DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga)

by R. A. Salvatore

  Two days after their arrival, on a day when the weather was too fine for hunting, the whole of Tuber’s Creek joined together at the abandoned house, and by the time the sun set that evening, the place was again habitable.

  “The warmth of homely home,” De’Unnero said, somewhat sarcastically, when the villagers had all left and he and Sadye were alone. “Soon we must obtain all of the best furnishings!”

  Sadye laughed heartily, sharing his obvious disdain for the commonplace. “As warm as you make it,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “Even a peasant’s shelter can be charmed, for it is not where you are that is important. It is what you do while you are there.”

  It was an invitation that Marcalo De’Unnero had no intention of refusing.

  Much later that night, with a fire burning in the fireplace before them, while Sadye played and sang quiet songs of love lost and wars won, De’Unnero allowed himself to truly relax, to reflect upon his past achievements and errors, to consider his life’s course to this point, even to ponder what road he might next walk.

  When he considered his present company and her refreshing take on the world, no course seemed improbable, his options limitless.

  But his options seemed limited indeed when he considered that he could not walk those roads alone, or even just with Sadye, when he reminded himself that another creature would always accompany him.

  He basked in her song, then, and in the quiet crackle of the fire, not allowing his frustrations to tickle and tempt the release of his darker side.

  Aydrian figured that he was closing in on Roadapple, for he had put over fifteen miles behind him, but still, he saw no sign of any bandits. The one road was clear—and had been all the way south.

  When he at last came in sight of the town, nestled in a small wooded valley between two round-topped hillocks, he veered east. Perhaps the bandits had taken up a position on the southern road out of Roadapple, he thought, so when he had circled the small village, the road in sight again, he turned south and started to follow it.

  Thinking he had found his prey, Aydrian smiled widely when he saw movement in the brush along the side of the road. He kept on walking nonchalantly, one hand resting easily on the pommel of his belted sword, the other holding a graphite and a lodestone. He focused his thoughts on the graphite first, ready to loose a stunning bolt should the enemy spring upon him.

  And so they did as he continued his stroll—more than a dozen men, many holding bows, leaping from concealment, shouting at him, some charging at him.

  Aydrian released the graphite energy, not in a concentrated and devastating bolt, as he had learned, but rather in a general shock, a force that radiated, crackling in the air.

  A few of the ambushers tumbled to the ground, mostly those who had been charging and suddenly found that they had temporarily lost control of their legs. All of them felt the stunning blast, felt the disorientation. One archer let fly, his arrow soaring nearly straight up in the air, while another stood shaking as his arrow fell from his grasp.

  Aydrian, thinking his victory at hand, drew his sword and leaped ahead, closing fast on a pair of seemingly helpless men.

  And then … he stopped and stared at them, suddenly seeing them not as bandits but as farmers and hunters. Realizing his vulnerability, he rushed ahead again in a moment, seizing the closest man and putting his sword tip to the man’s throat.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Shoot him dead!” the doomed man cried. “Kill him, for he’s the one, to be sure, that taked ol’ Tellie’s heart out!”

  Aydrian gawked, confused for just a moment, before it registered what was going on here. These were no bandits but were a group from Roadapple, out to secure the road.

  “Hold! Hold! Hold!” the young man shouted, spinning away from the villager. “I am no highwayman but have come, as you have, to rid the area of the vermin. I am Aydrian.… I am Tai’maqwilloq, ranger of Festertool, sworn protector of the region.”

  All around him came doubting, confused murmurs, but the archers did hold their shots, and a couple even lowered their bows.

  “I heared o’ him,” one man said after an uncomfortable few moments. “He cleared the river. That was yerself, eh?”

  Aydrian held his sword out wide and bowed low.

  “Bah,” spat the man Aydrian had just released. “Just a boy!”

  “A boy with power,” another chimed in. “Ye felt his shock. And how’d ye do that, boy?”

  Aydrian put on a confident look. “Return to Roadapple in the knowledge that the road will soon again be secured.”

  “Because we mean to secure it,” the man he had released, his pride obviously wounded, snapped back.

  “As you will, then,” Aydrian said, bowing again. “Lie in ambush if you choose, but I’ll not join you.”

  “Who asked ye?”

  “But I will return to you,” Aydrian promised, ignoring the comment. “You will learn the truth of Tai’maqwilloq, the Nighthawk.”

  “Fancy name,” Aydrian heard one man grumble as he started away, sliding his sword back into his belt as he went. The young man only smiled all the wider, for he meant to live up to every implication of that lofty title.

  He spent the rest of that day and all of the next searching the area for signs of the bandits, but to his dismay he found nothing definite. Either the highwaymen weren’t in the area, and hadn’t been for a while, or they were very good at covering their tracks.

  Frustrated after yet another fruitless day, Aydrian set his camp in the open on a hillock that night and brought up a blazing fire. He wanted to be a target, though it occurred to him that being so very obvious might imply to the bandits that he and the camp were no more than decoys. Frustration fanned the flames of that campfire, and only then did Aydrian realize how badly he wanted—no, not wanted, but actually needed—to find the highwaymen. This was the first opportunity for him to begin to separate himself from ordinary men, and Aydrian was already beginning to understand that such chances in times of peace would be rare indeed.

  His agitation had him pacing long into the night; though after a while, he gave up believing his beacon fire would bring the highwaymen to him and he let the flames die down. But even as the fire dwindled, his frustration mounted, and Aydrian finally took a deep breath and realized that he was losing his edge, the fine calm that kept a warrior’s thoughts clear and focused in times of crisis. He immediately found a comfortable place to sit and reached for his gemstones, seeking the smooth and inviting depths of the hematite.

  He used the magic of the gemstone much as he used it at Oracle then, to fall deeper within himself that he might more clearly define his honest feelings and perhaps guide those thoughts along more positive avenues.

  But then something happened that the young man did not quite understand: the gemstone pulled him deeper into its magic, asked him to step right into that gray swirl, and thus to step right out of his own body!

  Aydrian recoiled, stunned and afraid. The mere thought that he could somehow separate his spirit and body horrified him—wasn’t that the province of death, after all? And this was not like the time when he had entered the spirit realm briefly to do battle with Lady Dasslerond. No, this time he would fly free, truly free, of his corporeal form.

  Despite his very real reservations, the young man didn’t shut out the gemstone altogether, kept enough of the magic swirling and speaking to him so that he could further explore this darker side of hematite. For a long, long time, Aydrian sat there, oblivious of the potentially disastrous consequence should the highwaymen walk into his camp and simply murder him. Transfixed, he moved closer and closer to that narrow opening, sidling bits of his spirit up to it, trying to peer beyond, hoping secretly that he might be seeing the other side of death itself.

  A little closer he went, allowing the opening to widen, peering in.

  Peering in, and then widening it a bit more, following his curiosity almost blindly into this promising and dangerous tunnel.<
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  And then, suddenly it seemed—though in truth more than an hour had passed—he fell free of his body, was standing across the fire staring back at his unmoving form.

  After the moment of horror passed, Aydrian realized that he could return to his body whenever he wanted. He could see it as a glowing spot in the darkness of the spirit world. The hematite was there, holding open the portal. Aydrian’s trepidation gradually diminished. He turned away from his physical body, looking at the wider world around him through spirit eyes. With the fear gone, he found that he felt free, freer than ever he thought possible! He wondered why the Touel’alfar hadn’t shown him this side of the hematite. Perhaps they didn’t know of it, or perhaps Lady Dasslerond had been afraid to show him this power, fearing that he would fly out of her valley, fly beyond her control.

  For, yes, he knew intuitively he could fly, his spirit could soar on the night breezes or of its own accord. He tested it, circling the hillock. Aydrian found he could see and sense the spirits of all the animals nearby, could feel their life force, an amazing sensation of heightened perception that absolutely delighted him.

  And gave him an idea.

  He soared out, looking through spirit eyes, and even more than that, feeling through spirit senses. All the life around him registered to him—the trees and the grass and the animals—and Aydrian was soon able to differentiate between even the subtle gradations in spirit types. Within a few minutes of his spirit-walking journey, Aydrian could tell the difference between a squirrel and a deer without needing to see the creature.

  He was covering enormous amounts of ground with merely a thought. He went right through Roadapple, where a few sentries remained, despite the late hour. At that moment, Aydrian learned an even darker aspect of this spiritual walk, for as he passed a few of the sentries, he felt a sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to rush into one of their forms, to expel the spirit of the man and take the body as his own. He almost did it—and knew that he could, with little resistance—but he wisely held back, fighting the temptation, guessing that the expelled spirit would sooner or later find its way back into its body and then might remember enough about the possession to identify the violator. That wasn’t the reputation Nighthawk wished to build for himself on the frontier.

  He rushed out of the town, needing to be far away from the temptation, for as stubborn and confident as he was, Aydrian recognized that there was real danger here.

  For another hour, the spirit of Aydrian soared through the forest all around Roadapple, when finally, just as he was thinking that it was time to return to his body, he saw the glow of a distant campfire and felt the emanation of human life and another even stronger spiritual sensation.

  He soared in eagerly, flying into the treetops above the small camp. He saw five men, dirty and unshaven, and a pair of women who seemed equally grubby, but he hardly paid them any heed, for there, reclining against a tree, loomed a sight beyond Aydrian’s wildest expectations. A giant rested there, laughing and joking. It quickly became apparent to Aydrian that the brute was the leader of the band—or at least that he didn’t take orders from the others.

  Aydrian stayed around for a while, listening, confirming that they were indeed the bandits that had been terrorizing the region. While he hovered in the high branches and watched, three of the robbers took out some of their ill-gotten gains and began gaming for them with carved bones. Aydrian watched a bit longer, trying to find some measure of each of the thieves, looking for strengths and weaknesses. Then he eagerly retreated, soaring back to his body. He initially figured to sleep the night out, then go for the band in the morning, but he was too energized even to think about sleeping, and soon found himself walking down from his camp, heading in a straight line for the highwaymen.

  He fumbled through his gemstones as he walked, trying to formulate some attack plans. Seven humans awaited him, vicious and experienced killers, to say nothing of their burly, twenty-foot-tall companion!

  Yes, the gemstones would have to play a part in this fight, Aydrian decided, and in a more dramatic way than he had used them against the sentries of Roadapple. Could he bring forth a lightning stroke powerful enough to fell a giant? he wondered.

  But, again, the prospects did not deter the young man, did not daunt him in the least. If anything, the realization that this band might prove formidable only made Aydrian more determined and eager to go after them.

  Dawn broke long before he ever got near the encampment, and he wondered if he should find a secluded place to hole up and fall into the gemstone magic again. Before he could even seriously consider the option, though, he learned that he did not have to seek the highwaymen any further.

  “Stand where ye are!” came a barking command, and one of the men he had seen the previous night walked out into the middle of a rough path before him, a long, curved dagger in hand. “A pity to have to cut up one as young as yerself.”

  “What do you want?” Aydrian called, feigning ignorance. He drew out his sword, and had his graphite tucked neatly in the palm of his weapon hand, against the pommel. He dropped his other hand into his pocket, picking up the lodestone.

  A movement to the side caught his attention, but he did well not to let on that he had heard the rustle. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a second man, one of the ones he had surmised to be among the most formidable of the group, holding a large spear. Aydrian sent his thoughts through the lodestone, trying to sense any other metal the robber might be holding. He felt the emanations of several pieces, most notably a pendant the man wore about his neck.

  “Aw, don’t ye kill him,” came a feminine voice behind Aydrian. He was a bit surprised—and impressed—that one had been able to move behind him without his hearing it. “Let me keep him as me pet.”

  A laugh followed—from the other woman, Aydrian knew.

  So one was before him, one to the side, and two behind. That left three men unaccounted for. And, more important to Aydrian, the giant had not yet shown itself.

  “Ye just remove all yer weapons, all yer belongin’s, and all yer clothes, boy,” yet another man called, from the other side. “Then we might be lettin’ ye go, or, if Danyelle there likes what she’s seein’, we might be takin’ ye along.”

  Aydrian made no move, just sent his thoughts into his two gemstones, building their energies. He hadn’t seen any bows, here or in the camp the previous night, but he thought that an area shock might be a good way to start things.

  “Ye deaf, boy?” yelled the man in the path ahead, and he advanced a step. Another man dropped to the ground from his concealment in a tree behind him. “Ye start droppin’ things or we’ll start cuttin’ ye up.”

  One man missing, Aydrian thought, and still no sign of the giant.

  “Ye deaf, boy?” the man directly ahead yelled, seeming even angrier as if he was quickly losing control. He advanced more determinedly then, brandishing his knife.

  Aydrian heard a slight sound behind him and instinctively ducked, and an arrow whistled by. Up rose Aydrian, and he sent forth a stunning shock and followed it quickly sending a sudden violent burst of energy into the lodestone, building its power to explosive levels, focusing its beam upon the pendant, and letting it fly off. It cracked through the air loudly, so fast was its flight, then hit the man on Aydrian’s right; and the young ranger knew he would have nothing further to fear from that one.

  With all of the others about him still staggering from the lightning shock, Aydrian leaped ahead, his sword rushing out, rolling to the inside of the long dagger, catching the smaller blade and pushing it to the side. A quick, perfectly balanced charge of bi’nelle dasada sent Aydrian forward, sword stabbing hard. The highwayman managed to duck a bit, catching the blade in his shoulder instead of his chest, but he fell hard to the ground and began howling and rolling, grasping at his bleeding wound.

  Aydrian ran past the falling man toward his companion, who still stood beneath the tree. The ranger stopped short, though, and spun to see both wo
men and the man from his left charging his way.

  Stubborn, he thought. He continued his turn, meeting the charge of the man before him. A sword arced down, coming diagonally for the side of Aydrian’s neck. An awkward attack, it seemed to the young warrior. He moved as if he meant to try to parry the diving blade, but then, at the last second, Aydrian dropped into a low crouch, and the highwayman, caught by surprise and overbalanced, stumbled forward, his sword wavering.

  Up came Aydrian, advancing even as the man stumbled forward. He felt his already bloody sword sink in again, this time all the way to the hilt. The man was up against Aydrian then, his eyes and mouth wide in astonishment. But not pain, Aydrian noticed wonderingly, for he could see his sword, dripping blood, sticking out the man’s back!

  Aydrian felt his stomach turn as he saw the light go out of the man’s eyes, but he had to ignore the sickly feeling, for the others were quickly advancing. He shoved the dead man back and pulled his sword free, spinning into a ready position.

  The remaining three screamed and yelled in outrage, and came in hard but stopped short.

  And where was the giant?

  One of the women began screaming for the dead man; the other looked Aydrian in the eye coldly. “I’ll play with ye, I will,” she said in even, quiet tones. “I’ll take off yer fingers one by one, and then yer toes—”

  Aydrian turned his thoughts away from her words suddenly, his instincts alone warning him, putting all the pieces of the curious actions of these three together. He spun to his right—perhaps he had heard the grunt of the missile thrower from far away—to see a huge stone soaring his way, a perfect shot that would surely squash him flat. There was no way he could duck or dodge, and he certainly had no chance to parry or deflect the boulder.