The Demon Apostle
Chapter 15 The Elven View of the World

The night air was crisp, the sky bore only a few dark clouds, soaring high on the wind. A million stars were sparkling despite the bright-ness of the full moon rising in the east. It was a night sky suitable for the Halo, Juraviel thought, but alas, that colorful belt was not to be seen.
The elf was farther south now, in the region where dells, clustered thick with trees, were scattered among cultivated fields, divided from one another by drystone walls. He made his way among the shadows, running and dancing, for though he felt he must hurry, he could not resist the plea-sure of a leaping twirl that brought him to the side of his intended path. And even though he often saw candles burning in the window of a newly reclaimed farmhouse, Juraviel did sing a quiet, haunting melody that re-minded him of Andur'Blough Inninness.
So caught up was he that many moments passed before he noticed other voices singing, their harmony wafting through the quiet air.
The song did not put the elf on his guard, but it did calm him and sent him running straight. He realized his instincts, his sense of star song, had guided him true. His heart soared, for he dearly wanted to see his brethren again. He found them gathered in a grove of oak and scattered pines. Smiles broadened on a dozen elven faces. The presence of some of the Touel'alfar - like Tallareyish Issinshine, who, despite his great age, loved to wander out of the elven valley - didn't surprise Juraviel. But the appear-ance of one elf in particular stunned him. At first he hardly noticed her, for she wore the hood of her cloak up, only her sparkling eyes showing.
"You have been missed, Belli'mar Juraviel," she said. Her voice - that special voice, powerful and melodic all at once, even by elven standards -  halted the dancing Juraviel.
"My lady," he said breathlessly, surprised, even stunned, to discover that Lady Dasslerond herself had come forth from the valley. Juraviel rushed to her and fell to his knees, accepting her hand and kissing it gently.
"The song of Caer'alfar is diminished without your voice," Lady Dasslerond replied, one of the highest compliments one elf could pay to another.
"Forgive me, lady, but I do not understand," Juraviel said. "You have come forth, and yet I know that you are needed in Andur'Blough Innin-ness. The dactyl's scar..."
"Remains," Lady Dasslerond replied. "Deep is the mark of Bestesbulzi-bar upon our valley, I fear; and so the rot has begun, a rot that may force us from our homes, from the world itself. But that is a matter for decades, per-haps centuries, to come, and now I fear that there may be more pressing needs."
"The war went well. Take heart that Nightbird is back in his place - or shall be soon," Juraviel told her. "The land will know peace once more, though it came at a great cost."
"No," Lady Dasslerond replied. "Not yet, I fear. Ever in the history of humans, it has been the aftermath of war that brings the most unrest. Their hierarchies and institutions are shaken. Inevitably, one will arise to claim leadership, and often it is one undeserving."
"You have heard of the death of the baron of Palmaris?" Tallareyish remarked, "and of Abbot Dobrinion, who led the Church in Palmaris?"
Juraviel nodded. "Word came to us before Nightbird went north to the Timberlands," he explained.
"Both were good, and safe, as humans go," Lady Dasslerond explained. "Palmaris is an important site for us, since it is the primary city and garrison between our home and the more populated human lands."
Juraviel knew Palmaris was an important city to the elves, and yet they could not go into the place openly. Few humans knew of them - in fact, because of Juraviel's efforts in the war beside Nightbird, the number of humans who could honestly claim they had seen an elf had probably at least doubled over the last few months. But the doings of the humans were of concern to the elves, and Lady Dasslerond had sent elves into Palmaris every so often over the last decades.
"We are not pleased by the rumors coming out of the city," Tallareyish remarked. "There is a fight within the Church, one in which we - you - have inadvertently played a role."
"Not so inadvertent," Juraviel replied. He was surprised by the some-what accusatory looks coming his way and he held up his hands. "Was it not Lady Dasslerond herself who instructed me to go to Mount Aida?" he asked. "And did not Lady Dasslerond herself come out of Caer'alfar to my aid when Bestesbulzibar descended upon me and the human refugees?"
"You speak truly," Lady Dasslerond agreed. "And it was Tuntun, not Juraviel, who fulfilled our rightful place on the journey to Mount Aida."
"You even brought the demon to our home," Juraviel replied. "And I do not disagree with your choice," he quickly added, seeing her scowl. "Indeed, were it not for that choice, I would have been destroyed north of our valley."
"And that is where it should have ended," Lady Dasslerond explained, "in Andur'Blough Inninness for us, and in Mount Aida for Tuntun. Our part in this conflict was played out when the demon dactyl was destroyed."
The weight of her words hit Juraviel. Indeed, it had seemed that the elves were done with the conflict, until Nightbird and Pony had arrived on the mountain slopes above the elven valley. An enchantment forbade their entrance, so Juraviel had gone to them. Then, with Lady Dasslerond's re-luctant blessing, Juraviel had departed with the pair to take up the fight against the scattered remnants of the demon dactyl's army.
"Had you ordered me to stay in Andur'Blough Inninness, I would have offered no complaint," Juraviel said softly to the lady of the valley. "I have only followed that course which seemed truest to me."
"All the way to St.-Mere-Abelle?" Tallareyish remarked, his tone not complimentary.
That was it, Juraviel recognized: the breaking point of elven tolerance. Lady Dasslerond had sent him with Nightbird and Pony to watch the progress of the war against the goblins, giants, and powries, but he had fol-lowed the ranger and interfered in the heart of the affairs of humans.
Juraviel lowered his gaze to the ground before the great elven lady. "My journey to St.-Mere-Abelle was to rescue Bradwarden the centaur, who has been an elven friend for many, many years," he said humbly.
"We know," Lady Dasslerond replied.
A long moment passed, and then all the elves around him began talking at once, whispering the name of the centaur. Juraviel heard the word "justi-fied" spoken several times, and at last found the courage to look up into his lady's eyes.
Lady Dasslerond studied him intently for a few moments, then nodded slowly. "I cannot, in good conscience, dispute your decision," she admitted, "for you did not understand fully the implications of involving yourself in such matters. What news of Bradwarden, then?"
"He is in the north with Nightbird," Juraviel replied. Before he could elaborate, one of the elves in the branches of a nearby tree signaled that someone was closing on their position, and in a moment all the elves disap-peared into the underbrush.
A short while later, the light of a torch could be seen, winding through the trees, and then Juraviel smiled as two humans, one of whom he recog-nized, walked into view.
"You know that one," Lady Dasslerond stated, indicating Roger. As she spoke, several of the other elves began to sing softly, their voices blending with the normal sounds of the forest night. Using their star song, they wove a sound wall, a magical barrier through which elven voices would not carry, that they might continue their conversation without fear that the approach-ing humans would hear.
"Roger Billingsbury," Juraviel confirmed, "though more commonly known as Roger Lockless - a title he has well earned."
Dasslerond's nod showed that she, too, had learned the truth of Roger Lockless. "And the other?" she asked. "Is he known to you?"
Juraviel studied the man closely, trying to recall if he had seen him on those few occasions when he and his two companions had passed monks on their way to St.-Mere-Abelle. "No," he replied. "I do not believe that I have ever seen him."
"His name is Braumin Herde," Dasslerond explained, "a disciple of Brother Avelyn."
"Disciple?" Juraviel echoed skeptically.
"There are five of them with Roger," the lady explained, "all brothers of the Abellican Order and all dedicated to your old companion Avelyn. Roger is leading them north to find Nightbird, for they are now outlaws of the Church, men without a home."
Juraviel's expression showed his doubts. "Or are they brothers justice," he asked, "wearing the guise of friends that they might find Jilseponie and the gemstones Avelyn took from St.-Mere-Abelle?"
"They are sincere," Lady Dasslerond assured him. "We have watched them carefully these last days, hearing their every conversation."
"And do they know of you?"
"Roger alone," the lady said. "He has told the others about us, but they do not believe him." She glanced at Juraviel, then looked back at the two approaching men. "Perhaps it is time we were formally introduced." She moved boldly out into the torchlit path of the two men. How Braumin Herde's eyes widened at the sight of Dasslerond, and how Roger's eyes and smile widened when Belli'mar Juraviel stepped up beside the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness!
"Juraviel!" Roger exclaimed, coming forward to greet his friend. "It has been far too long." Roger's excitement waned when he glanced at his com-panion and saw Braumin Herde backing up, trembling with every step, his face white in the torchlight.
"Calm, Brother Braumin!" Lady Dasslerond commanded, and in her voice was a quality of command beyond anything the monk had ever encountered - even beyond the power of Markwart's stern tone at recent abbey gatherings. He stopped short.
"Did not Roger Lockless tell you of us?" Lady Dasslerond asked bluntly. "Did he not tell you that you would likely find the man you seek in the com-pany of Belli'mar Juraviel of the Touel'alfar?"
"I - I had thought - " Braumin stuttered.
"We are exactly as Roger Lockless described," Lady Dasslerond went on.
"Lockless?" Braumin echoed, looking at his friend.
"A title more than a name," Roger replied.
"This we know because even as he was telling you of us, we were in the trees above you, listening," Lady Dasslerond went on. "So be surprised that his tales ring so true, but let that surprise pass quickly, for we have much to discuss."
Brother Braumin took a deep breath and composed himself as much as possible.
Roger looked questioningly at Juraviel, caught off guard. He started for-ward tentatively once more, but his friend, wary of Lady Dasslerond's temper, held him at bay.
"Take us back to your encampment to meet your companions," Lady Dasslerond ordered. "I do not wish to answer the same questions twice."
The reception at the camp was predictable, the four other monks obvi-ously shocked to find Roger's outlandish tales were true. Brother Castinagis did a fair job of restraining himself, as did Dellman; but Mullahy sat down in the dirt, staring mutely, and Viscenti fell all over himself with excitement, tripping several times - once nearly pitching headlong into the fire.
"Belli'mar Juraviel brings good word," Lady Dasslerond began when at last the monks calmed. "For Nightbird is not so far ahead, though his road, like our own, heads north. We will find him in Dundalis, in the Timberlands."
"And the centaur," Roger remarked. "You will be amazed at how pow-erful he is, if his wounds have fully healed."
"They have," Juraviel assured him, smiling at Braumin and Dellman, both of whom had met Bradwarden before.
"And Pony," Roger remarked, obviously enchanted by the mere mention of the name. "Jilseponie Ault," he explained, "Brother Avelyn's dearest friend and principal student."
Juraviel said nothing, but observant Lady Dasslerond caught the look that momentarily came over the elf's face and recognized that he had some information contrary to Roger's claim.
"She is the one with your gemstones," Roger went on, and the startling admission caught Lady Dasslerond's attention and forced her to focus on the five monks, carefully measuring their reactions. She saw no hint of any underlying intentions, and since she usually found it easy to read the hearts of humans, she took comfort in that.
"Perhaps if we form a Church of our own, Jilseponie Ault will see fit to return the stones," Brother Castinagis remarked.
Roger laughed at the thought. "If you form a Church of your own, one based on the life of Avelyn Desbris, you should beg Pony to serve as your Mother Abbess," he said.
"A request that she would no doubt find most flattering," Lady Dasslerond said. "But let us consider the road before us and not the meet-ings we may find at the end of that road."
"That road seems less dark indeed, now that we have found such allies," Braumin Herde said with a low bow.
"Traveling companions," Lady Dasslerond corrected sternly. "Do not misunderstand our relationship," the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness con-tinued, her voice sharp and clear. "Our road follows the same path as your own, it would seem, for the present, thus it is to our mutual benefit to travel side by side. We can serve as your eyes in the forest, and you can gather information from any humans we might meet along the way. But conve-nience does not necessarily constitute an alliance. However, if we happen upon a mutual foe - goblin or powrie or giant - my kin and I will destroy it, and thus, in that limited situation, you may consider us as allies."
Roger stared at Juraviel as she spoke, taken aback by her detached, even callous, tone. Juraviel's expression offered little information. The elf under-stood Roger's surprise: up until then, the only elf Roger had met was Juraviel. But Lady Dasslerond spoke with the responsibility for the fate of the Touel'alfar upon her. Juraviel knew her attitude toward the humans was not unusual.
"However," Lady Dasslerond continued, looking at each of the six men, "should we happen upon enemies of your own making - King's soldiers, perhaps, or men of your Church - then any battle is your own to wage. The Touel'alfar shall not concern themselves with the affairs of humans."
Juraviel felt that last statement keenly, knew that Lady Dasslerond had put it that way to aim it directly at him.
"I only meant - " poor Braumin Herde tried to explain.
"I know what you meant," Lady Dasslerond assured him. "And I know what you assumed."
"I did not mean to anger you."
Lady Dasslerond laughed at the thought, and there was no mistaking her condescension. "I am merely showing you the truth of the matter," she said in a matter-of-fact tone. "For to misunderstand our relationship could prove fatal." She motioned to the trees about them, and branches rustled as the other elves skittered away into the dark forest night. "You should set watch this night and all others," Lady Dasslerond explained to the men. "We will be about to call an alert should a monster wander near you, but if the intruder is human, your vigilance alone will protect you."
With that, she turned, Juraviel in tow, and walked slowly away, not fading into the shadows quickly, as the elves often did, but letting the men watch her for as long as possible, letting them take her measure.
Juraviel, too, marked well his lady's attitude, a fitting reminder to him of the relationship between the two races. Juraviel had made great friends of several humans, but that was not the norm, he was pointedly reminded.
Back in the forest, Lady Dasslerond bade Tallareyish to set the other elves in sentry positions, a perimeter that would include a watch over the human encampment. Juraviel moved to volunteer for one position, but Lady Dasslerond excluded him from the duties.
"You believe that we will have little trouble in finding Nightbird?" Lady Dasslerond asked him when Tallareyish and the others had moved away.
"He will not be hiding," Juraviel replied. "And even if he was, his favored place to hide is the forest."
"The ranger is important to us now," Lady Dasslerond said. "I have had kin, Tallareyish among them, in Palmaris since you went on your journey to the east. We have been watching the Church mostly, and I am not encour-aged by all that we have seen."
Juraviel nodded.
"Nightbird may play an important role in all this," Lady Dasslerond explained, "to secure the outcome that we most desire."
"As may Jilseponie," Juraviel remarked.
"Yes, the woman," said Lady Dasslerond. "Tell me about her. She is not with Nightbird - that much was obvious from your reaction to Roger Lock-less' claims."
"She is in Palmaris," Juraviel explained, "or should be."
"You fear for her?"
"The Church seeks her desperately," Juraviel replied. "But Jilseponie is an experienced warrior, and her power with the gemstones is considerable indeed."
"But she is not our concern," Lady Dasslerond prompted.
"Nightbird taught herbi'nelle dasada," Juraviel admitted. "And she is wonderful."
Lady Dasslerond's jaw tightened and she stood very straight. In the trees about them several elves gasped and whispered, obviously affronted. Juraviel was not surprised by the reaction, for he, too, had been angry when he had first learned that Nightbird had shared such a gift - a gift that was the Touel'alfar's alone to give. But then he had witnessed Pony's weaving a pattern of beauty with Nightbird as they fought side by side against many goblins, and he could not deny that she was worthy of the gift, nor that Nightbird had taught her well.
"I ask, my lady, that you withhold judgment until you can watch Jilse-ponie at the dance," he begged. "Or better still, watch her at the dance beside Nightbird. The harmony of their steps is - "
"Enough, Belli'mar Juraviel," Lady Dasslerond interrupted coldly. "This is a concern for another day. Our focus must be the ranger now, that he uses the gifts we gave to him to the best advantage for the Touel'alfar."
"Our concern must also be with Jilseponie," Juraviel dared to disagree.
"Because of the gemstones?" asked the lady. "Because she has learnedbi'nelle dasada? That alone does not qualify her as friend of the Touel - "
"Because she is with child," Juraviel cut in. "Nightbird's child."
Lady Dasslerond was intrigued. The child of a ranger! This was not without precedent, but it was rare.
"The bloodline of Mather will continue, then," came Tallareyish's voice from the canopy. "That is good."
"Good if Jilseponie proves worthy," Lady Dasslerond replied. She looked hard at Juraviel.
"She will exceed your every hope," the elf told her. "Rarely have two so worthy humans brought forth a child." He couldn't tell if the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness was pleased.
"Were you going to Palmaris to watch over her? " she asked.
"I had thought to take that course," Juraviel admitted. "But, no, I was coming home to Caer'alfar, for I longed for the company of kin and kind."
"You have found that company," said Lady Dasslerond. "Are you satisfied? "
Juraviel understood the honor Lady Dasslerond had just conferred by offering him a choice. "I am satisfied," he said. "And so, with your permis-sion, I choose to remain with you, on the road back to the north to find Nightbird."
"No," Lady Dasslerond replied, surprising him. "Two will continue to the north to escort the humans, but my course, and yours now, is south."
"To Jilseponie? " Juraviel asked.
"I wish to take a measure of this woman who will bear the child of Nightbird," Lady Dasslerond explained, "of this woman who has learnedbi'nelle dasada, though it was not the Touel'alfar who taught her."
Juraviel smiled, for he was confident that the lady would be pleased.
Only a pair of elves continued shadowing the movements of Roger and the monks in the morning, all of the others running and dancing quickly south.
"We build it, they tear it down. So we build it again, and they tear it down again," Tomas Gingerwart lamented, staring at the burned-out ruins of Dundalis. The place had been completely flattened, not a single board left unburned or unbroken. "And now here we are, stubborn fools, ready to build the place again." Tomas started to chuckle, but looked at Elbryan, seeing the profound pain there.
"I was a boy when the first Dundalis was sacked," the ranger explained. He pointed to the charred remains of one building near the center. "That was Belster O'Comely's tavern," he explained, "the Howling Sheila. But before that, long before Belster and the others you met even came to the northland, it was my home."
"Ah, and a fine town it was in those first days," remarked Bradwarden, surprising Tomas and Elbryan by stepping out of the brush, showing him-self to the people. Tomas had told them of the centaur, and many had caught fleeting glimpses of him, but, the gasp from the group was fairly general.
"I preferred that first town to the second," Bradwarden said. "More filled with the songs o' children. Like yer own, Nightbird, and those of Pony."
"Pony, too, was from that first Dundalis?" Tomas asked. "I do not know the tale."
"And we've not the time for it now," Elbryan replied. "Tonight, perhaps, when our work is done and we have gathered about a fire."
"But why was the first town full of children, and not the second?" one man pressed.
"The second group, Belster's companions, came north to a town that had been destroyed," Elbryan explained. "As with our caravan, they knew the recent history of Dundalis, and brought no children with them. They were a hardier folk than those who lived in the first town."
"And yet, they, too, would've been killed to the man if they'd not had a ranger lookin' over them," the centaur remarked.
Elbryan took the compliment in stride, but, in truth, it was his greatest pride that he had helped to save the majority of the folk of Dundalis before Bestesbulzibar's army had arrived. He had found people in the exact situa-tion that had taken the lives of his own family and friends, and, using the gifts of the Touel'alfar, he had made a substantial difference.
"And here we are, thinking of building the place again," Tomas remarked.
"Ah, but ye'll be gettin' yer ranger," said the centaur.
Tomas looked long and hard at Elbryan, and saw that the cloud of pain had not gone from his olive-green eyes. "We came to rebuild," he offered, laying his hand on the ranger's shoulder. "But it does not have to be here. There are other fitting locations."
Elbryan looked at the man, sincerely touched by his concern and his offer. "Here," he replied. "Dundalis will rise again, in defiance of the gob-lins and the demon and any others who would try to stop us. Right here, a town again as it was before; and when the region is secure, we shall bring others - folk with children - to fill the air with song."
Murmurs of assent came from every member of the group. "But where to start?" one woman asked.
"Up that hill," Elbryan answered without hesitation, pointing up the north slope. "A tower up there will command a view of all the northern trails. And down here, we will start with a strong meetinghouse, a place of drink and song in times of peace, a shelter should winter at last descend, and a fortress should war find its way here again."
"You sound as if you've planned it all," Tomas remarked.
"A thousand times," Elbryan replied, "every day from the day I was forced to run and hide in the forest. Dundalis will rise from the ashes again - this time to stay."
That brought smiles, encouraging whispers, and even cheers.
"And the other towns?" Tomas asked.
"We have not the manpower to reclaim Weedy Meadow and End-o'-the-World at present," Elbryan explained. "Bradwarden and I will scout them out, but for now, let them lie. Once Dundalis is alive and thriving again, more settlers will come north, and we will aid them in the reclamation of the other two towns."
"Each with a meetinghouse fortress?" Tomas asked with a wide grin.
"And a tower," Elbryan replied.
"And a ranger," said Bradwarden with a laugh. "Ah, but ye'll be runnin' all about, Nightbird."
And so they began that very day, clearing debris and staking out lines for some of the new structures. The foundation of the central building was cleared, the walls outlined, and first poles - the bottom rigging of the tower Elbryan wanted placed overlooking the valley of caribou moss -  were placed later that same afternoon.
Up there, on the ridge of that northern slope, the ranger relived some of the most vivid and powerful memories of his youth: his father leading the hunters back with the dead goblin, the first sign of trouble; his many days spent up here with Pony, looking down at the beautiful white brush blan-keting the ground about the rows of fir trees; the night he and Pony started up here, only to be stopped by the spectacular sight of Corona's many-colored Halo glowing across the southern sky like a heavenly rainbow.
And, perhaps the most vivid memory of all and the most painful, he remembered his first kiss with Pony, the delicious and warm feeling that was shattered by the screams as the goblins sacked the town.
He told all that to Tomas and the others that night around the campfire. They all were weary from a hard day of work, and all knew that they would have another equally grueling schedule the next day. Yet not a person fell asleep, entranced by the tale the ranger wove for them. The moon had already set by the time he finished, and every one of them went to sleep with even more determination that Dundalis would rise again.
PART
THREE
POLITIC
There is something freeing about this existence, Uncle Mather, something true and without hypocrisy in living among the ever-present dangers on the borderlands of so-called civilized lands. I have been watching Tomas and his friends, many of whom have lived most of their lives in Palmaris, and have witnessed a change: gradual, but not so subtle if I measure their present state against the attitudes I saw in them when first I came to Caer Tinella. Their facades and pretensions have gradually slipped away, I think, to allow the real faces of these men and women to shine through. And I, who was raised in Dundalis and then among the blunt - often brutally blunt! - Touel'alfar, greatly prefer these true faces.
Simple survival out here requires trust, and trust requires honesty. Without it, all is in jeopardy, for when danger descends, cooperation holds the key to survival. I know my friends, Uncle Mather, and my enemies, and I would willingly take a spear aimed at a friend, as any of them would for me. That notion of mutual benefit, of true community, has been buried in the lands where the thrill of life on the edge of peril has been replaced by the competition of intrigue, the building of secret alliances. A secure, comfortable life, it seems, allows the darker aspect of human nature to emerge.
I have spent many hours thinking on this since my journey through the populated lands, through Palmaris and to St.-Mere-Abelle. It might be that the people there are bored, for much of life's risk and adventure have been removed; and thus, the folk have added their own adventures, false adventures. The levels of intrigue that I found in the populated South, particularly in the Church, have overwhelmed me. It almost seems to me as if these people have too much time to think, and they sit around weaving improbable conclusions to misguided beliefs.
I could not survive in that world, and would not deign to try. I shall let the rise and set of the sun and the moon guide my hours, and let the weather and seasons guide my actions. I shall eat enough to sustain life and never descend to gluttony, and always shall I remember to appreciate the animal, or plant, that provided me with food. I shall hold nature in a place of godliness and stand humbly beneath her, remembering always that she could destroy me in the flicker of an instant. I shall tolerate weaknesses in others, for in them, I see my own. And I shall raise my sword or bow in defense only, never for personal gain.
These are the vows that have come to me in my reflections, Uncle Mather, and I know them to be the ways of the ranger. I choose to live simply, and honestly, as did my father, as did you, Uncle Mather, and as the Touel'alfar showed me. As those in the cultured and civilized kingdoms have seemingly forgotten.
I shudder at the concept of a world tamed.