"That much has been proven," Jingo agreed.
"Then rest easy, for Andur'Blough Inninness is not so far," Juraviel said to him. "Consider yourself blessed to look upon the elven valley of mists." There was an unconscious edge to that last statement, reflecting Juraviel's own doubts about this decision to take humans to the secret valley. True, Elbryan had been taken in and trained; true, Lady Dasslerond had allowed Juraviel, Tuntun, and the others to go out to find the ranger and help him with his fight. But to take humans to Andur'Blough Inninness without the express permission of Lady Dasslerond was indeed a stretch of the Lady's compassion, and Juraviel was not certain that the troop wouldn't simply be turned away; perhaps the paths into the misty valley would be altered and hidden even from Juraviel. Lady Dasslerond was merciful, the elf knew, but she was, above that, pragmatic and protective of her realm. The welfare of the Touel'alfar she placed above all else, perhaps even above the lives of a score of unfortunate human refugees.
Despite the hints of doubt in Juraviel's tone, Jingo Gregor seemed satisfied with the words - a speech Juraviel had offered to the man several times over the last few days. Juraviel held nothing but sympathy for this ragged group, many of whom had lost loved ones in the goblin raids upon their homes, and most of whom had been tortured and violated by the wretched creatures. The elf would offer those comforting words to any and all, as often as they needed to hear them, reassuring the poor folk even though he himself wasn't so certain of the outcome.
Jingo Gregor moved off then, back to the warmth of the campfire and his eighteen companions. Juraviel, too, moved back toward the campfire, tightening his perimeter watch, though the humans had no idea of the elf's movements, so silent was he as he crossed the higher boughs of the budding trees.
The fire burned low - it had never been truly high, for Juraviel opted for caution, though he was fairly certain there were no monsters in the area, no organized groups anyway. Now the fire was no more than embers, their orange glow casting faint illumination over the resting forms of the humans, the light seeming appropriate for the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping folk.
Juraviel, too, was near to sleep, the elf comfortably nestled in the V of a high branch. He should have been watching the ground, he knew, but in accord with the wistful nature of his kind, his eyes kept lifting skyward to the stars and the mysteries.
And then to something else, something darker and more sinister, moving swiftly across the sky, heading for the camp, for Juraviel. The elf sensed the presence of the demon dactyl as surely as the dactyl sensed him, felt the awfulness, the sheerest of evil, the coldest of deathly chill.
With great effort, Juraviel pulled his thoughts from the night sky and the approach of doom and slipped quickly, down, branch to branch, finally dropping right in the middle of the camp. He ran about, kicking at feet, whispering harshly, until all the humans were roused.
"Be gone!" the elf commanded. "Flee to the forest in groups of five and four, each in a direction of your own!"
Questions came at him, and at the stupefied leaders of the group, but Juraviel did not relent. "Tarry not!" the elf warned "For death comes on wing! Be gone to the forest!"
The dactyl was close, so close! The humans scrambled, trying to gather some things, trying to put on boots, at least, as they stumbled and were pulled to the darkness of the forest night.
Juraviel remained at the glowing fire pit until all had gone, his eyes ever skyward, looking for the blackest of forms.
He felt it, he saw it, the dactyl swooping down from on high, rushing past the tangle of branches with hardly a care, spinning at the last moment, halting its descent to land lightly on the ground opposite the diminutive elf.
Juraviel drew out his slender sword but wondered what use it might be against the horrific demon. He prayed that all the folk would rush back in at the monster and join in his fight, but it was a wish that the elf had to dismiss, knowing that if the folk did come to his aid, they would all perish with him.
"Touel'alfar," the demon dactyl remarked in its mighty voice. "Not many are your kind. Not so strong, not so strong."
"Be gone from this place, demon," Juraviel responded in as firm a voice as he could muster. "You have no hold over me, no claim to my heart or my soul. I am the master here, and I reject you and your lies!"
The dactyl laughed at him, mocking his words and his courage, making him feel like an insignificant thing. "Why do you believe that I want claim to such worthless things as your heart and soul, elf?" the demon growled. "Your heart, perhaps," Bestesbulzibar teased, "that I might feast upon it, savoring the sweet blood of a Touel'alfar."
As he spoke, Bestesbulzibar slowly began to circle the fire, and Juraviel moved as well, keeping the embers between him and the demon - though when he thought about it, the elf realized that the flames, were they blazing high, would prove no barrier at all to the creature of the fiery pits of the underworld.
"Why are you out, Touel'alfar?" Bestesbulzibar asked. "Why are you away from your valley - yes, I know of your valley. I have seen many things since I have awakened, foolish elf, and I know that your kind is diminished greatly, that your world is smaller now, a mere canyon in a world that is grown too wide and too human. So why are you away, elf? What is it that brings you so far from home?"
"The darkness of the demon dactyl," Juraviel answered firmly. "Your shadow has roused the Touel'alfar, foul beast, for you are not unknown to us."
"But what shall you do about Bestesbulzibar?" the dactyl roared suddenly, and sudden, too, was the monster's rush, a quick burst right across the fire, scattering embers in a blinding shower. Juraviel struck fast and hard with his small sword, scoring a solid hit, but that hardly slowed the great beast whose armored hide held even the elvish blade at bay, whose clawed hand slapped the sword from Juraviel's hand while the demon's other hand grabbed the elf by the throat, lifting him easily up into the air.
"Oh," Bestesbulzibar moaned, as if in ecstasy. "I could tear it out, elf," the demon teased, running the claws of his free hand over Juraviel's tiny chest, "and hold it up before your eyes, biting into its red flesh even as you watched it beat its last."
"I do not fear you," Juraviel gasped with what little breath, remained to him.
"Then you are a fool," Bestesbulzibar replied. "Do you know what comes after life, elf? Do you know what awaits you?" The demon laughed wickedly, bellowing thunderously into the still night.
"No torment. . ." Juraviel gasped.
"For you are true of heart," Bestesbulzibar mimicked evilly, and then the beast laughed again all the louder. "No torment," the fiend agreed. "Nothing! Do you hear? Nothing, elf. There is no afterlife for a miserable wretch such as thee! Only unknowing blackness. Savor your precious seconds; foolish elf. Beg me to let you see one more dawn."
Juraviel said nothing. He tried hard to hold to his faith, whose precepts insisted that a good life would indeed be rewarded in the afterlife. He considered Garshan Inodiel, who was God to the elves, a god of justice and promise, not unlike the god of the humans. But in the face of the darkness that was Bestesbulzibar, Belli'mar Juraviel knew despair.
"But why are you out?" the demon asked again, giving a sidelong, scrutinizing, glance at the elf. "And what do you know?"
Juraviel closed his eyes and said nothing. He expected to be tortured, to have his limbs torn from his body, perhaps, until he confessed all he knew, until he betrayed his friends who had gone to the Barbacan. No, I must not think of that! the elf told himself firmly, and he turned his thoughts once more to Garshan Inodiel, trying to blanket everything else under the serenity of his God.
But then, in perhaps the worst torture of all to the valiant Touel'alfar, Juraviel felt the encroachment, felt the dark and cold presence of Bestesbulzibar creeping into his thoughts, scouring his mind. He opened his eyes in horror to see the demon's contorted features, flaming eyes closed as Bestesbulzibar concentrated, using his magic to scour the elf's brain.
Juraviel fought valiantly, but
he was overmatched. The more he tried not to think of Elbryan and the others, the more they were revealed to Bestesbulzibar. The demon would get what it wanted, he feared, would devour him, and then would be off to devour his friends!
"Avelyn," Bestesbulzibar whispered.
"No!" Juraviel cried, and he kicked out with all his strength, his foot slamming the demon right in the eye. The wriggling elf broke free and tumbled to the ground. He tried to scamper away, but Bestesbulzibar towered over him, looking down, laughing, teasing.
"You do not belong here," came a sudden, melodious voice, one that caught and held the demon's attention. Both Bestesbulzibar and Juraviel turned to see Lady Dasslerond come out of the brush, flanked by a dozen other elves, bows and swords in hand.
"You live still!" the demon howled at the sight of the Lady of Caer'alfar, an elf he had known centuries before.
"And you walk Corona again," the Lady replied, "and surely all of the world weeps at the sight."
"Surely all of the world should!" Bestesbulzibar retorted. "Where is your Terranen Dinoniel now, Dasslerond? Who will stand before me this time?" As he spoke the last, he turned his ominous gaze upon Juraviel, and the poor elf shook with the fear that he had given his friends away.
"Who, Dasslerond?" the demon insisted. "You or this pitiful elf that cowers before me?" Bestesbulzibar looked all around at the encircling sprites, and laughed more loudly than ever. "All of you together, then? Well done, I say; and let us commence. Better for me that the nuisance of the Touel'alfar be done with here and now!"
"I'll not fight you," Lady Dasslerond replied coolly. "Not here." That said, she held aloft a huge green gemstone, shining with power, its illumination turning everything in the area a shade of green - everything except Bestesbulzibar, for the shadow of the demon could not be overcome by any light.
"What trick is this?"' the fiend protested. "What foolish-" The words were lost in the demon's throat as all the world began to shift and change, features blending together in a greenish mist and then growing clear again, crystalline under the stars, bright and beautiful.
They were in Andur'Blough Inninness, - all of them. Lady Dasslerond and Juraviel, all the elves and the refugees, and Bestesbulzibar.
"What trick?" the fiend roared, suddenly angry, suddenly recognizing that he should not be in this place, the very heart of elvish power.
"I invite you to my home, creature of shadow," Lady Dasslerond answered, her voice edged with weariness from the tremendous exertion of power it had taken to transport the group - or, in effect, to change the very ground beneath their feet. "You cannot defeat me here, not now."
The demon growled and considered the words, felt the strength of the Lady and her fellows in this, their domain. "But soon," Bestesbulzibar promised.
The Lady held aloft the green gemstone, the heart of Andur'Blough Inninness, now shining fiercely.
Bestesbulzibar's unearthly roar, one of pain and outrage, stole her breath. "So you saved the pitiful elf and the humans he escorted," the fiend sneered. "What good will it prove when all the world is mine?" Out came the black wings and the demon dactyl lifted away to the hum of elvish bows, the melodious tumult of elvish insults.
Any true joy felt by the Touel'alfar at the demon dactyl's retreat was short-lived, though. By necessity, Lady Dasslerond had allowed Bestesbulzibar to tread upon this, their most sacred and secret of places, and though the fiend was correct, Bestesbulzibar could not yet face them all in Andur'Blough Inninness, they had done nothing to diminish the demon.
Juraviel joined Lady Dasslerond as she stood over the spot from where Bestesbulzibar had departed. The ground that had been under the fiend's clawed feet was blackened and torn.
"A wound that will not heal," the Lady said despondently.
Juraviel knelt to better inspect the ground. He could smell the rot there; the earth itself was tainted from the fiend's presence.
"A festering wound that will slowly spread," the Lady admitted. "We must tend the ground about this spot vigilantly, for if ever we fail to counter with our magic and our song the rot that is Bestesbulzibar, it will grow within our valley."
Juraviel sighed and looked hopelessly at his Lady, his guilt obvious upon his fair face.
"The dactyl grows strong," she said, not accusingly.
"I have failed."
Lady Dasslerond looked at him incredulously.
"The demon knows," Juraviel admitted. "The demon knows of Elbryan, of Avelyn, and the plan."
"Then pity Elbryan," the Lady replied. "Or hold faith in Nightbird and in Brother Avelyn, whose heart is true. They went north to do battle with Bestesbulzibar, and so they shall."
Juraviel continued to look down upon the black scar that the demon had left upon the ground of his precious home. Indeed, Bestesbulzibar had grown strong to so taint the very land of Andur'Blough Inninness. Juraviel's Lady had bid him to hold faith, and so he would, but the fear was obvious on his face as he looked from the scar to the north.
"And now we have duties," Lady Dasslerond went on, speaking more loudly, directing her words at all the elves. "All of us. We have unexpected guests who must be comforted and then taken from our homeland to a place of their own kind, a place of safety - if any place in the world remains safe." She looked back down at the black scar upon her beautiful valley. "We have much work to do," she said softly.
CHAPTER 49
Hunted
"The terrain grows more wild, Uncle Mather, more fitting to the nature of our enemies. The trees are older, never harvested by humans, and darker. The animals do not fear us, do not respect our weapons or our cunning."
Elbryan rested back against the diagonal tree root in this impromptu room of Oracle, digesting his own words. They were true enough; in this region so far to the north of any known human settlements, all the world seemed somehow larger and more imposing. The towering mountains that formed the dread Barbacan loomed less than a day's march away, dominating the northern horizon, making the travelers feel smaller still.
"It brings me mixed feelings," the ranger went on. "I fear for our safety - will I be able to protect my friends, not necessarily from the threats of our enemy but from the simple truths of survival in this region? And yet, out here, I am somewhat more free than ever, more true to the training the elves have given me. There is no room for error in the far north, no margin of safety, and that keeps me ever vigilant, on my guard, tingling with wariness. I am afraid, and thus, I am alive."
Again, Elbryan sat back, smiling at the irony of it all. I am afraid, and thus, I am alive.
"If given the opportunity, most people would choose a life of quiet luxury," he said softly, "would choose to surround themselves with servants, with concubines, even. That is their mistake, for out here, danger ever present, I am ten times more alive than ever they could be. And with the challenge that is Pony and with the challenge I hope that I pose for her I am many times more satisfied. It is, I believe, the difference between physical satisfaction and true lovemaking, the difference between release and passion. I may die soon following this course before me, but out here, at one with my spirit and my nature, on the edges of catastrophe, I have lived many times more than most will ever know.
"So I do not regret this journey that fate has laid before me, Uncle Mather, nor do I regret that the others - Bradwarden and Avelyn, Paulson and Chipmunk, and most of all, Pony - have been swept along this course. I pity Belli'mar Juraviel, that he could not see it through, that duty turned his path."
Elbryan put his chin in his palm, resting, thinking, and staring always at the faint image at the corner of the mirror. It was true, all of it; he hated the death and the suffering, of course, but he could not deny his excitement, and the sense of righteousness, the belief that he was indeed making a difference in the world.
He looked closely at Mather's image, seeking a smile of approval or a frown that would indicate his feelings were not true but merely a contrived defense against despair. He looked closely, and he
saw a shadow beginning to creep in across the glassy surface within the depths of the mirror. The ranger sighed, thinking this a sign of disapproval, thinking that he might have fallen into a trap of justifications, but gradually he came to understand that it was not a cloud emanating from Mather or from his own true feelings. Elbryan began to understand that it was something else, something darker by far.
Elbryan sat bolt upright, unblinking. "Uncle Mather?" he asked breathlessly, a coldness creeping into his very body.
A coldness, a blackness, a living death.
The ranger's mind was whirling, trying to make sense of the undeniable event. Only one creature could bring such darkness, he realized, and then, suddenly, he understood. Whether Mather had facilitated the warning from the other side of life, or whether it was simply a connection wrought of the magic of Oracle, Elbryan neither knew nor cared. What he did know was that the demon dactyl was searching for him; for them, sending its otherworldly vision out far and wide.
Fear gripped Elbryan as he realized that his own use of Oracle might be helping his enemy locate him and his friends. He leaped up, slamming his head against the roots and ground that formed the cave's ceiling, and rushed to the mirror, turning it down, breaking all connection. He scrambled for the exit then, pulling down the blanket and wrapping it about the mirror, then crawled out into the waning daylight, calling for Avelyn.
* * *
From the flow of molten lava, the demon dactyl pulled its latest creation - a glowing spike, a tapering spear - and held it aloft.
"Fools all." The beast laughed, eyeing its masterpiece, a weapon that would find and destroy the pitiful humans seeking Aida. Into the spike, the beast sent its vision, the telltale tracings of human-woven magic. Into the spike, the demon sent its power, the strength of the underworld, the strength to burn.
Then the beast called to its elite guards, the armored giants, and to their leader, Togul Dek.
Demon Wars 01 - The Demon Awakens Page 60
