The Demon Spirit - Book 2 of the Demon Wars series

by R. A. Salvatore

  "Saving us both," Elbryan was quick to say. "And saving the quest. Were it not for Tuntun, Pony and I would have perished be­fore we ever reached the lair of the dactyl."

  Juraviel nodded and seemed satisfied with that answer, a great peace washing over his fair features. "Then Tuntun will live on in song forever," he said.

  Elbryan nodded his agreement with the sentiment, then closed his eyes and imagined the elves, gathered in a field in the valley, under a starry sky, singing of Tuntun.

  "You should tell me the details of her death," Juraviel said. "But later," he added quickly, holding up his hand before Elbryan could begin. "For now, I fear, the business is more pressing. Why have you come here?"

  The bluntness of his question, the almost accusing tone, set Elbryan back on his heels. Why had he come? Why wouldn't he, once he had remembered the way? It had never occurred to Elbryan that he might not be welcomed in Andur'Blough Innin­ness, a place he considered as much his home as any he had ever known.

  "This is not your place, Nightbird," Juraviel explained, trying to sound friendly, sympathetic even, though the mere words he spoke could not help but wound Elbryan. "And to bring her here without the permission of Lady Dasslerond—"

  "Permission?" the ranger balked. "After all that we have shared? After all that I have given to your people?"

  "It was we who gave to you," Juraviel promptly corrected.

  Elbryan paused and thought it over. Indeed, the Touel'alfar had given him much, had raised him from a boy, had trained him as a ranger. But the generosity had been reciprocal, the young ranger now realized, as he considered the relationship in the sober tones of Juraviel's attitude. The elves had given him much, that was true, but in return he had given to them the very course of his life. "Why do you treat me so?" he asked bluntly. "I had thought we were friends. Tuntun gave her life for me, for my quest, and did not the success of that quest benefit the Touel'alfar as well as the humans?"

  Juraviel's stern expression, exaggerated by his angular features, softened somewhat.

  "I wield Tempest," Elbryan went on, drawing forth the shining blade, a weapon forged of the secret silverel by the elves. "And Hawkwing," he added, pulling the bow from his shoulder. Hawkwing was fashioned from the darkfern, a plant the elves cultivated and which leached the silverel from the ground. "Weapons of the Touel'alfar both," the ranger went on. "Your own father crafted this bow for me, for the human friend and student of his son. And Tempest I rightfully carry, having passed the challenge of my uncle Mather's ghost—"

  Juraviel held up his hand to stop the speech. "Enough," he begged. "Your words are true to me. All of them. But that does not change the details of this moment. Why have you come, my friend, unbidden, to this place which must remain secret?"

  "I came to find out if your people will lend aid to mine in this time of great darkness," Elbryan replied.

  A great sadness washed over the face of Belli'mar Juraviel. "We have suffered," he explained.

  "As have the humans," Elbryan replied. "Many more humans have died than Touel'alfar, if all the elves of Andur'Blough Innin­ness had perished!"

  "Not many of my people have perished," Juraviel admitted. "But death is only one measure of suffering. The demon dactyl came to our valley. Indeed, Lady Dasslerond had to take the foul fiend there to defeat it when it came upon me in my quest to rescue the refugees. The demon was sent away, but Bestesbulzibar, curse his name; left a scar upon our land, a wound in the earth itself that will never heal and that continues to expand despite all our efforts."

  Elbryan looked to Pony, and her expression was grave. He did not need to explain the implications.

  "There is no place in all the world for us save Andur'Blough Inninness," Juraviel went on somberly. "And the rot has begun. Our time will pass, my friend, and the Touel'alfar will be gone from this world, a children's fireside tale to most, a memory for those descendants of the few, like Nightbird, who knew us well."

  "There is always hope," Elbryan replied past the lump in his throat. "There is always a way."

  "And so we shall seek one," Juraviel agreed. "But for now, our borders are closed to any who is n'Touel'alfar. If I had not come out to you, if you had descended into the mist that veils our home, it would have choked you and left you dead on the mountainside."

  Pony gave a surprised gasp. "That cannot be," she said. "You would not kill Nightbird."

  Elbryan knew better. The Touel'alfar lived by a different code than did humans, one that few people could understand. To them, any who was not of their race, even those few selected to be trained as rangers, was considered inferior. The Touel'alfar could be among the greatest allies in all the world, would fight to the death to save a friend, would risk everything, as Juraviel had done with the refugees, out of compassion. But when threatened, the elves were unbending, and it didn't surprise Elbryan in the least to learn that such a deadly trap had been set up to keep strangers from their land in this time of peril.

  "Am I n'Touel'alfar?" the ranger asked boldly, looking Juraviel right in the eye. He saw the pain there, a profound disappointment within his elven friend.

  "It does not matter," Juraviel offered halfheartedly. "The mist distinguishes only physical form. To it, you are human, and nothing more. To it, you are indeed n'Touel'alfar."

  Elbryan wanted to press that point, wanted to hear how his friend felt about the situation. This was not the time, he decided. "If there was any way in which I might have asked permission to come, and to bring Pony, I would have," he said sincerely. "I re­membered the path, and so I came, that is all."

  Juraviel nodded, satisfied, then managed a sudden and warm smile. "And I am glad that you have," he said cheerily. "It is good to see you again, good to know that you—and you," he added, looking to Pony, "survived the ordeal at Aida."

  "You know of Avelyn and Bradwarden?"

  Juraviel nodded. "We have ways of gathering information," he said. "That is how I knew that two too-curious humans were approaching the warded borders of Andur'Blough Inninness. By all reports, only two forms, Nightbird and Pony, left the blasted Barbacan."

  "Alas for Avelyn," Elbryan said somberly. "Alas for Bradwarden."

  "A good man was Avelyn Desbris," Juraviel agreed. "And all the forest will mourn the passing of Bradwarden. Gentle was his song, and fierce his spirit. Often I would sit and listen to his piping, a melody so fitting to the forest."

  Both Elbryan and Pony nodded at that notion. When they were children in Dundalis, in better, more innocent times, they had sometimes heard the melodious drift of Bradwarden's pip­ing, though at that time they had no idea who the piper might be. The people of the two Timberland towns, Dundalis and Weedy Meadow—for End-o'-the-World was not in existence then—called the unknown piper the Forest Ghost and did not fear him, for they understood that no creature capable of making such hauntingly beautiful music would pose any threat to them.

  "But enough of this," Juraviel said suddenly, pulling the small pack from his back. "I have brought food—good food!—and Questel ni'Touel."

  "Boggle," Elbryan translated, for Questel ni'Touel was the elvish wine made from the water filtered through the milk stones. It was sometimes traded through secret channels to humans under the name of boggle, an elvish joke signifying both the bog from which the liquid originally came, and from the state of mind it readily produced in the humans.

  "Let us go and set a camp," Juraviel offered. "Out of this wind and sheltered from the chill of the approaching night. Then we might eat and talk in a more comfortable manner."

  The two friends readily agreed, and both realized then that their previous agitation had only been due to the search for the magical valley. Now that the issue of Andur'Blough Inninness was de­cided, they could both relax, for neither feared any goblin or powrie, or even giant-inspired trouble, this close to the borders of the elven home.

  When they sat down to eat, Elbryan and Pony found that Juraviel wasn't exaggerating in the least concerning the quality
of the food, he had brought: berries, plump and sweet, fruit fattened under the gentle boughs of Caer'alfar, and bread flavored with just a touch of Questel ni'Touel. Juraviel hadn't brought much with him, but it was immensely satisfying, and truly this was the finest meal that either of the weary travelers had enjoyed for many, many months.

  The wine helped, too, taking the edge off the uncomfortable na­ture of their meeting, allowing Elbryan and Pony, and the elf, as well, to put aside the dangers of the continuing battle for just a while, to sit and relax and forget that their world was full of goblins and powries and giants. They spoke of times long past, of Elbryan's training in the elvish valley, of Pony's life in Palmaris and her time serving in the army of Honce-the-Bear's King. They kept their chatter lighthearted, mostly relating amusing anecdotes, and many of Juraviel's tales concerned Tuntun.

  "Yes, I will find quite a bit of material for the song I plan for her," the elf said quietly.

  "A rousing war song?" Elbryan asked. "Or a song for a gentle soul?"

  The notion of Tuntun being described as a gentle soul brought laughter bubbling to Juraviel's lips. "Oh, Tuntun!" he cried dra­matically, leaping to his feet, throwing his arms heavenward and taking up an impromptu song:

  Oh gentle elf, what poems hast thee written

  To best describe thyself?

  What lyrics spring from thy lips to Nightbird's waiting ears?

  But since you hold his head in the trough, 'tis doubtful he can hear!

  Pony howled with laughter over that one, but Elbryan fixed a nasty stare over his friend.

  "What troubles you, my friend?" Juraviel prompted.

  "If I remember correctly, it was not Tuntun, but Belli'mar Juraviel, who put my head in the trough," the ranger replied grimly.

  The elf shrugged and smiled. "I will have to write another song, I fear," he said calmly.

  Elbryan couldn't maintain the facade, and he, too, erupted in laughter.

  Their boggle-enhanced mirth rolled on for several minutes, finally dying away to quiet titters, the occasional chuckle. That was followed by simple, reflective silence, all three silling, none moving to be the first to speak.

  Finally Juraviel walked back over and plopped down across the small fire from Elbryan. "You should go to the south and east," he explained. "To the towns halfway between Dundalis and Palmaris. There you are most needed, and there you will do the most good."

  "That is the battle line?" Pony asked.

  "One of the battle lines," Juraviel replied. "There is greater fighting raging in the far east, along the coast, and up north, in the cold land of Alpinador, where mighty Andacanavar holds the elven-bestowed banner as ranger. But I fear that Elbryan and Pony would be only minor players in those greater battles, whereas you two might turn the tide in the more immediate area."

  "The area closer to the borders of Andur'Blough Inninness," Elbryan said slyly, suspicious of the erf's motives.

  "We do not fear any attacks from goblins or powries," Juraviel was quick to reply. "Our borders are safe from that enemy. It is the deeper evil, the stain of the demon dactyl..." He paused, his voice trailing away, letting the dark thought hang in the air.

  "But you two should go to those towns," he said at length. "Do for those folk what you did for the people of Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o'-the-World, and all the region might soon be freed of the legacy of the demon dactyl."

  Elbryan looked to Pony, and both gave a nod to the elf. Elbryan studied his diminutive friend closely then, seeking unspoken sig­nals that would clue him in to the importance of it all. He knew Juraviel well, and had a feeling that many things were not as set in stone as the elf had indicated.

  "You two are formally betrothed?" Juraviel asked suddenly, catching Elbryan off his guard.

  Pony and Elbryan looked to each other. "In our hearts," the ranger explained.

  "There has not been time nor opportunity," Pony said, and then with a great sigh she added, "We should have asked Avelyn to per­form the ceremony. Could any have been more fitting to such a task than he?"

  "If you are married in your hearts, then married you are," Juraviel decided. "But there should be a ceremony, a formal declara­tion made openly, to friend and to kin. It is more than a legality, and more than a celebration. It is a declaration, openly made, of fidelity and undying love, a proclamation to all the world that there is something higher than this corporeal form, and a love deeper than simple lust."

  "Someday," Elbryan promised, staring at Pony, the only woman he believed he could ever love, and understanding every word Juraviel had just said.

  "Two ceremonies!" Juraviel decided. "One for your human companions, one for the Touel'alfar."

  "Why would the Touel'alfar care?" Elbryan said, a hint of anger in his tone, which surprised both his companions.

  "Why would we not?" Juraviel replied.

  "Because the Touel'alfar care only for the affairs of the Touel'alfar," Elbryan reasoned.

  Juraviel started to protest, but saw where the trap was leading and only laughed instead.

  "You do care," Elbryan said.

  "Of course," Juraviel admitted. "And glad I am, and glad are all the elven folk of Caer'alfar, that Elbryan and Jilseponie survived the quest to Aida and have found each other. To us, your love is a shining light in a dark world."

  "That is how I knew," Elbryan said.

  "Knew what?" Juraviel and Pony asked together.

  "That I ... we," he corrected, indicating Pony, "are not n'Touel'alfar. Not in the eyes of Belli'mar Juraviel."

  The elf gave a great, exaggerated sigh. "I admit it," he said. "I surrender."

  "And that is how I know the other thing, as well," Elbryan said, grinning from ear to ear.

  "And what is that?" Juraviel asked, his tone one of feigned dis­interest. "What else does the wise Nightbird know?"

  "That Belli'mar Juraviel intends to accompany us to the south and east," Elbryan replied.

  That widened Juraviel's eyes. "I had not considered that!"

  "Then do," Elbryan instructed, "because we, all three, leave at first light." He rolled back from the fire then, nestling into his bedroll. "Time for us to sleep," he said to Pony. "And time for our friend to go back to his valley, that he might tell his Lady Das­slerond that he will be away for a while."

  Pony, weary from the road and the wine, and content with the meal, was more than happy to fall back into her blankets.

  Juraviel said not a word and did not move for some time. Before him, both Elbryan and Pony were soon breathing in the rhythms of a deep and contented sleep, and behind him, Symphony nickered softly in the quiet night. Then the elf was gone, slipping away silently into the darkness, running with his thoughts and running to his lady.

  Quiet though he was, his departure woke Pony, whose sleep had become filled with troubling dreams. She felt the weight of El­bryan's strong arm about her, felt the warmth of his body curled against her. All the world should have been warm and happy for her in that embrace.

  But it was not.

  She lay awake for a long while, and then Elbryan, too, as if sensing her anxiety, awoke.

  "What troubles you?" he asked softly, nuzzling closer and kissing the nape of her neck.

  Pony stiffened, and the ranger felt it. He pulled away and sat up, and she could see his dark silhouette against the starry sky. "I was only trying to be comforting," he apologized.

  "I know," she replied.

  "Then why are you angry?" he asked.

  Pony considered that for a long while. "I am not angry," she de­cided. "I am only frightened."

  Now it was the ranger's turn to pause and reflect. He lay back down beside Pony, shifting to his back and looking up at the stars. He had never known Pony to be frightened—not since the day their homes were sacked, at least—and he was certain now that her fears were not based on any powries or giants, or even the demon dactyl. He considered her tenseness when he had touched her. She was not angry with him, he knew, but...


  "You were quiet when Juraviel spoke of marriage," he said.

  "There was little you had not already said," Pony replied, rolling over to face Elbryan. "We share hearts, and are of like mind."

  "But?"

  Her face clouded over.

  "You are afraid of becoming with child," Elbryan reasoned, and Pony's expression shifted to one of wonderment.

  "How did you know?"

  "You just said that we were of like hearts," the ranger replied with a slight chuckle.

  Pony sighed and draped her arm across Elbryan's chest, kissing him softly on the cheek. "When we are together, I feel like all the world is wonderful," she said. "I forget the loss at Dundalis, the loss of Avelyn and Bradwarden, of Tuntun. The world does not seem so terrible and dark, and all the monsters run away."

  "But if you were to become with child now, out here," Elbryan said, "then those monsters would become all too real again."

  "We have a duty," Pony explained. "With the gift the Touel'alfar gave to you, and the one Avelyn gave to me, we must be more to the folk than observers. How could I fight on if I become pregnant? And what life would our child know in these times?"

  "How could I fight on if you could not remain beside me?" Elbryan asked, running his fingertips across her face.

  "I do not wish to refuse you," Pony said. "Ever."

  "Then I shan't ask," Elbryan replied sincerely. "But you told me that there were times each month when it was not likely that we would conceive a child."

  "Not likely?" Pony echoed skeptically. "What chance is acceptable?"

  Elbryan thought on that for just a moment. "None," he decided. "The stakes are too high, the cost too great. We will make a pact, here and now. Let us finish this business at hand, and when the world is put aright, we will turn our attention to our own needs and our own family."

  He said it with such simplicity, and such optimism that this pact would be a temporary thing, that the world would indeed be put aright, that a smile found its way across Pony's troubled face. She snuggled closer then, wrapping herself around Elbryan, knowing in her heart that he would be true to his pact and that their love-making would wait until the time was right.