The Demon Awakens (49 page)

Avelyn came out of his trance, only to find that another blaze was burning, not so far away. “Ho, ho, what!” he bellowed again, pushing aside the would-be village firefighters so that he could use his much more effective method.

Despite the efforts of the mad friar, the rain of powrie fireballs increased, coupled with bouncing boulders that smashed more than one home to kindling. One fireball hit against the village’s east wall, splattering the two men standing nearby with burning pitch. Pony was quick to one, wrapping him in a heavy blanket, and Avelyn got to the other, using the serpentine effectively.

“The gray stone!” Pony cried to the monk, indicating the hematite and the badly burned man on the ground beside her. Avelyn went to him at once and eased his pain, but the monk’s expression turned more grim.

He was beginning to admit that he could not keep up with the barrage, and he knew that even this was but a prelude to worse.

Pony left the man in Avelyn’s caring hands and ran about the frantic villagers, berating them for their folly in staying and reminding them that a way out might soon be open.

She was not surprised that now, with fireballs lighting structures by the minute and boulders crashing down about them, she found more people willing to listen to Elbryan’s plan. Still, despite the flaming evidence, many of the proud and stubborn folk refused to admit that this was more than a simple goblin raid.

“We’ll push them back,” one man argued to her, “chase them into the woods so far, they’ll never find their stinking way out!”

Pony shook her head, trying to argue, but the man had too much support from the five fellows standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him along the wall.

“Goblins!” the man insisted, and he spat at Pony’s feet.

The others started grumbling but went strangely silent an instant later, and Pony looked up at them, then followed their gaze across the short field that stood between the village and the edge of the trees.

A pair of fomorian giants, fifteen feet tall and ten times the weight of a heavy man, paced back and forth in the shadows, eager to rush the wall.

“Damn big goblins,” Pony replied sarcastically. She looked down at the weapons the group carried—shovels and pitchforks mostly, with only a single, rusty old sword among them. Pony had given her own sword to the mother who had left with Elbryan, and now she carried only a slender club and a small axe, weapons that looked puny indeed against the sheer bulk of those two giants.

She left the stubborn group with one final reminder. “The east wall,” she said grimly.

She found Avelyn near that wall, and paused as she approached, seeing a slight bluish glow among the timbers of the one east gate. She looked at the monk curiously.

Avelyn shrugged. “I did not know that the serpentine could enact a lasting barrier,” he said, “nor do I know how long I might maintain it. But be assured that any fires brushing that gate will find no hold.”

Pony put a hand to the monk’s broad shoulder, glad indeed to have Brother Avelyn on her side.

The pair turned abruptly a moment later when a shout from the north wall told them that the attack was on.

Elbryan was running hard to keep up with Bradwarden; Symphony had taken to the woods, disappearing as a shadow might when the sun goes behind dark clouds.

“I cannot slow!” the centaur called, and then he grunted as the ranger grabbed fast to his tail, the man half running, half flying behind the swift creature.

They came to their base camp, where Paulson, Cric, and Chipmunk waited.

“They’re filling the valley,” Paulson explained, “a long line, goblins mostly, and not so deep.”

“Powries on the hills,” Cric piped in.

“But the traps are set?” Elbryan asked.

All three nodded eagerly.

Elbryan closed his eyes and sent his thoughts out to Symphony, and heard the horse’s response clearly. Satisfied, he looked again at his immediate companions. “We must pick our targets carefully,” the ranger explained. “We must thin their line wherever we may, and take out any giants or those monsters that can get out of harm’s way.” The ranger looked back to the east “Let Symphony do the rest,” he explained.

The group started off quietly, Paulson, Cric, and Chipmunk going along the base of the north hill, Elbryan and Bradwarden making their way to the south.

Agile Pony got to the roof quickly and fell flat to her belly, crawling low as spears arched over her, as the monstrous horde came on toward the north gate. She peeked over the edge of the roof, back into the village, and saw that only three of the five at the wall remained alive, and they were fleeing fast.

The two giants banged against the fortified wall for a moment, then simply stepped over it.

Pony held her breath at that dangerous moment, but fortunately the two giants were too concerned with the townsfolk to notice her. They strode past into the village, men and women fleeing before them, screaming, finally admitting their folly in staying.

“Ho, ho, what!” came a familiar cry, and Pony looked past the giants to see Brother Avelyn standing steady before them.

A spear nearly got the distracted woman. She spun about as a goblin’s head appeared above the edge of the roof. Pony’s club sent the monster tumbling away, but she noted that a hundred more were climbing all about the wall, eager for human blood. With a growl, the woman threw her club into the face of the closest one, and it, too, fell back. Then she gave a quick glance to the east, which was still quiet.

“Damn,” the woman muttered and she put her legs under her and ran for the southwestern corner of the roof, leaping far into the air and grabbing the closest giant by the hair. Her momentum brought her right in front of the monster, their faces inches apart, and Pony wasted no time in planting her axe into that gruesome visage.

The giant howled, the woman fell away, landing in a roll, and the second giant turned to her, ready to squash her flat.

“Ho, ho, what!” Avelyn bellowed his signature cry, one he used now to release the mounting energies of the graphite he held.

A forked blast of blue-white lightning erupted from the monk’s hand, one finger of the bolt striking each giant. The one Pony had hit in the face, its hands up to cover the wound, went flying backward, hitting the wall waist high and flipping right over it, crushing a goblin in the process. The other giant, its foot high to stamp Pony, jolted straight and stood trembling, too stunned to react as its intended victim ran off.

Pony rushed to Avelyn. She looked all about desperately. Goblins were crawling over the walls like ants, hundreds and hundreds, their sheer numbers burying any townsfolk who stood to challenge them.

“Fighting in the east!” one man yelled, running to Pony and Avelyn. “Where is your plan?” he added sarcastically, hopelessly.

Pony ran with him back toward the eastern gate, while Avelyn held the rear guard, loosing another lighting bolt that launched a dozen goblins from the rooftop Pony had just abandoned.

A powrie crawled atop the eastern wall directly in front of Pony and the villager, not so far from the gate.

“Where is your plan?” the man demanded again of Pony, his desperate question echoing off the anxious faces of all the villagers gathered near the wall.

The powrie stood tall on the eastern wall, but then kept moving forward, curiously, falling headlong over the structure and landing in the dirt, very still.

A long arrow protruded from its back, an arrow with fletchings familiar to the woman.

“There is my plan,” she replied confidently.

A moment later came the thunder of hoofbeats to the east, many hoofbeats accompanied by the screams of those unfortunate goblins caught in front of the wild horse stampede.

“Avelyn!” Pony yelled.

“Ho, ho, what!” the monk replied, loosing yet another lightning bolt, this time into the ground at the feet of a horde of goblins that were charging straight for him. The jolt sent the entire group of monsters two feet off the ground.

Pony grabbed a pitchfork from one of the men nearby and ran to the eastern gate, bravely throwing it open.

There stood a pair of goblins, stunned that the gate had opened before them. Pony took one in the throat with the pitchfork. The other turned to flee, but was cut down almost immediately, an arrow striking it right between the eyes. Pony looked back and spotted Elbryan sitting on a low branch of a tree on the northern side of the ravine. Below the ranger, Bradwarden ran back and forth, trampling goblins and powries or bashing them down with his heavy cudgel. The centaur tapped one powrie on the head, then scooped up the dazed dwarf and dropped it into a sack.

Pony didn’t have time to consider the move, for the thunder approached, led by powerful Symphony. Goblins and powries scattered or were crushed beneath the charge, a hundred wild horses stampeding along the ravine.

“Avelyn!” Pony cried, and the monk rushed past her; she noted that he was glowing slightly, that same bluish hue as the eastern gate.

Pony held the townsfolk back as Avelyn ran out among the goblins. Most were too confused and frightened to attack, but some did charge.

Avelyn held forth his hand—Pony caught sight of a red sparkle from within his grasp.

A huge ball of fire encircled the monk and consumed all the nearby monsters. A hot wind brushed Pony’s face and blew into the stunned villagers standing beside her.

When the flames dissipated an instant later, Avelyn stood alone and the way was open.

Almost open; a powrie came rushing out from behind a stone, its hair burned away, its face blackened, its club no more than a withered and charred stick. But the dwarf was very much alive, and very angry. It howled and whooped and charged Avelyn, ready to throttle the monk with its bare hands.

In his other hand, Avelyn clutched a third stone, brown and striped with black—tiger’s paw, it was called. Now the monk fell into this stone’s magic, letting go the fire shield of the serpentine. A moment later, Avelyn was screaming in agony, not from the powrie—that enemy hadn’t caught up to him yet—but from the work of his own transforming magic that was bending and breaking the bones in Avelyn’s left arm. Fingers crunched and shortened, fingernails narrowed and slipped back under the knuckles, and then came a great itching as orange and black fur erupted all along the length of the arm.

The powrie got to the monk, but Avelyn had recovered now. He was whole again—except that his left arm was no longer the arm of Brother Avelyn but that of a powerful tiger.

With a mere thought, Avelyn extended his claws and raked them across, taking the face off of the stunned powrie.

Now the way was clear.

From further down the valley, Symphony charged in, followed by his equine minions. The stampede came to a skidding halt, the wild horses accepting riders, villagers. Pony climbed atop Symphony, and Avelyn, standing with Elbryan as the ranger ran in, waited behind to cover the retreat.

Both Pony and Elbryan sucked in their breath at the sight of Avelyn’s arm, but neither spoke of it at that desperate moment.

Then away thundered Symphony and the hundred horses, fifty of Weedy Meadow’s eighty inhabitants holding fast to manes, terrified, and scores of goblins and powries scrambling to the hills, trying to get out of the way.

Down those hills came the powries, outraged by the apparent escape, but Paulson, Cric, and Chipmunk had done their work well. Deadfalls, pit traps, and jaw traps stopped many; in one place a dropping pile of logs triggered a small avalanche of loose snow and rock.

Those monsters that did make it down found Bradwarden and his cudgel waiting for them, the centaur kicking and smashing with abandon. Avelyn’s graphite shot out again, back toward Weedy Meadow’s eastern gate, scattering those goblins coming in close pursuit and opening the way for Elbryan, who insisted that he go back for any stragglers.

The ranger found a giant coming hard his way, stomping across the village, outraged and already hurt by one of the monk’s lightning blasts.

Hawkwing’s bowstring hummed repeatedly, an arrow thudding into the giant’s chest, followed by one to its belly, another to its chest, and then a third nicking off huge ribs, and then a second in the belly.

Each hit slowed the behemoth a bit more, allowed Elbryan yet another devastating shot. Finally, the stubborn monster slumped down.

Several frightened men ran right over its back as it tumbled, a horde of shrieking goblins close on their heels.

Elbryan knelt by the gate, taking careful aim and picking off the closest monsters one by one.

“Avelyn, I need you!” the ranger cried. The situation was even more desperate than Elbryan initially believed, as he discovered when he looked up to see a goblin standing atop the wall, some five feet to the side of the gate, ready to pounce upon him.

But Avelyn couldn’t immediately help, the monk preoccupied with a group of powries coming hard down the south hill, having dodged the trappers’ pitfalls.

Elbryan turned to meet the pounce, but even as the goblin came on, silver flickers caught the ranger’s eye. The monster landed right beside the ranger, but it was dead before it hit the ground, three daggers sticking from the side of its neck and chest. Elbryan glanced back to a smiling Chipmunk, the man running off to engage another confused powrie.

“Avelyn!” Elbryan called again, more insistently. The ranger put up his bow and cut down one more goblin as the group of men ran out the gate and scrambled past him.

Elbryan fell back in a roll; goblins filled the gate and poured out.

Avelyn’s lightning blast laid them low.

Then they were off and running, all of them, Elbryan and the three trappers, Bradwarden and Avelyn, and all the latest refugees of Weedy Meadow, following the tentative trail opened to them by the horse stampede.

They ran all the morning, fighting often, but only quick skirmishes. They followed the obvious trail and were guided along even more cunning ways by Elbryan, the ranger following Symphony’s call.

One stubborn group of thirty powries stayed with them all the way, hooting and hollering, throwing daggers and axes whenever they got close enough, and only crying out with more fervor whenever Elbryan or Bradwarden paused and let fly an arrow, inevitably taking one of the dwarves down.