Witch Wraith

by Terry Brooks

  The Straken Lord raised his arms as he passed over the dark swell of his army, and a million throats roared out his name. He might have been the sum of all things from the greeting he was given, and he acknowledged it as if it were his due. He let the dragon take him past his army and into the mouth of the pass, still high enough that no missile could reach him and big enough that no flit dared approach. He was showing himself to his intended victims—a clear indication he would be the last thing they ever saw in this life.

  Just before wheeling away and flying back into the night, bearing its black rider with it, the dragon opened its huge maw and exhaled sudden gouts of fire.

  “I don’t like that,” Sian Aresh observed.

  “No wonder Arishaig was at risk,” Seersha replied.

  “This changes my thinking about the value of our airships. That dragon is much more maneuverable than anything we have. Do you think there are any more?”

  Seersha shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”

  They waited patiently to see if there would be any others, but the Straken Lord did not return, and the creatures of his army began to settle down on the open flats, curling up in the manner of animals and dropping off to sleep. If there were guards or a sentry line, the Druid couldn’t find them. No precautions seemed to have been taken against a surprise attack. For a moment, Seersha considered the advisability of mounting one—of not waiting for the inevitable, but of striking first. She almost said something to Aresh.

  But there were a million creatures out there—many times the number of Elves that might be thrown against them—and in the end she abandoned the idea. Better they hold their ground and let the enemy come to them.

  Especially the dragon. No point in going hunting for something like that.

  Seersha and Sian Aresh moved over to a promontory on the left cliff wall at the entrance to the valley, just apart from the guards assigned to protect them. The two were now joined by common cause and shared events. Together they had conspired to set aside Phaedon Elessedil as King, rendering him helpless enough that he was now kept under constant watch. He still couldn’t talk, couldn’t make himself understood, and was wrapped in a cloak of apparent madness that had everyone speculating about what had happened to him. Only Seersha and Aresh knew for certain, and neither was saying anything. It was sufficient that he could no longer interfere. He would remain in his present condition for at least another day, by Seersha’s reckoning, and by then the battle would be joined and its course likely decided. That was the best they could hope for.

  “They will wait for the moon to rise and attack then,” the Captain of the Home Guard said quietly.

  “I don’t think so,” Seersha said in response. “They will wait for dawn. The sun will be at their backs and in our faces. The Straken Lord knows something of tactics. That was clear at Arishaig.”

  “We have a bet then. In my view, he won’t have the patience to wait until morning. He will act before then.”

  Seersha shook her head in disagreement. “He sees himself as invincible. He chose to attack the Federation first because he believed it to be the strongest force he would face. He’s been scouting the Four Lands since the Forbidding started to crumble, sending out spies through gaps in the wall. This is a sustained invasion, and he intends to see it through. We were told this was his intention unless …”

  She trailed off. There was no point in talking about Tael Riverine’s demand for the return of Grianne Ohmsford. Not unless it actually happened, which seemed unlikely. She found herself wondering if Railing and his companions had discovered the fate of the former Ard Rhys or if the search had fallen apart by now. She had never really believed it would come to anything, but she had never entirely discounted it, either. It was a time of strange happenings, and nothing was so impossible that it could be discounted out of hand.

  Aresh waited for her to finish and, when she didn’t, said, “I don’t know how we can hold out against so many.”

  “We can’t without help. But the Dwarves will come. Crace Coram will bring them. And maybe the Border Legion will join us.”

  The Captain of the Home Guard nodded. “I cannot believe it has come to this.”

  “Nor I.”

  “I wish we had time to ferret out whoever killed the King. Because it certainly wasn’t Ellich.”

  Seersha nodded. “More likely his son.”

  They were silent for a time, scanning the darkening horizon, peering down the slopes of the cliffs to where Elven Hunters with torches were lighting watch fires that had been built earlier. Pockets of brightness blazed eastward across the length of the cliffs on either side of the pass, providing a shadowy view of the sleeping enemy army and of any creatures that might try to approach under cover of darkness. The fires would burn all night, their wood replenished as it turned to ash, the sentries on duty guarding against surprise attacks.

  “What do you think has happened to Aphenglow and her sister?” Sian Aresh asked after a time.

  Seersha shrugged. In the firelight, her dark tattoos reflected the brightness of the flames. “It will take them as long as it takes, but Aphen won’t fail.”

  “If she finds what she’s looking for. Or if something doesn’t interfere with her search.”

  The Druid gave him a look. “She won’t let anything interfere. She’ll find a way back to us.”

  Aresh shook his head. “She’s really our only chance. And Arlingfant, of course. The only chance for the whole of the Four Lands.”

  “Then we have to give them the time they need. You and me and all those gathered in this valley.” Seersha stepped away. “I think I will try to get some sleep.”

  “And me. At least until they attack. I still think it will be tonight.

  The scarred face wrinkled with her smile. “Then we have a bet.”

  She went off to find a place to bed down. Aresh remained where he was, wrapping himself in his blanket, sitting upright and bracing himself in a depression on the hillside where he could look out over the enemy hordes.

  Both did the best they could to fall asleep, but neither had much success.

  Seersha won the bet. The Straken Lord did not attack during the night. He attacked at dawn.

  It was a clear, bright day, and the sun rose in a brilliant yellow glow out of the eastern skies, the light blinding the defenders on the slopes of the Valley of Rhenn, exactly as the Straken Lord must have hoped. By then the entire demonkind army was awake and organized, restless to the point of making feints against the defenses—quick rushes at the entrance to the pass that seemed less well defended.

  But it quickly became apparent to Seersha that Tael Riverine had other plans. Separating his army under cover of darkness into a series of commands, he had positioned them all across the vast sweep of the Streleheim, north and south for as far as the eye could see. When Elven flits flew out to have a closer look, bands of Harpies brought two of them down and the rest quickly turned around. Thus, when the attack finally came, it caught the unsuspecting Elves by surprise in more ways than one.

  Instead of a head-on assault against the entrance to the pass, the enemy came at them from the flanks. Led by their lighter, more agile climbers, they scaled the forested slopes in simultaneous strikes intended to break through and get behind the defenders massed at the pass. Attacking not in large groups but in small clusters, they used the rocks and trees for cover as they swept up the cliffs in record time, barely slowing as they came, swarming over the front ranks of the Elven defensive positions and killing everyone not quick enough to fall back.

  It was a variation on the tactics the Straken Lord had used at Arishaig, and it was equally successful here. In minutes, the wings of the Elven army had collapsed and gone into retreat, and the Jarka Ruus were atop the rim of the Valley of Rhenn on both sides of the eastern pass.

  Sian Aresh acted quickly to counter this advantage, sending warships from the fleet to either side of the valley to drive off the attackers. His orders were cle
ar: Use fire launchers to burn them out of whatever concealments they tried to find and chase them back down the slopes to the plains. And don’t let up until the rim of the valley is retaken.

  A trio of warships moved into position on either side of the valley and launched a sustained attack. Because the Elves did not have the use of flash rips—having adhered to the rules established by Grianne Ohmsford following the end of the war on the Prekkendorran—fire launchers were the strongest weapon the Elves possessed.

  It quickly seemed as if that would be enough. The demonkind resisted only briefly before falling back—a steady, if grudging, retreat that required the warships to remain in place and continue to fire on them as the Elven Hunters driven back earlier slowly began to reclaim lost ground.

  But at this juncture, the main body of the Straken Lord’s army attacked the pass, as well. Armored giants and thousands of Goblins swarmed through the staggered clusters of obstacles created to slow them as if they weren’t even there. Dozens died or were injured in the effort, but the rest kept coming. The Elves met them just inside the pass, solid walls of spearmen crouched behind shields while Elven longbows rained arrows from perches higher up. For a time, it seemed the defensive lines would hold. But the enemy forces were too strong, their numbers too great, and eventually the lines began to sag.

  At that point, Sian Aresh sent another two warships to buttress their efforts, the great ships-of-the-line sliding down the length of the valley and settling in to either side of the enemy, which had pushed the defenders all the way out of the pass. Using rail slings and fire launchers, the airships struck back at the demonkind, shattering the front ranks of their assault and forcing the rest back into the shelter of the pass.

  The battle was joined, attackers and defenders locked in combat within the east pass and atop the valley rims to either side, when the dragon reappeared.

  It swept down out of nowhere, swift and agile, eluding the charges fired from hastily redirected weapons aboard the airships facing the pass, snaking back around behind them. Sitting astride the great beast, the armored black form of the Straken Lord howled in glee.

  Seconds later, fire exploded from the dragon’s widespread maw and sent the light sheaths, masts, and decking of both airships up in flames.

  Seersha couldn’t save them. She was already running back across the rim of the bluff, having sighted the dragon moments earlier and knowing at once what it intended. But she wasn’t fast enough. She got there just after the ships went crashing earthward, decks and light sheaths afire. The Elves who were still able to do so were sliding down or leaping over the sides before they were consumed. Without pausing to consider whether it was wise or reasonable or even sane to do so, she attacked. Sweeping aside her black robes, she extended her tattooed arms, assumed her battle stance, and sent lines of magic hammering into the huge beast. Because it wasn’t looking at her, it wasn’t prepared. Confident that the worst of its enemies had been disabled, it was hovering midair, waiting for the ships defending the flanks of the Elven army along the valley rim to turn toward it.

  But Seersha got to it first, and her blows knocked it sideways with such force that the Straken Lord almost lost his seat, and for a moment it appeared that the dragon would go down. It staggered wildly in mid-flight, its wings beating frantically to keep it aloft as it swung about to track the source of this unexpected assault. It spotted the Druid, the residue of her magic rising like steam into the air, and, banking sharply to avoid another strike, it began to climb skyward to mount a counterattack. Everyone surrounding Seersha had gone to ground, leaving her alone and exposed atop the valley rim. Even Sian Aresh had dropped away, although she hadn’t seen him go. But that was the way she preferred it. No one could help her now, in any case. She would have to face what was coming alone.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Screaming in fury, the dragon dropped toward her like a stone, banking sharply left and right to confuse her. She struck out at it anyway but her strikes went wide each time, and then the dragon was on her. It tore into the earth as it tried to crush her, claws extended, ripping out great gouts of earth and rock as the Straken Lord urged it on.

  But Seersha was already gone. Using magic, she slipped the attack like a ghost, momentarily disappearing until she was suddenly twenty feet away. The dragon swung about, but she had its measure now and her magic slammed into it once more, singeing its scaly body, burning away whole sections of armor.

  Then the Straken Lord’s scepter came down, pointed toward her, and something hard and brutal caught hold of her, picked her up, and almost threw her off the clifftop. She only just managed to save herself by clutching at clumps of scrub grass as she was tumbling over the edge.

  Seersha had lost all perspective. She was in full battle mode as she leapt back to her feet, her warrior blood and training fueling her response. She lashed out at the Straken Lord, nearly unseating him a second time. But the dragon was using its fire again, and she was forced to throw herself out of the way as the bluff around her went up in flames. The dragon lifted off, still breathing fire, trying to finish her. She fought back frantically, her magic shielding her, dispersing the flames. The dragon banked away, momentarily breaking off the attack, though its fire continued to fill a sky gone dark with smoke and ash.

  She waited until it came back around, crouched low to the ground to make herself as small as she could manage, and hardened herself against what she knew the Straken Lord would do to her with that scepter if she carried out her plan.

  She hesitated to be certain of her target as the dragon swung toward her, then lashed out with every particle of magic she could muster and struck the beast right in its closest eye.

  The dragon roared in pain and fury, whipping its head from side to side in agony, the eye gone, blood streaming down its face. In the same instant, while all of her concentration was focused on the dragon, the magic of the Straken Lord’s scepter slammed into her, caught her up, and threw her away like a rag doll. It felt as if every bone in her body had been broken. A small portion of her magic had been diverted to protect her from the expected attack, but she knew at once it had not been enough.

  She thought she was dead then. She lay where she was, her strength gone, her magic exhausted, fighting to get to her feet and unable to do so. But to her astonishment, no further attack came. The dragon was bucking and thrashing through the roiling smoke, unable to do anything to ease its pain, the loss of its eye so damaging that it could not, for the moment, manage to think of anything else. Though the Straken Lord fought hard to bring the beast under control, the dragon refused to respond.

  In the end, Tael Riverine was forced to let the creature fly him back out into the relative safety of the Streleheim so that it could deal with its injury.

  Seersha had just enough time to watch it disappear, then Elven Hunters were gathering all around and pulling her to safety.

  Thirty

  The battle between the Elves and the Jarka Ruus raged on through the remainder of the morning. The armies surged up and down the slopes of the cliffs that warded the Rhenn, and back and forth through its eastern pass. At times, it seemed the attackers had gained the advantage they needed to force their way inside the valley, but each time the Elves fought back with such ferocity and determination that the advantage quickly disappeared. Though the creatures from the Forbidding fought on with a furious intensity, it was clear that they were adversely impacted by the failure of the Straken Lord and his dragon to return to the battle, and now lacked the means to counter the damage inflicted by the Elven warships, which were now safely in control of the skies. While they were able to maintain overwhelming numbers on the ground and, under different circumstances, would likely have overrun the Elven defensive positions and claimed both the east pass and the valley before the day was out, they had no real means of protecting themselves from—or fighting back against—their adversary’s airships.

  Even so, the damage to the Elven troops was severe enough that Sian Aresh
was forced to bring additional reserves forward from the western pass to buttress those fighting in the east. Seersha, too damaged to return to the battle herself, saw some of this from the care station at the western end of the valley as Elven Healers worked to bind her cracked ribs and stop the blood flow from multiple wounds. Salves were applied to ease the pain and provide the beginnings of a healing for her burns. Because she lacked Aphenglow’s skills in this area, she gave herself over to her caregivers and their experience. Oral medications were provided as soon as it was determined where the interior damage had been done, and soon after she became drowsy and fell asleep.

  When she woke, she was lying in a bed inside a plain, nondescript room with several other injured, and she could hear the sound of raindrops spattering against the windows from outside. She lay where she was for a time, working hard to come awake, still groggy and weak and trying to determine what had happened to her after the battle with the Straken Lord. Eventually, she regained enough presence of mind to realize she was back in Arborlon and must have been brought there at some point following field treatment for her injuries.

  Once she felt ready enough, she forced herself into a sitting position and then out of bed and onto her feet. She hurt everywhere, and the effort would have been too much for a less determined person. But she could not abide not knowing how things stood, and so she gritted her teeth against her agony and weakness, dressed herself in the singed and bloodied clothes that had been removed and placed on a chair, strapped on the weapons that lay on the floor next to them, and stumbled from the room into the corridor beyond.

  She was somewhat strengthened by a self-administered infusion of Druid magic meant to deaden pain and accelerate healing—a basic tool of any Druid, though not one she was especially proficient with. But it lent her a certain steadiness as she moved down the corridor, taking her time, peering into rooms filled with injured men and women who had been brought back from the battle, treated, and then bedded down under care from Healers and their assistants. She paused a few times to take in the numbers and watch the efforts of the caregivers before continuing on. No one tried to stop her. No one paid her any attention at all. Everyone was too busy with the needs of other patients to worry about one who was upright and wandering about in a functional condition.