DemonWars Saga Volume 1 by R. A. Salvatore Page A
Authors: R. A. Salvatore
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Epic, dark fantasy, FICTION / Fantasy / General, Collections & Anthologies, Science Fiction/Fantasy
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doubt countless others all over its fifteen-foot frame.
The young man simply had no answers now. He had thought himself dead, and yet he was not. He had thought Dundalis doomed . . .
Elbryan scrambled to his feet, did a quick check of the dead goblins in the area. He was somewhat surprised, and a bit humbled, to find that even the two he had struggled against, even the one he had thought slain by his own sword, also showed many mysterious puncture wounds.
"Bees, bees, bees," Elbryan chanted, a litany of hope, as he dashed from the area, down the slope toward Dundalis. The words, the hopes, fell away in a stifled gasp as soon as the village, the charred rubble that had been the village, came into view.
He knew that they were dead, all dead. Even from this distance, fifty yards from the northernmost point of the village, Elbryan felt in his heart that no one could have survived such a disaster. His face ashen, his heart pounding -
- but offering no energy to arms that hung slack at his side or to legs that seemed suddenly as if they each weighed a hundred pounds — the young man, feeling very much a little lost boy, walked home.
He recognized every body that had not been caught by flames — the parents of his friends; the younger men, just a few years older than he; and the younger boys and girls who had been taken from patrol by their parents. On the charred threshold of one ruin, he saw a tiny corpse, a blackened ball. Carralee Ault, Pony's cousin, Elbryan realized, for she was the only baby in town. Carralee's mother lay facedown in the road, just a few feet from the threshold where lay the baby. She had been trying to get back to Carralee, Elbryan understood, and they had cut her down as she had watched the house, her house, burn down about her baby.
Elbryan forced himself to stay away from such vivid empathy, realizing that he could easily lose himself in utter despair. The task became all the harder as he approached one large group of slain goblins and giants on the road, as he walked past the area of heaviest fighting, as he walked past the body of Olwan, his father.
Elbryan could see his father had died bravely, and understanding. his father's stern and forceful way, he was not surprised. Olwan had died fighting.
But that mattered not at all to Elbryan.
The boy staggered on toward the ruin of his own house. He snorted, a crying chuckle, as he saw that the foundation, of which his father was so proud, was intact, though the walls and ceiling had collapsed. Elbryan picked his way into the still-smoldering ruin. One of the back corners had somehow escaped the flames, and when the roof had fallen in, it had angled down, leaving a clear space.
He pushed aside a timber gingerly, when he heard the remaining roof groan in protest and went down to his knees, peering in. He could make out two forms, lying against the very
back corner.
"Please, please," Elbryan whispered, picking a careful path to that spot.
The goblin, the closest form, was dead, its head bashed. Unreasonable hope pushing him on, Elbryan scrambled over the thing to the next body, sitting in the very corner.
It was his mother, dead as well — of smoke, Elbryan soon realized, for she had not a wound on her. In her hand she clutched her heavy wooden spoon.
Often had she waved that thing at the children, Elbryan and his friends, when they were bothering her, threatening to warm their bottoms.
She had never used it, Elbryan only then remembered. Not until this day, he silently added, looking at the slain goblin.
All the images of her in life waving that spoon, shaking her head at her impetuous son, teasing Olwan, and sharing a wink with Jilseponie as if they knew a secret about Elbryan came flooding back to the boy in an overwhelming jumble.
He moved in further and sat beside his mother, shifting her stiffening form that he might hug her one final time.
And he cried. He cried for his mother and father, for his friends and their
The young man simply had no answers now. He had thought himself dead, and yet he was not. He had thought Dundalis doomed . . .
Elbryan scrambled to his feet, did a quick check of the dead goblins in the area. He was somewhat surprised, and a bit humbled, to find that even the two he had struggled against, even the one he had thought slain by his own sword, also showed many mysterious puncture wounds.
"Bees, bees, bees," Elbryan chanted, a litany of hope, as he dashed from the area, down the slope toward Dundalis. The words, the hopes, fell away in a stifled gasp as soon as the village, the charred rubble that had been the village, came into view.
He knew that they were dead, all dead. Even from this distance, fifty yards from the northernmost point of the village, Elbryan felt in his heart that no one could have survived such a disaster. His face ashen, his heart pounding -
- but offering no energy to arms that hung slack at his side or to legs that seemed suddenly as if they each weighed a hundred pounds — the young man, feeling very much a little lost boy, walked home.
He recognized every body that had not been caught by flames — the parents of his friends; the younger men, just a few years older than he; and the younger boys and girls who had been taken from patrol by their parents. On the charred threshold of one ruin, he saw a tiny corpse, a blackened ball. Carralee Ault, Pony's cousin, Elbryan realized, for she was the only baby in town. Carralee's mother lay facedown in the road, just a few feet from the threshold where lay the baby. She had been trying to get back to Carralee, Elbryan understood, and they had cut her down as she had watched the house, her house, burn down about her baby.
Elbryan forced himself to stay away from such vivid empathy, realizing that he could easily lose himself in utter despair. The task became all the harder as he approached one large group of slain goblins and giants on the road, as he walked past the area of heaviest fighting, as he walked past the body of Olwan, his father.
Elbryan could see his father had died bravely, and understanding. his father's stern and forceful way, he was not surprised. Olwan had died fighting.
But that mattered not at all to Elbryan.
The boy staggered on toward the ruin of his own house. He snorted, a crying chuckle, as he saw that the foundation, of which his father was so proud, was intact, though the walls and ceiling had collapsed. Elbryan picked his way into the still-smoldering ruin. One of the back corners had somehow escaped the flames, and when the roof had fallen in, it had angled down, leaving a clear space.
He pushed aside a timber gingerly, when he heard the remaining roof groan in protest and went down to his knees, peering in. He could make out two forms, lying against the very
back corner.
"Please, please," Elbryan whispered, picking a careful path to that spot.
The goblin, the closest form, was dead, its head bashed. Unreasonable hope pushing him on, Elbryan scrambled over the thing to the next body, sitting in the very corner.
It was his mother, dead as well — of smoke, Elbryan soon realized, for she had not a wound on her. In her hand she clutched her heavy wooden spoon.
Often had she waved that thing at the children, Elbryan and his friends, when they were bothering her, threatening to warm their bottoms.
She had never used it, Elbryan only then remembered. Not until this day, he silently added, looking at the slain goblin.
All the images of her in life waving that spoon, shaking her head at her impetuous son, teasing Olwan, and sharing a wink with Jilseponie as if they knew a secret about Elbryan came flooding back to the boy in an overwhelming jumble.
He moved in further and sat beside his mother, shifting her stiffening form that he might hug her one final time.
And he cried. He cried for his mother and father, for his friends and their
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