Rise of the Blood Royal
Page 19
As the wind whipped by her and the air warmed, Sigrid’s labored breathing eased. She strained to see the ground. Suddenly a treeline materialized out of the darkness, the tops of its branches approaching far too quickly.
She snapped open her wings and pulled up hard, as she had done so many times while training under Duvessa’s watchful gaze. Missing the tops of the trees by only a few meters, she leveled off, then finally looked behind her. Seeing all twenty-nine of her Night Witches perform the same heart-stopping maneuver was always an impressive sight. Reaching up with one hand, she wiped the melted frost from her face and eyes, then swerved to change course again and she gained a bit more altitude. Now we shall see, she thought.
Several minutes later the mystery was partly answered when Sigrid smelled dark smoke, pungent and sickly sweet. Having already seen far too many Minion funeral pyres during her young life, she quickly recognized the telltale odor.
Suddenly another stand of very tall trees loomed up ahead, their black branches nearly indistinguishable from the dark blue sky. Pulling up hard, she narrowly missed them as they brushed against her body armor. Just then she again saw the orange-red glow, telling her that this had been no sky mirage after all.
Tanglewood was on fire.
Swooping lower, Sigrid waved one arm, signaling that she wanted her second in command to fly up alongside. Valda came quickly. She was a strong and especially brave Night Witch, and Sigrid trusted her with her life. Her hair was a lighter color than most. Like that of the other Night Witches, it had been tightly braided and tucked beneath her body armor so that it wouldn’t harass her during flight.
“What are your orders?” Valda shouted.
Reaching to one hip, Sigrid unsheathed her dreggan. Even with the night wind whipping by, she could hear the blade briefly ring out as it cleared its scabbard. To a Minion warrior, that sound was always a comforting, exciting thing to hear. Immediately after, she heard another welcome sound as twenty-nine more dreggans simultaneously cleared their scabbards, their ring unmistakable. With the light of the three Eutracian moons highlighting her face, Sigrid turned to look at her number two warrior. The smile Valda saw was predatory.
“Take half the witches and start a search!” Sigrid shouted. “You curve to the east! I’ll curve to the west! Take no direct action unless you are attacked! May the Afterlife be with you!”
Raising her free hand, Sigrid waved her fist first in one direction and then another, signaling that the force should divide into predetermined halves. Each Night Witch knew with which half she belonged, and the well-practiced maneuver was over almost as quickly as it started.
Sigrid looked over to see that Valda and her fourteen witches were gone. Then she quickly turned to look behind her. Those witches still following her were close behind, their dreggan blades shining in the moonlight. Her face grim, Sigrid led them directly over the heart of the city.
Most of the buildings had collapsed from fire. Black smoke and the sickening odor of burning flesh rose into the air, limiting the witches’ ability to see and turning their stomachs. Soot soon darkened their faces, their body armor, and their weapons. Sigrid reached up to wipe it from her face, only to wonder a few seconds later whether the soot had once been part of a living human being. Hysterical men, women, and children ran everywhere at once, some of them bloodied and naked. The insane screams of the tortured and the dying seemed to fly alongside her through the smoky air.
It’s like Birmingham all over again! she realized. The man-serpents must be here—but where?
Changing course, she led her witches toward the town square. Suddenly the grisly impalements came into view along with the thousands of horrific man-serpents and the human victims on whom they were doing their terrible work.
Sigrid clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the dreggan. What was happening here easily rivaled the atrocities that the Minions had been ordered to commit against the helpless citizens of Parthalon when they served the iron will of the Coven. As in those terrible days, the brutality she saw this night was heinous, and total in its depravity. Then she saw a lone figure in a dark robe, standing in the center of the square. Swooping lower yet, she took her witches down for a better look.
The bloody square was something straight out of some madman’s nightmare. Thousands of citizens had been impaled; in many cases their organs dangled from their ravaged bodies. Most looked dead, while others still writhed in agony, waiting for the reaper to come and gather up their souls. Swooping closer, Sigrid took a good look at the figure in the dark robe.
What she saw stunned her. The being’s face wasn’t quite human, nor could it be called fully reptilian. The tattered black robe that he wore spilled down over his wrists and boot tops. In one hand he held a silver staff.
He was surrounded by thousands of obedient man-serpents. The creatures listened intently as their master shouted out orders that Sigrid couldn’t hear. It seemed that his servants were abandoning their grisly work. Coiled up on their tails and rearing into the air, ever more of them gathered around to hear their master’s words.
That was when Sigrid realized that she had flown too low and had attracted the attention of several man-serpents. Hissing loudly, they pointed to the sky. Soon thousands of them were staring up and hissing viciously at the careening Night Witches. As Sigrid swooped by, she saw their master snap his head around and glare at her with his yellow reptilian eyes. To her surprise, he smiled.
Well aware that attacking would be suicide, Sigrid did her best to dig her wings into the night air and gain some altitude. Her fourteen Night Witches followed her, but not one of them knew that the Viper Lord commanded the craft. Realizing that he was seeing the Jin’Sai’s winged servants for the first time, Khristos eagerly raised his staff.
The azure bolt that soared skyward was unlike any that Sigrid and her brave Night Witches had ever seen. It pierced the dark night as a narrow beam and hurtled straight toward the center of their group. Then the bolt suddenly flattened out and exploded with an eardrum-shattering bang.
Eight of Sigrid’s witches died immediately, their bodies, heads, and wings ripped apart by the bolt. Two more were burned beyond the ability to stay airborne, and they crashed to the bloody cobblestone square. The savage man-serpents set on them at once, tearing off their leather armor and ripping their bodies apart even before they could lift their heads. To the delight of their fellows, the creatures lifted the warriors’ body parts high and paraded them about the square. Others writhed among themselves in orgiastic triumph.
Sigrid and the three remaining witches were burned but remained airborne. She immediately screamed out an order to head south, but even as the words left her mouth she realized that it was too late. Just as they started to turn, another azure bolt from Khristos’ staff came tearing through the air.
The second bolt proved equally deadly. When it exploded, it killed Sigrid’s three remaining witches immediately. This time Sigrid became showered with blood and bits of destroyed organs and bone. She survived only because her fellow witches had been behind her and their bodies had absorbed most of the blast.
Although she lived, Sigrid was shocked to the point that she could barely fly. Dazed and weakened, she too started tumbling down. Desperately trying to think, she groggily realized that she needed to break her fall. As she tried to straighten out her wings and regain control, the best that she could do was to head toward one of the few thatch-roofed buildings that wasn’t ablaze. As she tumbled through the air she knew that the end was near.
Then from somewhere she heard Duvessa’s stern voice counsel her again. “You’re a Night Witch!” the voice said. “Never give up—never surrender! Think! Do whatever you must to stay alive!”
Summoning her strength, Sigrid snapped her wings closed to protect them. She then took her dreggan tightly into both hands and did her best to raise it over her head. Just before she crashed into the roof, she brought the razor-sharp blade down with everything she had left.
Amid a hail of dust and loose straw she tumbled end over end into the building. At the same time a great ringing sound suddenly tormented her ears as if she were standing in some great steeple and someone was madly ringing its bell. As she crashed into the room, two more resounding explosions came from overhead, combining with the mysterious clanging to create a deafening cacophony.
Tearing through the roof, she tumbled the rest of the way down to crash hard upon a wooden worktable. Like a dry twig being snapped in two, she heard as much as felt her left forearm break. Then the table collapsed under her weight and she smashed hard onto the stone floor. Her eyes closed and her head lolled over to one side. Some time passed; she would never know how much.
As she lay there, a dense fog seemed to surround her. Her body felt weightless, her mind without care. Is this what it means to be dead? she wondered. Her thoughts seemed forlorn and far away, like the plaintive cry of a lonely wolf. Were those noises I heard the sacred death bells that our graybeards talk about when a valiant warrior dies in battle and goes to the Afterlife?
Groaning, Sigrid opened her eyes. Lying on her back, she looked up to see the lifesaving cut she had made in the thatched roof. A dark patch of sky lay beyond, silently embracing its network of twinkling stars. Then the pain in her broken left arm reached out to bite her. She groaned again and used her good arm to cradle her bad one.
It seems I’m not dead after all, she realized. But where am I? Then her mind cleared and she remembered what had happened. Her blood ran cold as the deadly nature of her predicament set in.
Sitting up was a huge struggle; standing was an even greater one. She hobbled to lean against a wooden beam and took stock of herself. She hurt everywhere. Night Witch blood, bone, and flesh still clung to her skin and body armor. Her returning wheel remained fastened to her hip, but her dreggan was missing. Miraculously, only her left arm seemed to be broken. She could still fly, but fighting would prove difficult. Then she remembered the terrible man-serpents and their powerful master. She snapped her head around, all her senses on alert.
Why haven’t they come for me? she wondered. Perhaps the blinding light of the second explosion shielded my crash through the roof. If not, the terrible things will be on me in moments. But what caused all those awful clanging noises? Didn’t the man-serpents hear them, or did the last two explosions mask them?
Sigrid looked around to see her sword lying in the pool of moonlight filtering down through the hole in the roof. She hobbled toward it and picked it up. At least I will die with a dreggan in my hand, she thought. Then she looked around the room, and the reason for all the clanging noises became evident.
She had crashed straight through the thatched roof of a bellmaker’s shop. Cast iron bells of all descriptions hung from the ceiling and from wooden crossbraces and lay scattered across numerous work tables. A hearth full of dwindling coals lay on one side of the room. A massive bellows stood beside it as if waiting for the bell master to return and use it to set the hearth glowing brightly again. More tables held variously sized bell knockers, casts, and odd bits of hardware. An old sign that had seen better days hung crookedly on one wall, reading “House of Ryburn and Sons, Bellsmiths.”
Then Sigrid remembered her dreggan striking something hard after it sliced through the roof joist. One of the bells, she realized. A quick look at her sword showed that its blade was undamaged. Bless our Minion swordsmiths, she thought.
Suddenly she heard a sharp scream pierce the night. It seemed to come from the square. She turned in that direction to see a smashed-out window frame in the far wall, moonlight streaming through it onto the dirty floor. Cradling her left arm, she quietly crept toward the opening and peered outside. She soon discovered what was occupying the man-serpents’ attention.
Eight of the brave Night Witches from Valda’s group were being systematically impaled. Like Sigrid’s group, the rest must have been killed while airborne. That explains the last two explosions I heard, she realized. In anguish, Sigrid watched the grisly process unfold. Tears formed in her eyes as her fellow Night Witches began dying one by one.
Tyra was the first to suffer. She was already stripped naked and standing before the serpent master. He seemed to regard her with particular interest—perhaps because he had never seen a Minion before, Sigrid supposed. Finally he seemed satisfied. He snapped his fingers and his servants began the grisly process.
As four of the awful creatures impaled Tyra she screamed insanely and fought back as best she could, but it was no use. Soon the hideous task was finished, and the lower end of the sharpened stake was pounded into the ground among the bloody cobblestones. Then the dark master walked toward Valda, the next Night Witch waiting in line. As he neared, she shouted out a Minion epithet, then spat in his face. Unperturbed, the serpent master nodded, and the process started anew.
Nearly insane with desperation, Sigrid grasped her dreggan handle so tightly that her knuckles went white. She tried to ignore Valda’s screams, but it was no use. How she wanted to go charging into the square and somehow get close enough to the mysterious serpent master to cut him down! But she knew that would be suicide. Her chest heaving, she turned her back toward the wall and slid down it, squatting on her haunches. Placing the cool dreggan blade flat against her forehead, she closed her eyes.
Think! she ordered herself. You’re a Night Witch Commander! What will you do?
Suddenly Duvessa’s training returned. “Always remember these words, Night Witches,” she had warned them. “Your first responsibility is to survey and report, regardless of the circumstances. Bring your precious information home at all costs. Worry not for your own life. Because you are a Minion, it ended the instant you were born.”
Sigrid realized that she had to find a way to escape and get home. But that would mean leaving her sisters to their awful fates. Can I really do it, she wondered, only to forever know that I abandoned them?
She opened her eyes and looked around again. Perhaps there was another way out of the bell shop. If she could find it she might be able to take to the dark sky unnoticed. After several nerve-racking moments she saw a wooden door in the back wall. She looked again around the abandoned shop. What few exits she found were not promising.
There were few ways out. Using the front door or the smashed window frame was out of the question because each faced the square, and every other window was too small to crawl through. The gaping hole in the roof was a possibility, but she would need two uninjured arms to climb up and reach it. The only alternative was the far door, but she had no idea what horrors might lie beyond it.
Deciding that she had no other choice, she quietly crept for the far door. About halfway there she heard a strange tinkling that sounded like breaking glass. Holding her dreggan high, she swiveled around to look. Her blood ran cold.
One of the horrible man-serpents was slithering through the smashed window frame that she had just abandoned. Because the thing was about the size of a man, it barely fit through. As it came, bits of broken glass still lodged in the woodwork scratched at its body, became dislodged, and fell to the floor. Fully intent on squirming its way into the room, the monster hadn’t seen Sigrid. Holding her dreggan high with her good arm, the Night Witch quietly retreated, melting into the shadows.
Using its strong arms, the monster finally forced its way into the room. It quietly dropped free of the window frame and started slithering across the floor. After traveling a few feet, it stopped. Coiling its spotted tail, the thing reared into the air, much like a Eutracian cobra just before it strikes. Its yellow eyes darted around the room. After letting go a soft hiss, the beast opened its mouth and its red, forked tongue slithered forth to test the dank air.
Sigrid held s
tock-still, waiting for her chance. Can the thing smell me with its tongue? she wondered. Despite the coolness of the night, sweat started beading on her forehead and her hands became slippery. As the awful thing hissed again and tested the air, Sigrid did her best to steel her resolve.
She considered running for the nearby door, but then she realized that it might be locked. She could probably smash the lock open with her dreggan, but she didn’t know how fast the man-serpent was, and losing those precious seconds could kill her. And so she waited. Come to me, you vile bastard, she prayed. Come to me and we will do this thing.
Hissing loudly, the man-serpent started savagely ransacking the room. It seemed oblivious to the great ruckus it was making. Using its muscular arms it crazily scattered bells, threw hardware, and upended furniture as it scoured the place, searching for more Night Witches. Sigrid cringed as she begged that the clamor wouldn’t attract more of the awful things into the shop.
She looked down at the returning wheel attached to her left hip. She was an expert at throwing the wheel—some said that she ranked among the best. In these close quarters, missing was almost unthinkable. If she launched the wheel at the beast from the darkness of her hiding place, the thing would never know what hit it. Given all the noise the beast was making, even if the wheel sliced straight through it and struck one of the interior walls, the crash would surely mix with the ongoing clamor. But if she was going to do it, it must happen before the awful thing stopped rummaging about. She desperately needed to escape, and time was fleeting.
Silently sheathing her sword, she reached down to her left hip and freed the shiny, saw-toothed wheel from its carrying place. Raising it high, she drew it back over her left shoulder, coiled the muscles in her throwing arm, and waited. The beast was still rifling through the shop, angrily scattering things and turning over furniture with abandon. Just a little closer, she silently pleaded.