The Demon Spirit (The DemonWars Saga #2) - Page 10

The terrain became more difficult by noon on the day after the fight in the valley. Master Jojonah tried to keep the spirits of his com-rades high, reminding them of the good they had done, of the suf-fering they had prevented by intervening. But all of the monks were tired from their nighttime trials, particularly concerning the further use of magic, and, given the rough terrain, magic this day would have proven a great help.

One thing that neither Jojonah nor Brother Francis would com-promise on, though, was the use of the quartz gemstones for scouting. Exhausted as they were, the monks simply could not af-ford to let down their guard, not in this wild region. Master Jojonah did end the ride early, before the sun had set, and called for his brothers to sleep well and long, to gather their strength that they might attack the road more vigorously the next day.

"We would have had the strength to travel much later," Brother Francis pointedly told the master, as usual, planting himself by Jojonah's side as if keeping a wary eye on the older man, "had we not engaged in an affair that was not our own."

"It seems to me that you enjoyed the rout of the monstrous force as much as any, brother," the Master responded. "How can you doubt the wisdom of our actions?"

"I'll not deny the pleasure I garner in destroying enemies of my God," Brother Francis replied.

That high-browed proclamation raised Jojonah's eyebrows.

"Yet," Brother Francis went on before the portly monk could reply, "I know what Father Abbot Markwart dictated."

"And that is all that matters?"

"Yes."

Master Jojonah silently groaned over the brother's blind faith, a fault so prevalent in the Abellican Order these days, a fault that he, too, had been guilty of for so many years. Master Jojonah, like all the masters and immaculates of St.-Mere-Abelle, had known that the ship hired to carry the brothers to the isle of Pimaninicuit would never be allowed to leave the harbor at All Saints Bay, and that all aboard her would be killed. Like all the others – all except for Avelyn Desbris – Jojonah had accepted that grim outcome as the lesser of two evils, for the monks simply could not have allowed any with such knowledge as the location of Pimaninicuit to sail away. Similarly, Jojonah knew that Brother Pellimar had been al-lowed to die of an infection from a wound he had suffered on the voyage to that island – though hard work by the older monks with a soul stone certainly could have saved him – because the man could not keep his mouth shut concerning that all-important voyage. But again, at the time, Pellimar's demise had seemed to Jojonah the lesser of two evils.

In reflecting on his own decision, Master Jojonah could not fully blame the zealous Brother Francis now. "We saved many families last night," he reminded. "And for that, I cannot be sorry. Our mis-sion has not been compromised."

"Your pardon, Master Jojonah," came a call from the side of the wagon.

Both men turned to see a trio of younger monks, Brother Dellman among them, cautiously approaching.

"I have detected a presence in the area," Brother Dellman ex-plained. "Not a goblin, not a monster at all," the young monk quickly added, seeing the sudden and frantic reaction. "A man, shadowing our every move."

Master Jojonah sat back, not too concerned, and more interested at that moment in studying the young man who had delivered the news. Brother Dellman was going out of his way to make himself quite useful of late, was working harder than any other in the caravan. Jojonah liked the potential he saw there, in the young man's eyes, in the idealistic attitude.

"A man?" Brother Francis echoed, seeing that Master Jojonah was making no move to reply. "Of the Church? Of Palmaris? Of the village?" he snapped impatiently. Francis, too, had noticed Dellman's work of late, but he wasn't sure of the young monk's motives. "Who is it, and where has he come from?"

"Alpinadoran, obviously," Brother Dellman replied. "A huge man, with long flaxen hair."

"From the village, no doubt," Brother Francis said with a huff aimed directly at the master. "Perhaps you spoke too soon, Master Jojonah," he added curtly.

"He is a man," the older monk argued. "Just a man. Probably trying to find out who we are and why we saved his village. We will send him away and that will be the end of it."

"And is he a precursor?" Brother Francis said. "A spy sent to unveil our weaknesses? Never has Alpinador called itself an ally of the Abellican Church. Need I remind you of the tragedy at Fuldebarrow?"

"You need remind me of nothing," Master Jojonah replied sternly, but Brother Francis' point was well-taken. Fuldebarrow was an Alpinadoran town, larger than the one from the previous night, wherein the Church, the Abbey of St. Precious of Palmaris, had tried to establish a mission. All had gone well for nearly a year, but then, apparently, the Abellican missionaries had said or done something to offend the Alpinadoran barbarians, probably some insult to the god-figure of the northern people. None of the monks were ever found – physically at least. St. Precious had turned to St.-Mere-Abelle for help in the investigation, and using their magical talents, soul stones to locate the spirits of the dead, the masters of the larger abbey discovered that the missionaries had been brutally executed.

But that incident was nearly a hundred years old, and sending missionaries into any heathen territory was ever a dangerous course.

"Let us be rid of this spy efficiently," Brother Francis said, rising to his feet. "I will – "

"You will do nothing," Master Jojonah interrupted.

Brother Francis straightened as if slapped. "It is curious that I was not able to contact Father Abbot Markwart before the fight at the village," he remarked, the implications obvious, given his sly look Jojonah's way. "Distance is supposed to be irrelevant where hematite is concerned."

"Perhaps you are not as powerful with the stones as you be-lieve," Master Jojonah said dryly. Both men knew better, though. Both knew that Master Jojonah, who possessed a small but effec-tive sunstone, the stone of antimagic, had interfered with Brother Francis' attempt to enlist the Father Abbot against the notion that they would defend the Alpinadoran village from the monsters.

"What are we to do with this troublesome shadow, then?" Francis demanded.

"What indeed?" was all Master Jojonah could answer.

"He knows of us, and thus he looms as a threat," Brother Francis pressed. "If he is a spy, as I believe, then he will likely send a pow-erful force against us, and letting him live now will not seem so merciful in light of the dozens of men who will pay for our gener-osity with their lives." He paused, and it seemed to Jojonah that he was almost pleased by that prospect, as if he had just convinced himself that it would be better to let the man live.

It was a passing thought for Brother Francis, though. "Or even if he is not a spy," the fiery monk went on, "he remains a threat. Sup-pose he is captured by the powries. Do you doubt that he will di-vulge information about us to the monsters in the false hope of mercy?"

Master Jojonah looked to the three younger monks, all of them wearing startled expressions at the increasingly heated exchange. "Perhaps it would be better if you left us now," the master bade them. "And you, Brother Dellman, well done. Back to the gems with you, the soul stone this time, that you might watch our unin-vited guest more closely."

"Uninvited and unwanted," Brother Francis said under his breath as the three younger monks moved away, passing Braumin Herde, who was coming to join Francis and Jojonah.

"Do not underestimate this Alpinadoran," Brother Braumin re-marked as he neared. "Were it not for the soul stone, we would never have known he was shadowing our every move, though even as we speak he is less than fifty yards from our encampment."

"Spies are practiced at such tactics," Brother Francis remarked, drawing a sour expression from both Jojonah and Braumin.

"What do you believe?" Master Jojonah asked of Braumin.

"He is from the village, I would guess," the immaculate replied, "though I place less sinister value on that notion than does my brother."

"Our mission is too vital for us to let down our guard," Francis argued.

"Indeed it is," Master Jojonah agreed. He eyed Brother Braumin directly. "Possess the man," he instructed. "Convince him that he should be gone, or, if that should fail, use your power to walk his physical body far, far from here. Let him regain his physical con-sciousness back in the deep Timberlands, too exhausted to return anytime soon."

Brother Braumin bowed and started away, not thrilled by the prospect of possession, but relieved that Brother Francis did not get his way. He had not journeyed all these miles to play a role in the murder of a human.

Brother Braumin went to Dellman first, and bade the man to pass the word that all activity with quartz should cease, and that Dellman should forgo his searching with the soul stone –  possession was tricky enough without the prospect of another dis-embodied spirit floating about! Then Braumin went to his wagon and prepared himself.

Andacanavar crouched low in the brush, confident that he was too well concealed for any of the nearby monks to locate him. Visually, at least, for the ranger had no experience with magic, other than that of the Touel'alfar, and did not know the potential of the ring stones.

But Andacanavar was sensitive to his environment, extremely so, and he did indeed sense the presence about him, an intangible presence, the feeling that he was being watched.

How strong that sensation became when Brother Braumin's spirit moved right up to the ranger, when Brother Braumin's spirit tried to move right into the man!

Andacanavar looked all about, eyes darting to every shadow, to every conceivable hiding place. He knew he was not alone, and yet all of his physical senses showed him nothing.

Nothing.

The intrusion grew stronger; the ranger almost cried out, despite his better judgment. That near outburst surprised him, and led him to the horrifying and inescapable conclusion that some other will was forcing itself over him.

Andacanavar had participated in the communal gatherings of the Touel'alfar, the joining of the entire elven community into a single harmony. That had been a beautiful thing, a mental sharing, a most intimate experience. But this…

Again the ranger almost cried out; but he stopped himself, un-derstanding that the intruding will likely wanted him to yell out and surrender his position.

The ranger searched inside himself, tried to find something tan-gible, something identifiable. He recalled the communal elven song, a hundred voices joined as one, a hundred spirits blended in harmony. But this…

This was rape.

The ranger fell low to the ground, growling softly, fighting back in the only manner he understood. He put up a wall of sheer rage, a red barrier, denying all action. Andacanavar was completely in control of his will, on every level. He used the discipline ofbi'nelle dasada, the sword-dance, used in his years of training in Caer'alfar. And through that grim determination, that sheer strength of will, the ranger identified his spiritual enemy, located the intruding will. A picture formed in Andacanavar's mind, a map of his own thought process, and he mentally placed an enemy marker when-ever a trail on that map was accessed.

The enemy, the will of Brother Braumin, soon showed clear to the man, and then suddenly he and the monk were on equal footing, an open battle of wills, with the advantage of surprise no more. Brother Braumin, disciplined and trained in the stones, fought well, but the ranger was the stronger by far, and the monk was soon expelled, and soon in retreat.

Andacanavar was truly frightened by this strange experience, this unknown magic, but, with his typical courage, he would not let the opportunity pass. He felt a channel, a pathway left by the de-parting spirit, and he sent his thoughts along it, soaring free of his body.

Soon he was in the monk encampment, and then in one of the wagons. There sat the source of the intrusion, a man, a monk of about thirty winters, sitting cross-legged, deep in meditation.

Without hesitation, Andacanavar continued along the mental pathway, following the spirit right back into the monk's body, re-suming the battle. Now the battleground was more difficult, a ter-rain far more familiar to his enemy, but the ranger pressed on, focused his will. Only one thought slowed him, and that only tem-porarily: if he dominated this body, would it leave his own open to intrusion?

The ranger had no way of knowing, and the hesitation almost ended his fight.

But then, using the same determination that had sustained him through all these years and all these trials of the unforgiving land of Alpinador, Andacanavar pressed on tenfold, driving hard into the monk's mind, pushing the monk away wherever he found him, pushing, pushing, stealing every pathway, every corner, every hope and every fear.

It was not a good feeling, was too strange and too out of place, and, for the noble ranger, was simply wrong. Despite any rational-ization that he had been protecting his very soul, or any that re-minded him of his duty to his fellow Alpinadorans, Andacanavar could not rid himself completely of the guilt. Possessing another's body, whatever the reasons, assaulted the ranger's sense of right and wrong profoundly.

But he persevered, and took some comfort in the small and smooth gray stone he held in his unfamiliar hand. This stone was the conduit, Andacanavar recognized, the pathway between the spirits, and with it in his possession, both physical and spiritual, he felt confident that the portal to his own corporeal body was closed to any others. Acclimating himself to the new coil, he dragged him-self to the back of the wagon, peering out into the encampment, listening carefully to any passing conversations. He remained there for some time, was greeted by and returned the salutation of many other monks – and truly the ranger was glad that the elves had bothered to teach him the language of Honce-the-Bear! Then, gaining confidence, he dared to exit the wagon, walking openly in the midst of the foreigners.

He didn't have a difficult time in determining rank; in this group, it was apparently based on age, and Andacanavar had always been good at determining a man's years. Between these impressions and the respectful manner in which others greeted him, he confirmed his belief that he was in the body of one of high stature among the monks.

"Master Jojonah wishes to speak to you," one young man of-fered and another later confirmed, but of course Andacanavar had no way of knowing who this mysterious Master Jojonah might be. So he continued to wander about the encampment, gathering what information he could find. He soon realized that he was being followed – not by any corporeal being, but by the displaced spirit. Again and again the disembodied spirit tried to get back in, and though Andacanavar repelled the assaults, the ranger under-stood that he was growing weary and would not be able to hold out for long.

He spotted a much older man then, and guessed him to be the leader of the group, perhaps the one the others had spoken of. Beside the man, wearing an angry expression, was another monk of about the same age as the one he had possessed.

"Finished already?" Master Jojonah asked, coming over to him.

"Yes, Master Jojonah," Andacanavar answered respectfully, hoping that his tone, and his guess about the man's identity, were correct.

"And are we rid of the spy?" the other monk asked sharply.

Andacanavar resisted the urge to punch the surly man in the face. He stared at the monk long and hard, purposefully ignoring the question in the hope that the pair would further elaborate.

"Brother Braumin?" Master Jojonah prompted. "The Alpina-doran is gone?"

"What would you have me do?" Andacanavar asked sternly, pointing his ire at the younger of the two, for it seemed obvious to him that this man and the one he had possessed were not on good terms.

"What I would have you do is irrelevant," Brother Francis an-swered, casting a telltale sidelong glance at Master Jojonah.

"Since you have had no time to walk the Alpinadoran far away from here, I assume you imparted a convincing suggestion that he should depart," Master Jojonah said calmly.

"Perhaps we should have invited him in," Andacanavar dared to respond. "He knows the lay of the land, no doubt, and might have been able to better guide us." The ranger eyed Brother Francis as he spoke, and recognized a budding suspicion there, for the man wore an expression now of total surprise and even of horror.

"I considered that course," Master Jojonah admitted, defusing his hotheaded companion's mounting rage. "But we must adhere to the Father Abbot's decree."

Brother Francis snorted.

"If we brought him in, he would ask questions," Master Jojonah went on, ignoring Francis so completely that Andacanavar recog-nized that the older monk was quite used to this young monk's impertinence.

"Questions we cannot afford to answer," Jojonah continued. "We will pass through Alpinador quickly, and better not to involve any of the northmen in our quest. Better not to open any old wounds between our Church and the barbarians."

Andacanavar didn't press the issue, though he was indeed relieved to learn that this powerful contingent was not in the northland for any reasons hostile to Alpinador.

"Go back and look over our scouting friend," Master Jojonah in-structed, "and see that your suggestion is being followed."

"I will do it," Brother Francis interrupted.

The ranger wisely held back his initial reaction, for that reply would have been too sharp and insistent, even desperate. He had no desire to battle yet another spirit this day. "I am capable of finishing the task assigned to me, Master," he said to the man.

The other monk's expression showed the ranger his slip; that title was reserved, he realized now, for the older man alone. Brother Francis went from angry to suspicious to incredulous, staring hard through narrowed eyes at the ranger in the monk's body. Andacanavar tried to cover his miscue, turning quickly to the older man, the true master, but he found Jojonah wearing a similar doubting expression.

"Pray give me the stone, brother," Master Jojonah said.

Andacanavar hesitated, considering the implications. Could he get back to his own body without that stone? Would the master use it to discover the truth of the ruse?

As though it sensed the ranger's sudden hesitance, the disem-bodied spirit took that opportunity to attack once more.

The ranger knew it was time to leave.

Master Jojonah and Brother Francis leaped forward to grab the body of faltering Brother Braumin as his eyes flickered and his legs buckled. Brother Francis went right for the hematite, pulling it free of the man's hand.

But Andacanavar's spirit had no trouble locating the ranger's body, or in reentering. He was up and moving almost immedi-ately, though he wondered where he might hide from probing spiritual eyes.

Back in the camp, Brother Braumin steadied himself, then bent over, hands on knees, gasping for his breath.

"What happened?" Master Jojonah asked.

"How did you fail against one who is not even trained – " Brother Francis started to demand, but Jojonah cut him short with a glare.

"Strong," Brother Braumin remarked between gasps. "That one, that Alpinadoran, is strong of will and quick of thought."

"You would have to say that," Brother Francis said dryly.

"Go out yourself with the soul stone," Brother Braumin snapped at him. "It would do you well to find humility."

"Enough of this!" Master Jojonah demanded. He lowered his voice as he noticed that many others were gathering about. "What were you able to learn?" he asked Braumin.

The younger monk shrugged. "He learned from me, I fear, not the other way around."

"Wonderful," remarked a sarcastic Francis.

"What did he learn?" Master Jojonah demanded.

Again Brother Braumin could only shrug.

"Ready the teams," Master Jojonah instructed. "We must be far from this place."

"I will find the spy," Brother Francis offered.

"We will search for him together," Master Jojonah corrected. "If this man defeated Brother Braumin, hold no illusions that you are a match for him."

Brother Francis fumed, trying to find some retort. He turned away, as if to depart.

"Shall you join in the search?" Master Jojonah asked bluntly.

"I am seeing no need for that," came a resonating voice, and all the monks turned as one to see the giant Alpinadoran striding con-fidently into their camp, crossing through the ring of wagons without so much as a sidelong glance at those monks standing guard. "I am in no mood for any more of this spiritual dueling this day. Let us speak openly and plainly, as men."

Master Jojonah exchanged incredulous looks with Brother Francis, but when they turned to Brother Braumin, the only one who had made any true contact with the ranger, they found that he was not surprised. Nor did he look overly pleased.

"He is a man of honor," Master Jojonah said with some confi-dence. "Would you agree?"

Brother Braumin was too preoccupied to reply. He had locked stares with the Alpinadoran, the two sharing an almost primal ha-tred. They had battled intimately, seen each other's soul bared in hatred. For Andacanavar, this man had tried to violate him; for Brother Braumin, this man had proven himself the stronger in a way so personal that it brought him shame.

So they stood and stared at each other, and all the others around them, even Brother Francis, let the moment linger, recognizing the need for it.

Then Brother Braumin moved past his turmoil, reminding him-self that the man, after all, had only been defending himself. Gradually, the monk's visage softened and he gave a slight nod. "My attempt to convince you seemed the safer way," he apolo-gized. "For you most of all."

"I'd be finding a horde of giants less threatening than what you tried to do to me," Andacanavar replied, but he, too, gave a nod, a forgiving gesture, and turned his attention to Master Jojonah.

"My name is Andacanavar," he said. "And my land is beneath your boots. Many are my titles, but for your own purposes, you might be thinking of me as the protector of Alpinador."

"A haughty title," Brother Francis remarked.

The ranger let the comment pass. He found it curious that though the other young monk was the one who had tried to steal his body, he liked that man, and certainly respected him, more than this one. "I am no spy," he began, "for there is nothing sinister in my motives. I followed you from the valley for I have seen your strength and cannot be letting you walk the land free. Such power as you have shown could rain disaster on my people."

"We are not enemies of Alpinador," Master Jojonah replied.

"So I have learned," said Andacanavar. "And so I have come to you openly, walking into your camp as a friend, perhaps an ally, with my weapon on my back."

"We have asked for no help," Brother Francis remarked in a stern tone, drawing a glare from Master Jojonah.

"I am Master Jojonah," the older monk quickly interjected, wanting to shut up the troublesome Francis, "of St.-Mere-Abelle."

"Your home is known to me," the ranger said. "A great fortress, by all the tales."

"The tales do not lie," Brother Francis said grimly. "And each of us here is well-versed in the arts martial."

"As you say," the ranger conceded, again turning his focus to Master Jojonah, who seemed by far the more reasonable man. "You know I came among you, using his body," he explained. "And in so doing, I learned that you mean to pass right through my land. I might be helping you on that matter. None knows the way better than Andacanavar."

"Andacanavar the humble?" Brother Francis remarked. "Do you name that as one of your titles?"

"You know that you are offering insults a bit too freely," the ranger replied. "Perhaps you should be careful, else those lips get ripped off."

Too proud to stand for such a threat, Brother Francis steeled his gaze and took a bold stride forward.

The ranger exploded into motion, too quickly for any of the monks to even cry out. He pulled a small axe from his belt, then lurched to the side so he could throw it in an underhand motion.

The axe spun end over end, flying right between the legs of startled Brother Francis, then soared on, embedding itself deep into the sideboard of a wagon some twenty feet behind Francis.

The stunned monk, all the monks, turned about to regard the throw, then turned back to Andacanavar, every one of them wearing an expression of greater respect.

"I might have thrown it a bit higher," the ranger said with a wink. "And then your voice'd be sounding a bit higher."

Brother Francis did well to prevent himself from trembling, both from rage and fear. His face was white, though, revealing his true emotions.

"Move back, Brother Francis," Master Jojonah scolded in no uncertain terms.

Francis looked at the older man, matched Andacanavar's sly grin with an angry stare. Then he did move back in place, feigning a frustrated rage, though in truth – and everyone knew it – he was glad that Master Jojonah had intervened.

"You see, I have also had a bit of training in what you call the arts martial," the ranger explained. "But I am hoping to keep my skills for powries and giants and the like. Your Church and my people have not been friends – and I am seeing no reason to change that now – but if your enemies are the powries, then name Anda-canavar among your allies. If you want my help, then know I will get you through my land along the safest and swiftest path. If you do not want my help, then say it now and I leave you." He gave Brother Braumin a sly look, and chuckled as he finished, "And know that I can walk myself far, far away, and am in need of no help from the lot of you."

The young monk blushed deeply.

Master Jojonah looked to his two companions and, predictably, found two different silent messages coming back to him. He turned to the huge stranger, knowing that ultimately this was his own decision to make. "I am not at liberty to tell you our destina-tion," he explained.

"Who's asking?" replied a grinning Andacanavar. "You are going north and west, and intending to leave my land. If you're planning to hold that course, I can show you the swiftest and easi-est way."

"And if we do not mean to hold that course?" Brother Francis in-terjected. He glared at Master Jojonah as he spoke, making clear his position concerning the stranger.

"Oh, but you do," the ranger replied, holding firm his grin. "You are heading for the Barbacan, for Mount Aida, by my guess."

Supremely disciplined, none of the three monks standing before the ranger offered any hint concerning his blunt assumption, but the openmouthed expressions worn by many of the younger monks surely confirmed Andacanavar's suspicions.

"That is only your guess?" Master Jojonah asked calmly, fig-uring the man must have heard as much while in Brother Brau-min's body. Andacanavar had just become a more dangerous person, the old monk realized, and lamented, for he feared that he might have to let Brother Francis have his way and kill this noble man. "And just a guess?"

"My reasoning," Andacanavar clarified. "If you are meaning to strike at the backs of the monsters that are attacking your home-land, then you are too far to the north and east. You should have gone back to the west before you ever set foot in Alpinador. But you would not have made such a mistake, not with your magics as guide. And so you are heading for the Barbacan, it seems plain to me. You want to know about the explosion there, about the great cloud of gray smoke that covered the land for more than a week and even put some of its ash on my homeland."

Jojonah's fears fast shifted to curiosity. "Then there truly was an explosion?" he asked bluntly, despite his fears of giving away too much information.

Beside him, Brother Francis nearly choked.

"Oh, but the biggest explosion the world has known since I have been in it!" the ranger confirmed. "Shook the ground under my feet, though I was standing hundreds of miles away. And a moun-tain of clouds rolled up, debris from a whole mountain blown into the sky."

Master Jojonah digested the confirmation, then found himself in a truly terrible dilemma. Father Abbot Markwart's edicts on this matter were clear enough, but Jojonah knew in his heart that this man was no enemy, and might indeed prove to be of great assis-tance. The master looked around at his entire entourage – for all the monks were gathered about by that time – finally settling his gaze on Brother Francis, who, of course, would likely prove the most troublesome.

"I have seen into his heart," Brother Braumin put in after a long, uncomfortable silence.

"Too much so for my own liking," the ranger remarked dryly.

"And for my own," the monk replied, managing a weak smile. He turned back to Jojonah and, putting aside his inner turmoil with the man, a conflict he knew to be illogical, said, "Let him lead us through Alpinador."

"He knows too much!" Brother Francis argued.

"More than we know!" Brother Braumin shot back.

"The Father Abbot – " Brother Francis began in threatening tones.

"The Father Abbot could not have foreseen this," Brother Braumin was quick to interrupt. "A good man is Andacanavar, a powerful ally, and one who knows the way. A way we could easily lose in this jagged terrain," he added, speaking loudly so all could hear. "One errant turn in a mountain pass could defeat us, or cost us a week of backtracking."

Brother Francis started to respond, but Master Jojonah held up his hand, indicating he had heard enough. The monk, feeling very old indeed, rubbed