Connor Bildeborough didn't feel nervous in the least as he left the familiar and safe, until now, confines of Palmaris behind. He had been in the open northland many times in the last months, and was confident he could avoid any trouble from the large numbers of monsters still to be found up there. The giants, with their dangerous rock-throwing abilities, had become quite scarce, and goblins and powries did not ride horses and would never catch Greystone.
Even when he set camp that first night, some thirty miles north of the city, the nobleman wasn't concerned. He knew how to con-ceal himself, and since it was summer, he didn't even need a fire. He reclined under the boughs of a bushy spruce, his horse nick-ering softly nearby.
The next day and night were much the same. Connor avoided the one real road that ran up this way, but he knew where he was going, and found enough level and clear ground to keep the pace swift.
On the third day, well over a hundred miles north of Palmaris, he came upon the ruins of a farmhouse and barn, and the tracks in the area told the experienced hunter exactly what had happened: a goblin troupe, a score at least, had come this way within the last couple of days. Fearing rain and an obscurement of the tracks, for the sky was heavy, Connor was back on his horse at once, fol-lowing the easy trail. He caught up to the raiding band late that afternoon, a light rain just beginning to fall. While Connor was glad to see that it was indeed only goblins, their numbers were twice his estimate and they were outfitted for war and marching with some measure of discipline. The nobleman considered their course, north-by-northwest, and thought it prudent to follow them. If what he suspected, if what the rumors had told him, were true, then these foolish goblins might lead him to the warrior band, and to the person using the magical gemstones operating in the area.
He rested within half a mile of the noisy goblin encampment. At one point, late in the night, he dared to sneak close to the perimeter - and was again impressed by the professionalism shown by the normally slovenly creatures. Still, Connor managed to get close enough to hear pieces of various conversations, complaints mostly, and a confirmation that most of the giants had gone home and the powries were too concerned with their own welfare to worry about any goblins.
Then Connor listened with great interest as a pair of goblins argued about their destination. One wanted to go north, to the encampment at the two towns - Caer Tinella and Landsdown, Connor realized.
"Argh!"the other scolded. "Yer knowin' that Kos-kosio's dead and gone, and so's Maiyer Dek! Ain't nothing up there but that Nightbird and his killers! The towns're all but lost, ye fool, and gettin' hit with balls o' fire every day!"
A smile widened on Connor's face. He went back to his im-promptu camp and his horse and managed to steal a few hours' sleep, but was up and ready to go well before the dawn. He fol-lowed the goblin troupe again, thinking to swing wide to the west with them, just in case, then turn back to explore the area near Caer Tinella and Landsdown.
The rain was back, heavier this day, but Connor hardly cared.
They took their rest under the shelter of the buildings, using the well, and they did indeed find fresh eggs and fresh milk for their enjoyment. They also found a wagon in the barn, and oxen to pull it, some whetstones to hone their blades and a pitchfork, which Tomas thought would look fine tucked into the belly of a giant. Roger, snooping about every corner of the barn, found a thin but strong rope and a small block and tackle, small enough that he could carry it without trouble. He had no idea what he might use it for, except maybe to rescue the wagon from some mud, but he took it anyway.
And so when the refugees left the farmhouse later that same night, they were refreshed and ready for the last leg of their flight to safety.
As usual, Roger and Juraviel moved into the point position, the elf scrambling nimbly along the lower branches of the trees, the tireless young Roger running a sweeping arc, always alert, always looking for signs of danger.
"You did well today," Juraviel said unexpectedly, catching Roger off his guard.
The young man looked up at the elf curiously. The two hadn't spoken much since Juraviel's thrashing of Roger, other than to agree to plans for their common scouting routes.
"After you spotted the farmhouse and barn, you accepted the po-sition Nightbird gave to you without question," the elf explained.
"What was I to do?"
"You could have argued," the elf replied. "Indeed, the Roger Lockless I first met would have seen the duty of staying with the caravan as a slight to his abilities, would have grumbled and com-plained and probably run off to the farmhouse anyway. In fact, the Roger Lockless I first met would not even have come to Nightbird and the others with the news, not until he had first had his way with the powries and the goblins."
Roger considered the words for a moment, and found that he could not disagree with the assessment. When he had first spotted the farmhouse, his instincts goaded him to go in for a better look, and a bit of light- fingered fun, perhaps. But that course had screamed as dangerous to Roger, not so much for him, but for the others, who were moving along not so far behind. Even if he hadn't been caught - which seemed to him likely, whatever monsters might have been inside - he might have had to lie low and stay put, and thus the caravan would not have been warned in time, and a fight - not on favorable terms - might have ensued.
"You understand, of course," the elf went on.
"I know what I did," Roger replied curtly.
"And you know that you did well," Juraviel said, and then, with a sly smile, he added, "You learn quickly."
Roger's eyes narrowed as he snapped his angry gaze over the elf; he certainly didn't need to be reminded of the "lesson."
Juraviel's continuing smile defeated him, though, put his pride in its proper place. Roger knew then that they had come to an un-derstanding, he and this elf. The lesson had taken, he had to admit. The cost of failure in this situation was bigger than his own life, and thus he had to accept directions from those more experienced than he. He relented his angry glare, and even managed a nod and a grin.
Juraviel perked up his ears suddenly, his eyes darting to the side.
"An approach," he said, and then he was gone, slipping into the tree cover so quickly that Roger blinked many times.
Then the young man moved fast, finding cover. He spotted the "approach" soon after, and relaxed when he recognized the source, a woman of his group, also out scouting. He startled her so much when he stepped out from behind a tree that she nearly drove her dagger into his chest.
"Something has put you on edge," Roger understated.
"A group of enemies," the woman replied. "Moving west, south of our position."
"How strong?"
"There are quite a few, two score, perhaps," she answered."
"And what manner of enemies?" came a question from the trees above.
The woman looked up, though she knew she would not catch a glimpse of this ever-elusive friend of Nightbird. Few of the ad-vance scouts had seen Juraviel, though all had heard his melodic voice from time to time. "Goblins," she replied. "Just goblins."
"Back to your place, then," the elf bade her. "Find the next in line, and he, the next in line, that all the scouts are linked, that word can be passed quickly."
The woman nodded and sped away.
"We could let them pass," Roger offered as Juraviel came back in sight on a lower branch.
The elf was not looking at him, was staring far away. "Go back and tell Nightbird to prepare a surprise," he instructed Roger.
"By Nightbird's own words, we are not to engage," Roger argued.
"Just goblins," Juraviel replied. "And if they are part of a larger band, they might be flanking us, and thus should be defeated quickly. Tell Nightbird that I insist we attack."
Roger looked long and hard at the elf, and for a moment Juraviel thought he would refuse the order. And that was exactly what Roger was thinking. The young man bit back that response, though, nodded and ran off.
"And Roger," Juraviel called, stopping him before he had gone five strides. He turned back to regard the elf.
"Tell Nightbird that this was your plan," Juraviel said. "And that I approve completely. Tell him that you believe we must hit the goblins fast and hard. The plan is yours to claim."
"That would be a lie," Roger protested.
"Would it?" asked the elf. "When you heard of the goblins, did you not first think that we should attack? Was it not only your obe-dience to the words of the ranger that stopped you from saying so?"
The young man pursed his lips as he considered the words, the simple truth of them.
"There is nothing wrong with disagreeing," Juraviel explained. "You have proven repeatedly that your opinion in these matters is truly valuable, and Nightbird understands this, as does Pony, as do I."
Again Roger turned and sped off, and this time with a noticeable spring in his step.
"My baby!" the woman screamed. "Oh, do not hurt him, I beg of you!"
"Duh?" one goblin asked its leader, scratching its head at the un-expected voice. This band had come from the Moorlands, and were not well-versed in the common language of the land. From their dealings with powries, they knew enough words to understand the general meaning of it all, though.
The goblin leader saw its band shuffling anxiously. They were thirsty for blood, though in no mood for any real battle, and now, delivered into their hands, it seemed, was an easy kill. The overcast had finally broken, and a bright full moon illuminated the night.
"Please," the unseen woman went on. "They are all just children."
That was all the goblins could stand. Before the leader of the band even gave the word, they were off and running into the forest, each wanting to be the first to claim a kill.
Another cry came out of the shadows, but seemed no closer. The goblins continued their blind charge, crashing through the brush, tripping over roots, but scrambling right back to their feet and run-ning on. Eventually they all came into a small clearing, bordered on the back by a tumble of boulders, on the left by a stand of pines, and on the right by an equally thick mix of oak and maple.
From somewhere behind those pines came the woman's voice, but now it did not seem so frantic as she sang:
Goblins, goblins, running hard,
Delivering songs unto the bards.
For in your folly you've come to play
And every goblin dies this day!
"Duh?" the goblin asked its leader again.
Another voice, melodious and clear, the voice of an elf, picked up the impromptu tune from somewhere within the shadows of the oak.
Dies from arrow, dies from blade,
From magic woven, the toll is paid.
For every person who at your hands
Was murdered most foul while you walked these lands,
We take revenge, we cleanse the night,
That dawn might bring a shining light.
More verses came at the confused monsters as many others took up the song, and laughter followed some of the lines, particularly the ones insulting to the goblins. Finally a resonating, powerful voice joined in, in a tone calm and deathly serious, and all the forest went quiet, as if to hear the words:
By your own evil have you brought this hour,
And by my hands and by my power,
Beg not for mercy, for judgment is passed,
We cut you down unto the last.
As he finished, the man walked his shining black stallion out from the shadows behind the boulders, in plain view of the stunned goblins.
"Nightbird," more than one creature whispered, and they knew then, every one, that they were truly doomed.
From a hillock not so far away, Connor Bildeborough watched the unfolding spectacle with more than a passing interest. For that first voice, the woman's, haunted the man, a voice he had listened to for so many wonderful months.
"I would give you a chance to surrender," the ranger said to the goblins. "But I am afraid that I have no place to put you, nor do I trust the likes of smelly goblins."
The goblin leader strode forward boldly, clenching tight its weapon.
"Are you the leader of this ragged band?" the ranger asked.
No answer.
"Impertinence!" the Nightbird shouted, and he pointed his finger at the goblin's helmeted head. "Die!" he commanded.
The sharp retort had every goblin jumping, and then staring in-credulously as their leader's head snapped violently to the side, as this powerful goblin who had bullied its way to a position of promi-nence simply fell over dead!
"And who is now the leader?" the ranger asked ominously.
The goblins went into a frenzy, scrambling every which way, most turning about, trying to run out the way they had come in. But Nightbird's band had not been idle during the minutes of the taunting song, and a strong contingent of archers was now in place in the forest behind the monsters. As they turned to the trees, they were met by a hail of stinging arrows, and then, when they scrambled yet another way, a sizzling bolt of lightning thundered out of the pines, blinding them all and killing several.
On came Nightbird, on came his warriors, charging down on the confused and disorganized band.
And on came Connor Bildeborough, as well, Defender in hand. The nobleman had seen and heard enough, and galloped headlong into the battle, the name of Jilly ringing from his lips.
Nightbird seemed to be everywhere he was most needed, bol-stering his soldiers wherever the goblins appeared to have gained any advantage.
From the oak stand, Belli'mar Juraviel, so sure of hand and eye, peppered the monsters with his small arrows, even stinging several who were engaged in close combat.
Across the way from the elf, Pony held her magic in check, con-serving her strength, thinking, fearing, that she would have to use the healing soul stone soon enough.
By the time he got near the clearing, Connor was truly im-pressed. No ragtag band this! The lightning, the arrows, the perfect timing of the ambush - he lamented that if the King's soldiers were as well-trained, this war might have ended long ago!
He hoped to find Jilly when he came onto the clearing, but she was not about and he couldn't rightly go looking for her. His sword was needed now, and so he kicked Greystone into a short burst, slashing one goblin as he passed and then trampling a second who had put a man to the ground.
The horse stumbled and Connor lost his seat, tumbling hard to the ground. No matter, though, for he was not badly hurt and he was up and ready with his sword in an instant.
Luck was not with the nobleman, though, for several goblins had chosen this particular place as their exit point, and now only Connor stood between them and the forest. He raised his sword and bravely assumed defensive posture, slipping his thoughts to the magnetites, activating their attracting magic.
A goblin sword slashed in, but Defender easily got in its path, blade against blade. When the goblin tried to retract its weapon, it found the blade somehow stuck to the nobleman's sword.
A deft twist and swing of Defender, a release of the magnetite magic, and the goblin's sword was flying free.
But Connor was far from free, for other goblins pressed in, and many carried not metal weapons, but thick wooden clubs.
A small arrow zipped out from behind Connor, taking one goblin in the eye. Before he could even glance back to discern the source, the warrior astride the stallion was there beside him, his magnificent sword glowing of its own magical light.
The goblins turned about, shouting "Nightbird!" and "Doom!" repeatedly, and seemed not to care that they were running from two men into the whirling swords of two score.
It was over in a matter of minutes, and the wounded - and there weren't many, and only one or two appeared seriously injured - were quickly ushered back to the forest in the north, into the pines.
Connor went to his horse, carefully inspecting the beast's legs and breathing a deep sigh indeed when he discerned that beautiful Greystone had not been seriously injured.
"Who are you?" the man on the stallion asked him, walking near. His tone was not threatening, was not even suspicious.
Connor looked up to see that many of the warriors were about him, eyeing him curiously.
"Forgive us, but we have not found many allies so far from the more populated lands," the ranger added calmly.
"I am a friend from Palmaris, it would seem," Connor an-swered. "Out hunting goblins."
"Alone?"
"There are advantages to riding alone," Connor answered.
"Then hail and good greetings," Elbryan said, sliding down from Symphony and walking to stand directly before the man. He took Connor's hand in a firm shake. "We have food and drink, but we will not be stopping for long. Our road leads to Palmaris, and we plan to use the hours of the night to our advantage."
"So it would seem," Connor said dryly, looking at the many goblin dead.
"You are welcome to join us," Elbryan said. "In fact, we would consider it an honor and a great favor."
"I did not prove myself so worthy a fighter in that battle," Connor remarked. "Not measured next to the one called Nightbird," he added, offering the ranger a smile.
Elbryan only smiled in reply, and started away, Connor falling in beside him. He went to the first kill, the goblin who had led the band, and bent low, pulling aside the creature's bent and torn helmet.
"How far to the city?" another man, young and slight, asked.
"Three days," Connor replied. "Four, if you have any who will slow you down."
"Four, then," Roger replied.
Connor looked from him to the ranger just in time to see the large man dig a gemstone out of the goblin's smashed head.
"Then you are the worker of magic," the nobleman reasoned.
"Not I," replied Elbryan. "I can use the stones to some small de-gree, but pale indeed beside the true wielder."
"A woman?" Connor asked breathlessly.
Elbryan turned and rose, facing Connor directly, and Connor realized that his question had touched some nerve, had unsettled this man as surely as a threat. As eager as he was, Connor was wise enough to let the matter drop for now; these folks, the magic-user at least, were outlaws in the eyes of the Church, and they might know it, and might be more than a little suspicious of anyone asking too many probing questions.
"I heard the woman's song," Connor went on, deflecting his true intent. "I am a nobleman, and have seen magic before, but never have I witnessed such a magnificent display."
Elbryan didn't reply, but his visage softened somewhat. He looked around, to see that the refugees were efficiently ending the suffering of those goblins who had not yet succumbed to their wounds, then going about the task of taking whatever supplies they could find among the dead monsters. "Come," he bade the stranger. "I must ready the folk for the continuing march."
He led Connor, Roger in tow, into the forest then, moving to an area where the undergrowth was not so dense. Several fires were burning, guiding the people as they went about their work, and be-side one such blaze Connor saw her.
Jilly, working over the wounded. His Jilly, as beautiful - more beautiful! - than she had been back in Palmaris, before the war, be-fore all the pain. Her blond hair was shoulder-length now, and so thick that he felt as if he could lose himself in it, and even in the dim light of the fires her eyes shone blue, sparkling and rich.
All color left Connor's handsome face and he broke away from Elbryan, walking as if in a daze toward her.
The ranger caught up to him in an instant, taking him by the arm. "Are you wounded?" Elbryan asked.
"I know her," was Connor's breathless reply. "I know her."
"Pony?"
"Jilly."
Still the ranger held him firmly, more firmly, in place, turning him and eyeing him directly. Elbryan knew that Pony had married a nobleman in Palmaris, with disastrous consequences. "Your name, sir," the ranger inquired.
The man straightened. "Connor Bildeborough of Chasewind Manor," he answered boldly.
Elbryan didn't know how to react. One part of him wanted to punch the man in the face, to lay him low... because he had hurt Pony? No, that wasn't the reason, the ranger had to admit, to him-self if not openly. He wanted to punch Connor out of sheer jeal-ousy, out of the fact that, for a time at least, this man had found Pony's heart. She may not have been in love with Connor as she now loved him, may not even have consummated their relation-ship, but she had cared deeply about Connor Bildeborough, had even married him!
The ranger closed his eyes for a brief moment, finding his center and his calm. He had to consider how Pony would feel if he clob-bered the man now, had to consider how she would feel at the mere sight of Connor Bildeborough. "Better to wait until she is finished with the wounded," he explained calmly.
"I must see her and speak with her," Connor stuttered.
"To the detriment of those who just battled the goblins beside her," the ranger said firmly. "You will prove a distraction, Master Bildeborough, and the work with the stones requires absolute concentration."
Connor glanced again to the woman, even took a step that way, but the ranger tugged him insistently back, with strength that fright-ened the man. He turned again to face Elbryan, and understood he would not get near Jilly now, that this man would drag him away forcibly, if need be.
"She will be finished within the hour," Elbryan said to him. "And then you may see her."
Connor studied the ranger's face as he spoke, and realized only then that there was something more than friendship between this man and the woman who had been his wife. He sized up Elbryan in light of his new observation, taking a measure of the ranger should they come to blows.
He didn't like the prospect.
So he followed the ranger as the man went about the business of preparing for the move. Connor glanced over at Jill often, as did Nightbird, and neither of them doubted that they were thinking much the same things. Finally Connor broke away from the ranger and moved to the far end of the encampment, putting as much dis-tance, and as many people, between himself and Jill as possible. The sight of her, the realization that she was once again so near, was finally settling in on the nobleman; he had gone past the pleasant recollections to that one horrible night, their wedding night, when he had almost raped his unwilling bride. And then he had paid for an annulment, and forced charges against Jill for re-fusing him, an accusation that had taken her from her family and indentured her to the King's army. How would she feel about seeing him again? he wondered, and worried, for Connor could not believe that she would return his wistful smile.
They were on the road for nearly half an hour before Connor fi-nally mustered the courage to ride up beside the woman, who was riding Symphony, the ranger walking along beside her.
Elbryan saw him coming first. He looked up at Pony, locking her gaze. "I am here in support of you," he said. "For whatever you need of me, even if that means that I must leave you alone."
Pony eyed him curiously, not understanding, then heard the hoofbeats. She knew that a stranger had joined in the battle, a noble-man from Palmaris, but Palmaris was a big city, and she had never imagined that it might be...
Connor.
Pony nearly toppled from Symphony at the sight of the man; her arms and legs went weak, her stomach churned. The black wings of remembered pain fluttered up about her, threatening to bury her. It was a part of her life that she did not want to recall, a memory better lost. She had survived the pain, had even grown from the pain, but she did not wish to relive it, especially not now, with the future so uncertain and so full of challenges.
Still, she could not avoid those images. She had been held down, like an animal, her clothes torn from her and her limbs held steady. And then, when he, this man who had professed to love her, could not follow through, she had been summarily dismissed, dragged from her bedchamber. Even that was not enough for him, for then Connor - this man, this gallant- looking figure so splendid on his well-groomed riding horse, with jewels in his sword belt and clothes cut of the finest cloth - had ordered both the handmaidens to return to him for his pleasure, had cruelly shot the barb right into her heart.
And here he was, astride his horse right beside her, a smile finding its way onto his undeniably handsome face. "Jilly," he blurted, so full of excitement.
