Witch Wraith

by Terry Brooks

  She kept watching as the flits crossed above the wall and sped toward the watchtowers, towing the sleds behind them. Clever of Keeton to think of using sleds instead of transports. She didn’t like the man, but she admired his intelligence. His manners could be improved but she couldn’t find fault with his military skills.

  She glanced down the wall to where Tinnen March was conferring with his officers in a heated discussion. She saw them all gesturing at him, saw him shake his head and walk away.

  She had an uncomfortable feeling about the man.

  And she might have to do something about it.

  Twelve

  At first, everything went smoothly.

  With Wint and Keeton in the lead flit, the squad flew out from the walls of Arishaig shadowing the line of the road toward the grasslands beyond. The light might have been against them, but they were experienced fliers, on their home turf. They were formed up two abreast behind the commander’s aircraft, with the sleds tethered behind them and a safe distance between each pair. On the ground, nothing moved. The men and women in the towers—who must have seen them approaching—stayed where they were.

  On the ridgeline farther out, the invading army bunched close to the precipice, howling and screaming with such fury that Keeton could hear it even over the rush of the wind in his ears.

  “Such beautiful music,” Wint said over his shoulder.

  Keeton was readying the fire launcher, using his trigger finger to press the lever that would charge the diapson crystals embedded in the weapon’s stock, drawing energy from a line connected through the flit’s walls to the light sheath that powered it. A strong pull on the trigger would send the launcher’s deadly beam toward whatever target it was centered on. Keeton could narrow or widen the beam using a slide on the launcher’s barrel. He had fired the weapon many times, and he was very good with it.

  He thought he would probably need to be better than good today.

  The formation reached the outermost towers, passed out over the grasslands, and swung back around, following Keeton and Wint’s flit as it swooped down toward the approach road. One by one, pairs of flits broke away from the formation to drop onto the road between the towers. In some instances, the doors opened immediately and the men and women within came rushing out to board the sleds. In some instances, it took longer—an unfortunate delay caused by a failure to anticipate what the flits were trying to do. But within minutes of the landings, all of the towers were emptying out and the sleds were filling up.

  Wint brought the flit in which he and Keeton were riding back around again to face whatever response the rescue effort might have triggered in the invading army. The commander and his second didn’t need more than a moment to discover the answer. Even before the flit had cleared the middle towers on its return run, they saw a swarm of cat creatures pour over the edge of the ridgeline and bound after the escaping soldiers. They split into packs, dozens of them, strange feline faces twisted with something that Keeton could only describe as hunger as the gap between them narrowed.

  “Hold steady!” he shouted to Wint.

  He brought the barrel of the fire launcher around, sighted down its length, and pulled the trigger all the way back. The light beam shot out of the barrel’s end in an explosion that caused the weapon to recoil sharply. The charge arced into the forefront of the attacking pack and incinerated the leaders. Keeton moved the weapon’s barrel from one pack to the next, trying to stay calm, to keep his aim steady and accurate.

  But the motion of the flit made it difficult for him to keep his strikes as effective as he would have liked against the very swift and elusive wildcats. They veered left and right after the first strikes, zigzagging across the grasslands toward the towers, spreading out to widen the distances among themselves. Now there were hundreds of targets, and even if Keeton had been more effective with the launcher than he was, he couldn’t have stopped all of them.

  Wint, seeing the problem and knowing that the flits and their sleds were too slow to escape the pursuit, acted swiftly. Yelling at the commander to cease fire, he brought the nose of their two-man around sharply, flew directly at the foremost attackers, dropped down as if to land atop them, and then spun around so that the exhaust was exploding into their front ranks as he guided it down the front wave of the attackers in a long slow expulsion of fire. It took a pilot with Wint’s skills to perform this maneuver, but it turned aside a sizable portion of the attack and left the savage cats further scattered and in some disarray.

  Still, they kept coming. They leapt onto the flit, trying to find a grip to climb aboard. Two did so, and one raked Wint from neck to hip with its claws before being dislodged. The second got to Keeton, but he thrust it away quickly and sent it tumbling off the craft.

  Below, all of the towers were emptied out and all of the rescue flits and sleds were racing for the safety of the city. But a handful of the wildcats had reached the rearmost of the sleds and leapt aboard, shrieking and clawing at the soldiers clinging to the grips. Keeton could see clearly the struggle taking place, the soldiers kicking and punching at their attackers, trying to use their weapons without killing or maiming their own people. But a handful of each tumbled off. Sprawled on the approach road like rag dolls, the soldiers were quickly torn apart. Chaos ensued as the trailing sleds tried to go faster, to get away from their pursuers, until at last one of them lost its balance and went over completely. The flit pulling it was dragged down with the sled, and then it flipped, crushing the First Response members who manned it.

  There was nothing Keeton or Wint could do to save any of them. By the time their flit was winging toward the gates, its fire launcher scattering the savage felines that had gotten close enough to provide a further threat, all those toppled with the sled or pulled down as stragglers were beyond help.

  Still, the rescue effort was a success. Most of those in the watchtowers had been saved. Only one of the sleds had been lost; the other three were now nearing the gates and safety.

  Keeton glanced back at the army on the ridge, and his blood turned to ice.

  A huge wave of creatures was coming down off the heights and swarming across the grasslands toward the walls of Arishaig. These attackers were different—larger in number by far, encompassing all sizes and shapes, and all manner of appearances and movements. Some had the agility of jackrabbits and deer; some lumbered like great Kodens. There were flying things and crawling things. He could make out huge jaws with teeth each the size of his hand. Coats of thick hide rippled next to those of coarse hair. Eyes flared scarlet and emerald out of heads that were triangular and bony. Claws ripped at the earth and hooves tore at the grasses.

  Above them all, a huge mottled red-and-brown dragon swept across the sky.

  Wint saw something else, too. “We’re in trouble,” he shouted.

  He was pointing ahead, and now Keeton saw what he meant. The flits and their loaded sleds were nearing the west gates, ready to enter the city.

  But the gates were still closed.

  Atop the city walls, Edinja Orle watched the chase unfold, saw one of the four sleds and its flit brought down, and saw the others continue unimpeded as Keeton’s flit fought back against the attackers and burned away those close enough to cause trouble. She watched as a mass of attackers—too many for most armies to stop, let alone the handful of men and women seeking the sanctuary of the city—streamed down off the bluff. She felt the desperation in the hearts of the pursued, knowing that only moments separated them from either safety or death.

  She waited for the gates to open.

  Cinla stood beside her. The moor cat had returned from tracking Arling Elessedil, discouraged by the crush of citizens swarming the streets. Cinla had sought to resume the hunt twice once the crowds had been broken up and disbanded, blending in with her surroundings, becoming a part of the buildings and streets as she hunted. But the scent of her quarry had been buried by hundreds of others, and she could not pick it out.

  She had convey
ed all this to Edinja, for they could share a single mind when necessary. Now she sat beside her mistress, calm and steadfast.

  Down the wall’s walkway perhaps a hundred feet away, Tinnen March was dispatching runners to all four quarters of the city, summoning reinforcements to the west wall, shoring up his defenses—realizing, perhaps, that the danger he was facing was much greater than he had first supposed. He shouted and gestured, and men raced everywhere at his command.

  But the gates did not open to those outside the wall.

  Edinja had seen enough. She stormed down the walkway in fury, the white-hot heat of her displeasure clearly visible as she neared the Federation army commander. She could feel Cinla following a step behind, her great head swaying from side to side.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed at March, unable to help herself. “Open the gates!”

  He gave her one swift glance. “It is too late for them. The enemy is too close. I cannot risk it.”

  “I order you to open those gates, Commander!” Her small body shook with rage. “Now!”

  He gave her a scathing look. “I command the military in this city, not you.” He turned, beckoning to a handful of guards. “See that the Prime Minister is placed safely away until she calms herself …”

  He never finished. Edinja made a sweeping motion with one arm, and the guards tumbled away. Then she snatched Tinnen March by the front of his military jacket and marched him to the edge of the wall.

  “You command at my pleasure, Commander,” she hissed.

  Then she lifted him off his feet with what witnesses later would describe as superhuman strength and threw him over the wall.

  He was still screaming when she turned to the soldiers who had watched it all happen and shouted, “Now get those gates open!”

  Outside the walls, the rescued soldiers were gathered in a knot before the gates, having abandoned the sleds after the flits had been forced to cut them loose. Daylight was fading quickly. First Response still flew overhead, offering what protection it could, making wild sorties into the teeth of the attacking army as it swarmed over the grasslands and approach road, watching in horror as the enemy overran watchtower after watchtower on its way to the walls of the city.

  Keeton was searching the walls for some sign of activity near the gates—anything that would have indicated they were about to be opened—when a body came flying over the wall. It was a man in Federation military uniform, but that was all he could tell. He watched in shock as the man tumbled earthward and struck with such ferocious impact that there was no question about whether he still lived.

  “Who was that?” Wint whispered.

  Seconds later the gates opened, and the soldiers trapped outside poured through.

  Wint took the two-man out onto the approach road for one more run at the attackers as they surged across the grasslands and past the watchtowers on their way to the wall, giving the rest of the team an opportunity to cross the walls and manage a landing inside. Then he swung the craft about and raced after them.

  Back on the ground, below the west wall, hundreds of soldiers were flooding through the open grounds fronting the gates, heading for the battlements. Weapons were being unhooded and swung into place. Huge fire launchers were charged and rail slings loaded. The gates were sealed anew, the locks set, and the crossbar dropped back into place. Dust and shouts rose into the air—a wild cacophony of sound that smothered Keeton’s attempts to tell Wint what he wanted next from First Response. All around him, the soldiers of the Federation army were preparing to defend Arishaig.

  He was barely out of the two-man when one of Tinnen March’s adjutants rushed up to him. “The Prime Minister requests your presence on the wall immediately!” he blurted, forgetting to salute until he had finished delivering his message. “Sir.”

  Keeton glanced up, then nodded. “Who fell off the wall?”

  The adjutant couldn’t seem to get any more words out. He saluted again, a quick sharp act, and rushed away.

  Keeton managed to tell Wint what he wanted from First Response and then set off for the top of the wall. When he got there, he found Edinja Orle waiting for him.

  “Commander Keeton,” she greeted him. Her words were sharp-edged, but her voice steady. The big moor cat Cinla was sitting next to her, watching him. “Commander March has been relieved of his command. You are his replacement. The defense of the city is in your hands.”

  Keeton stared. “I don’t want the job,” he said finally.

  “Well, you don’t have a choice.” She stepped close, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “Tinnen March panicked. He was not going to open the gates. He was going to leave you and the others out there to die. I saved your life.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s who went over the wall?”

  “He deserved what he got. I can’t have cowards and fools leading the army at a time like this. You and I don’t much like each other and we’ve not gotten along well, but I respect your abilities and your courage. I hope you respect that my responsibility as Prime Minister and leader of the people of Arishaig requires that I make the best choices possible when I am required to do so. This is one of those times.”

  “I just don’t—”

  She stopped him with a sharp hiss. “This isn’t up for debate. We don’t have time to argue about it. You are being given command of the army. You are being charged with the safety of the city and its people. Would you refuse to do your duty when so many lives are at stake, Commander?”

  Then she pivoted and walked off without a backward glance, the moor cat trailing after her with long, loping strides.

  The demons did not attack immediately, as it had appeared they would. Instead, they stopped just short of the closest pair of watchtowers, perhaps five hundred yards from the west gates, and stood howling and screaming at the walls of the city. The sound was deafening, and it continued uninterrupted, the creatures of the demon army massing as if held back by an invisible barrier and giving vent to their frustration and rage.

  Shortly after sunset, a second wave came down from the heights to join the first, doubling the size of the attacking force and creating an ocean of bodies that churned and thrashed amid the tumult of shrieks and roars, with an occasional ongoing surge threatening a breakout that would take them to the walls, sending shudders down the spines of the Federation soldiers watching from the battlements.

  Keeton used this time to meet with his divisional commanders and prepare a coordinated defense. Saddled with a responsibility he could not morally or emotionally refuse, he had resolved to do the best he could in the way the soldiers in his family had always done. Whatever he might think of Edinja Orle, he could not ignore her charge to defend the city of Arishaig and its people. He was a soldier first and always. If he was called upon to serve where the cause was right and the need obvious, he must accept it.

  So he set about building a defensive plan that would allow the city to weather the onslaught that was about to descend.

  Survival was not assured. A rough count put the number of the enemy at ten times that of the defenders. More troubling, while the demons lacked sophisticated weapons, they made up for it with an unmatchable savagery and predatory instincts honed and tested within the crucible of the Forbidding. Keeton was aware that there were dozens of species of demonkind, and each would have its own set of skills and abilities, about which almost nothing was known.

  Keeton brought the bulk of the Federation army to the west wall to defend against the hordes gathered there. But he was careful to leave reserves at each of the other walls, knowing better than to strip any defensive position of enough men to withstand an unexpected attack. Rail slings and fire launchers were mounted on the permanent swivels built into all of the walls surrounding the city and readied for use.

  As a further defensive move, he summoned Sefita Rayne, commander of the Federation Airship Fleet, to discuss her role in protecting the city. She had heard of Tinnen March’s fate, although not the det
ails surrounding it, and he was quick to fill her in. While no fan of the dead commander, she understood well enough the danger that Edinja Orle posed to the army’s remaining commanders if they somehow managed to displease her.

  “You don’t want this command, do you?” she said quietly, steering him away from those gathered close. The blue highlights of her streaked hair glittered in the pale moonlight. “Admit it.”

  “Not a bit of it,” he acknowledged. “But here I am anyway.”

  She nodded. “Better you than March.” She was tall and rangy, and she had that airman’s gait that made it look as if she were always braced against the roll of a vessel. “What do you wish of me?”

  “A few of your warships to begin with. They have creatures that can fly, but only the dragon is big enough to pose problems for a ship-of-the-line. Most of the attackers are earthbound and can’t reach an airship. If we put a few of the big boys aloft, we can attack them from above and break apart their attempts to force the gates. We’ll just have to keep a close watch for the dragon.”

  “I’ll have lookouts aloft with specific instructions,” she agreed. “This is new territory. We really don’t know yet what that dragon is capable of. But the fire launchers should be able to keep it at bay. The ships are mostly outfitted and ready to fly. I’ll have a pair of them brought up right away, one for the pads on each end of the wall. When the attack comes, I’ll have them come in from the flanks. If you signal that the gates are in trouble, we’ll counterattack.”