Daughter of Prophecy

by Miles Owens

  Adwr shook his head. “I can’t tell where the wolves stalk. The whole herd seems—”

  “Not wolves! Your ears hear better than mine. Is there something in the air?”

  “The air?” Mil echoed, puzzled.

  “Aye.” The icy barb in Serous’s gut grew colder. “Like the night the hlaford burned. Do you hear their wings again?”

  Adwr’s eyes widened; his head swiveled back and forth as he searched the darkness. He looked ready to drop the torch and run.

  Mil shrugged the bow off his shoulder and fumbled to nock an arrow. But his hands trembled so violently he dropped the shaft and had to stoop to retrieve it.

  Serous ground his back teeth. A bunch of old women!

  But even as the thought came, he knew it was not fair. Neither of these two had undergone warrior training as Rahl was doing now nor faced armed foes as he himself had. Mil and Adwr were sheepherders, and before that night in the spring it had been generations since Rogoth kinsmen had faced anything like winged horrors of the night.

  Heart thudding and tongue swirling around his two upper teeth, Serous moved into the dark meadow. He skirted around the edges of the milling flock. Adwr and Mil followed close behind.

  After a moment whatever it was seemed to pass, and the sheep calmed. Serous continued to walk and listen. Nothing. He breathed easier. But where were the two lads? Which way had they gone: left or right?

  He was drawing a breath to holler them up when the night changed again. The darkness became heavier, even more menacing.

  Serous stopped—and Adwr bumped into his back, the torch’s flame painfully close. Irritably, Serous motioned the man back and listened into the night.

  Was that wings again or only his thudding heart?

  No, I hear it. A rhythmic beating, circling, coming closer!

  The sheep in the center of the meadow broke and fled as two large objects dropped out of the sky with a flurry of wings. Landing, they lunged into the mist of the terrified herd with astonishing speed.

  “Winged horrors!” Serous bellowed. “Rahl, if you hear me, protect Master Phelan! He is in your care! Stay away from the horrors. Leave them to us!”

  Adwr moaned. He dropped the torch and turned to run.

  But with a strength and quickness Serous had thought long gone, he grabbed the herder’s tunic and jerked him back. “You worthless piece of dog dropping! We showed these things our backsides last time, but never again! We stay and protect Master Phelan and our lord’s sheep!”

  “We can’t fight that!” the bald-headed herder whined, round-eyed. He struggled vainly to pry Serous’s grip loose. “You heard Lord Tellan say we would have been fools. Only anointed warriors can kill—”

  “I’m a warrior, and so is Rahl,” Serous interrupted, giving the lad a position not yet earned. “I’ll show you and Mil how to kill these beasts.” He pulled the herder closer until their noses almost touched. Spittle ran unchecked down the man’s chin. His fear was a sour stench. “You do as I say, Adwr Enit, or I’ll slit your belly open and leave your worthless carcass for the vultures!” He let the man go. “Now pick up that torch. You and Mil come with me.”

  Reluctantly, Adwr did as ordered, as did Mil. They followed Serous into the swirling melee where the two horrors rampaged among the sheep.

  Serous had spent a night talking with the three who had killed the beasts on the ride back to Lachlann. After complimenting them on their bravery and skill—justifiably—Serous had carefully pointed out that he and the herders at the hlaford had faced the horrors in black night, unarmed, completely unprepared for creatures right out of a loreteller’s story and without the prayers of the new tutor. That established, he had picked their brains about the attack on the road, determined that if he and his herders were confronted again, they would give a better account of themselves.

  “Best time is when those things go still and start that belching movement before breathing fire,” Nerth had declared with the authority of having killed one single-handedly. “But here’s the thing: I was close enough to smell ’em when I loosed. Get that close and miss, you’re roasted meat for sure.”

  As they approached the winged horrors, Serous reminded the two herders of that information, even as he mentally kicked himself for not demanding more archery practice. But with Mil trembling so violently that the nocked arrow clattered against the bow like a child’s rattle, all the practice in the world would have been useless.

  The nearer of the two beasts fed noisily on a fresh kill. To Serous’s eye, this one was smaller than those that had attacked the hlaford. Nonetheless, it was still a fearsome sight.

  It was twice the size of a full-grown horse. With its wings folded it seemed all legs, neck, and teeth. Its rear legs were heavily muscled. The feet had three toes with wicked-looking talons as long as a man’s foot, which now gripped the half-eaten carcass. The horror’s tail served as a third leg for balance while the narrow tip moved on the ground like a cat’s tail, curling in pleasure as the creature ate. A ridge of knobby bumps ran from the top of the wedge-shaped head down the middle of the surprisingly long snout. And its eyes—the vulnerable eyes—were deeply recessed below a prominent ridge of bone and much smaller than Serous had hoped.

  He took a deep breath, careful to keep his voice level. “Adwr, run forward and wave the torch to get its attention. If it starts that stomach heaving, lay the torch on the ground and duck to the side. Mil will use the light to aim for the eye.”

  Adwr’s jaw dropped. He turned to regard Serous as if the old man had lost his mind. “Uh . . . I, uh . . . ”

  “I’ll do it!” Phelan piped out eagerly, appearing suddenly out of the darkness into the light.

  Snatching the torch from Adwr’s hand, the lad trotted straight toward the horror, then stopped about ten paces from it and began waving the burning brand over his head in a slow arc. He seemed especially tiny before the beast’s looming bulk.

  Up close, the light revealed a greenish-gray hide splotched with darker hues that made the horror’s outline hard to distinguish from the shadows. It truly seemed one with the night.

  With a powerful twist of its head, the beast ripped a shoulder and forelimb from the bloodied carcass. Jaw muscles rippled and bones crunched between sharp teeth as the horror eyed the man-child balefully. The tip of its tail began to lash in agitation.

  Phelan lowered the torch. “Hear me, winged horror of the night! I am Master Phelan de Murdeen en Rogoth, Clan Dinari. Leave our sheep alone and fly away while you can!”

  The horror gulped the leg down and hissed menacingly. Yellow eyes pulsed with fury. The wings behind its back rippled in agitation. Then, with its head remaining almost motionless, it began the stomach belching and neck rippling the warriors had mentioned.

  “See that, Mil!” Serous turned to the wide-eyed herder cowering behind him. “Get yourself up here and shoot the eye!” Quickly to Master Phelan: “You’ve done it, lad. Now drop the torch and run!”

  The ball behind the horror’s jaw increased steadily, but the youngster gave no heed. Calmly, he pointed the burning brand at the beast, and with gravity beyond his years, intoned: “Destin Faber hunted and killed your kind. When I become a man, so will I.”

  Serous’s mind boggled. He lumbered stiffly ahead, whipsawed between rage at the fool child and admiration for the courage displayed. Dear Eternal, help me keep this one alive to see that day! Tingling warmth descended upon him; the pain in his joints disappeared. He shot forward as if shoved.

  The horror’s broad wings unfurled threateningly. The head swung down and the jaws opened.

  Moving faster than he had in years, Serous reached Phelan and scooped the lad into his arms. “Drop the torch!”

  He rolled them both sideways just as a jagged tongue of flame erupted from the beast’s mouth. It crackled forth with astonishing speed and slammed into the ground where the lad had been standing, curling and blackening the grass in a wide circle.

  Intense heat crinkled the sk
in on Serous’s face, and for a moment there was no air to breathe. The night brightened, casting stark shadows as the fireball billowed skyward.

  The horror lunged ahead with an ear-shattering roar. Its churning feet showered dirt and grass over Serous where he huddled over Phelan, barely an arm’s length from the creature’s path.

  A heavy oily musk lingered in the beast’s wake. Strong in Serous’s nostrils, it was more than a smell. It penetrated deeply like a plunge into cold water and brought an awareness of rotted vegetation, of corruption, of pure, malevolent evil that sent shivers up and down his spine.

  How is this happening? Serous fretted while Phelan squirmed with surprising strength to break free. Why are we herders always facing these things alone! Where is Lakenna? Safely asleep in the Rogoth hlaford undoubtedly. And that six-knot Keeper! Where is he? Most likely rubbing shoulders with High Lords and rich merchants, leaving a cripple like me to deal with the Mighty Ones’ creatures.

  The horror skidded to a halt a few paces beyond, wings beating for balance. Its right hip was within spitting distance from Mil and Adwr. Hissing angrily, the beast swung its head back and forth as it searched.

  Mil’s bow wavered like a sapling in a winter storm, but he drew full and loosed. At that range, the powerful bow could drive a broadhead point three fingers deep into an oak plank. Tonight, the arrow sped to the side of the horror’s jaw, quivered at the impact, then bounced off harmlessly.

  But the blow caught the beast’s attention. It pivoted nimbly about to face the two herders. Opening its mouth to reveal a double row of sharp teeth, it roared its rage.

  Bravely, Mil fumbled to nock another arrow, but Adwr let out a blood-curdling shriek and bolted. His motion drew the horror’s attention away from the trembling bowman.

  Adwr ran, legs pumping, arms flailing. He looked back over his shoulder with bulging eyes and so did not see the second winged horror crouching in his path, the ball behind its jaw huge. Though smaller than the first beast, the fire this one spewed out was far more impressive.

  A sheet of flame engulfed Adwr and turned him into a grotesque human torch, illuminating the meadow. His agonized shrieks echoed throughout the night and went on and on.

  The hair rose on the back of Serous’s neck as the inhuman wails hammered the core of his being, conveying a height of unimaginable agony. Bile rose in his throat as he watched helplessly while Adwr staggered about. In the macabre light Serous could see Rahl. The lad’s face twisted in revulsion as he watched Adwr’s plight. Then he bent over and vomited.

  Mercifully, the shrieks finally ceased. Adwr dropped to his knees, then fell face forward to the ground and remained still. The flames on his blackened body flickered and died.

  The stench of burning meat clogged Serous’s throat, and he gagged as well. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—and realized that Phelan was gone!

  Casting about, Serous saw the lad retrieve the burning brand, then wave it in front of the first horror to divert its attention from Mil’s efforts to notch another arrow.

  The first horror! Serous ground his back teeth. This ten-year-old is keeping his wits better than I am!

  Mil drew and loosed—to no effect that Serous could see.

  “Rahl!” Serous shouted. “Come with me!” Then he sprinted where Mil and Phelan were frantically dodging an open-mouthed lunge of the angry beast. As he ran, Serous searched the night for signs of the second horror. But it was nowhere to be seen. It had disappeared back into the darkness and the bleating sheep.

  Still retching, Rahl stumbled after Serous, determinedly not looking at the corpse smoldering a few paces away.

  Again Phelan got the beast’s attention. Waving the torch, the youngster darted in quick as a stable fly, then scampered nimbly aside when, with a low growl, the horror turned and lunged. Its teeth snapped loudly, missing Phelan by a hair.

  Once more Mil drew and shot. This time the arrowhead penetrated a finger’s length into the beast’s upper neck.

  With a bellow of surprise, the horror jumped straight up. Landing, it swung its head and caught Mil a glancing blow on his leg. The herder cartwheeled through the air, and the bow and arrows spun into the night.

  “Find the bow, Rahl!” Serous called out. “And some arrows! Help him, Phelan! I’ll keep the monster off you.” Then he wondered how he was going to do it. He didn’t even have his staff, not that it would have done much good.

  But instead of continuing the battle, the horror dropped its head and whimpered in pain. Dark blood dripped from the arrow shaft. The beast seemed confused.

  Serous’s blood surged. Undoubtedly this thing was not used to having the prey it encountered stay and fight. Not only fight, Serous thought proudly, but also hurt it—

  Understanding flooded over him. He sagged with relief. Somebody’s praying!

  He ran around the horror to Phelan and Rahl. With the light from the torch, they had found the bow and a handful of arrows.

  Rahl took the bow and nocked an arrow.

  “Aim for the heart, lad, and keep shooting,” Serous panted. “The arrows will penetrate now.”

  Splatters of vomit stained Rahl’s tunic. His face had lines not there at dusk, but his expression was a study in determination. Steady as a rock, he drew, aimed, and loosed.

  The arrow buried a handsbreadth into the horror’s chest.

  Quickly, Phelan handed Rahl another arrow. Over and over Rahl smoothly nocked, drew, and fired, taking the next arrow from Phelan as if they had practiced for months. Each arrow penetrated deeper into the beast than the previous one.

  The horror died with the fifth arrow. It crumbled inward and turned to dust.

  Serous took the torch from Phelan and searched for the second horror, but he sensed that the beast had fled. The sheep were calming down.

  Then he heard Mil’s moans and found the herder a few paces away. His right leg was twisted at an impossible angle. His face was white in pain against the black beard, but his leg and bruises seemed to be his only injuries from the ordeal.

  Phelan and Rahl joined them.

  “I wish the one that . . . killed Adwr was still here,” Rahl said grimly, his mouth a straight line. “I have enough arrows for it.”

  Serous listened into the night toward the other herd. Faintly, he heard the now familiar sounds of horrors bellowing and sheep bleating.

  His blood chilled as he realized horrors were attacking Bowyn’s herd.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  RHIANNON

  RHIANNON GAVE ONE last tug on the girth strap, then turned and lifted the bridle off the peg. She slipped the bit into Nineve’s mouth and fitted the top over the ears. Taking the reins, she led the prancing filly out of the stable.

  Grim-faced Rogoth warriors bustled about under Llyr’s watchful eye, securing weapons and tying down supplies on pack mules. All wore swords on their belts and carried quivers bristling with arrows and strung bows on their shoulders. Their leather vests had hundreds of small steel discs tied on with rawhide strings: poor man’s chain mail.

  Puddles dotted the dirt after last night’s hard rain. The gray false dawn was clear and cool with a nip in the air that hinted of the autumn to come, making Rhiannon glad for her cloak and leather vest.

  Yesterday one of the herders had brought news of the attack and Phelan’s safety. Tellan had been a growling bear, wanting to gallop off immediately, but he’d forced himself to wait for the reserve warriors to be called in and supplies gathered.

  Now in the dim light he stood impatiently and talked to Mererid, Creag, and Girard. A group of herder wives and families gathered a few paces away, concern evident in their faces.

  Tellan and Girard came to Rhiannon. “I want you with me when I talk to the kinsmen,” Tellan said, tilting his head toward the wives and families. “Girard informs me that everyone is convinced this is tied in with your prophecy. I think it will be good for them to see your involvement and concern.”

  Rhiannon nodded.


  Loreteller Girard smiled at her. “Know, m’lady, that no Rogoth harbors you ill will. On the contrary, most kinsmen seem to be taking pride in your prophecy. They see both the tutor’s presence and the High Lord Keeper’s arrival as further evidence of the Eternal’s hand in the matter.”

  “Thank you, Girard.”

  Rhiannon and her father stepped around the puddles as they walked the short distance to the families. As he had many times in the past, Tellan instructed her: “We are their kinsmen nobility. They give us their fealty and their honor; we give them protection and our respect. In times like this they look to us for reassurance. We need to show concern and determination, but never fear. Whatever the outcome, we must make it better than they could have resolved on their own.” His mouth firmed. “If nobility cannot do that, we have no reason for existence.”

  Cora Garbhach stepped forward and dipped a short curtsy. She was a stout woman with a sharp-nosed, handsome face. Her hair was drawn into a bun shot with gray. She gathered the ends of her shawl in hands red and rough from labor. “M’lord, m’lady. The Eternal’s blessing on you and the warriors. We’re praying for Master Phelan and the others.”

  Tellan nodded solemnly. “If anyone can keep both men and sheep together and safe, it’ll be Bowyn Garbhach and Serous Caillen. No two better men in these highlands.”

  Cora tilted her head in acknowledgment. Then her eyes took in Rhiannon’s sword and riding garb. Her brow knitted, and her mouth turned down in disapproval. “You’re going? With the warriors . . . ?”

  “Lady Rhiannon will ride by my side.” Tellan did not raise his voice, but his tone cut like a knife.

  The woman’s frown vanished. “Of course, m’lord. I meant no disrespect.” Still, she radiated disapproval.

  “How is Willa?” Rhiannon asked into the resulting silence. Willa was Adwr’s widow.

  “Numb, m’lady.” Cora looked relieved at the change of subject though her gaze lingered on the sword. “She is most appreciative of yours and Lady Mererid’s visit yesterday. After you left, we were able to get a sleeping draught down her. She’ll be abed ’til noon. Her daughter should be here by then.”