ranger.

  "So we're with ye, then," the big man growled. "But don't ye think for a moment that we three give a beaver's damn for Honce-the-Bear or any town between here and Ursal!"

  "Then why?" Elbryan asked simply.

  Paulson looked down at the fire. He stood up and kicked a stick that had fallen from the flames, then walked off.

  Elbryan looked at the man's companions. Cric motioned across the way to the boy Elbryan had captured.

  "Paulson had a boy once," Cric explained, "about the same years as that one. Fell from a tree and breaked his neck."

  "That one there lost his folk, by me own guess," Chipmunk added.

  "You could have gotten away," said Elbryan, "to the south."

  Cric started to respond, eagerly and angrily, it seemed to Elbryan, but the tall man went silent as Paulson stormed back over to the fire.

  "And I'm not liking smelly goblins!" the large man snarled. "I mean to get me enough goblin ears so that a single gold piece bounty'll put me in a big house with a dozen serving wenches on a hundred acres o' land!"

  Elbryan nodded and smiled, trying to calm the brute, but Paulson only kicked the dirt again and stormed away. It was more than any bounty, the ranger knew. And, given the fact that Cric and Chipmunk had remained, it was more than the tale of a child lost. These three, for all their faults and all their vocal protests, carried some degree of humanity within them. Whatever complaints Cric and Chipmunk might offer, they had remained in the area because of the refugees, out of simple compassion.

  In the end, Elbryan hardly cared what reason Paulson or the others gave for staying. Given the increasingly desperate situation about him, Elbryan was only glad to have these trappers, fierce fighters who knew the area as well as - or even better than - he, on his side.

  The next day, Elbryan set the refugees on their way for Dundalis, if possible, though he gave Paulson several alternate choices, caves and sheltered vales. Then the ranger set off,
riding hard for End-o'-the-World, looking for answers or hints of what might yet come, and hoping to find more refugees.

  The forest was perfectly quiet as he neared the town. Still, he saw no smoke blackening the sky. He left Symphony in the forest and moved tree to tree, crossing past goblin sentries undetected, at last finding a good vantage point on the edge of the village.

  Goblins, dwarves, and giants swarmed in the place, moving as if this were their home. Elbryan saw the bodies, dozens of dead, human and humanoid, thrown in a ditch on the western edge of town, but this was not as the sack of Dundalis had been. The buildings showed very little damage; none had been burned. Did the humanoid army mean to settle here? Or, as the ranger thought much more likely, did they mean to use End-o'-the-World as a base camp, a supply depot?

  Elbryan didn't like the prospects. From End-o'-the-World, this force could swing south and then east, cutting off the roads for any people fleeing Weedy Meadow or Dundalis, the next obvious targets. And if the humanoids didn't sack the town, that indicated they meant to continue on.

  Elbryan recalled the image of the vast encampment. The humanoids could indeed advance, and the ranger had to wonder if all the men of Honce-the-Bear could even slow them.

  He could do nothing here, so he thought, and he turned to leave, picking the course that would get him back through the forest to Symphony.

  Then the ranger heard the cry, a child's cry, from a house nearby.

  Elbryan squatted low and considered his options. He could hardly leave such a desperate wail, but if he was caught here, then the information he possessed might never reach Weedy Meadow or Dundalis. There was more at stake here than his own life.

  But the cry sounded again, seconded by another whimper, that of a woman.

  Elbryan dashed across the clearing between two houses, held still long enough to survey the area, then ran on to the house in question.

  "A meal for a dog!" he heard inside, a harsh voice, like that of the powrie he had killed. "You get me some proper food or I'll eat the arm from your ugly son!"