Teryn’s guards, supported by the wizardess’s magic and not bound by proximity to the runes, followed the thraiks out over the harbor. The winged monsters bounded in and out of strokes of blackness, staying low over the toothy rocks. Abruptly, they spread out and angled back, trying to throw off their pursuers and get to the decoy, but the Rabantavians stayed upon them like hounds to the hunt. The two squads, led by Teryn and her second sergeant, a hearty, gray-haired man named Belaft, flanked them, ready to engage the demons if they should turn to fight. The humans shouted words of encouragement to one another, a counterpoint to the ear-tearing cries of the thraiks. From the deck of the Eclipse, Knights of the Book rose up, ready to intercept the foe before it could reach its target.
One thing the defenders had had to add to Calester’s decoy rune was a book of some kind. The thraiks’ eyesight was keen. They were drawn to the spot, as the Guardian had known they would be, but became confused and rose up, shrieking, when they did not see a book. The Scholardom feared they would soon see through the ruse. Captain Betiss had volunteered an ancient book of maps. It lay on top of the target. With a visible goal, the thraiks would never leave until they had attained it. That both relieved and chilled the defenders.
If there was one good thing that had come out of this terrible time, it was the rekindling of an ancient friendship. His father and King Halcot had taken to the skies as brothers in arms. The war between them, the shame of financial ruin and public humiliation caused by Magpie’s abrupt departure from a royal betrothal feast, were all forgotten in the heart-pounding excitement of battle against a common foe. In their company, Magpie felt as if he were once again a boy in his father’s train on a state visit. They talked over his head, making oblique references to old jokes the two had shared long before Magpie or his brothers were born. Once in a while Soliandur even smiled at him, willing him to get the jest. Magpie felt a moment of longing for the lost years in between, but he treasured the gesture. He dared not hope it would last beyond the quest.
“Ware!” bellowed one of the knights, wheeling his steed through the rigging in pursuit of one thraik that had broken away from the pack. It turned its head on its long neck and hissed at him. He spurred his horse to catch up. It closed its wings and dove toward the rune. On its present course it would be almost upon Serafina. Was it smart enough to realize she was important to the humans’ defense? Magpie spurred Tessera to a gallop, sword flat on the mare’s neck.
Before he could reach it, two shadows passed between him and the pale sun.
“Rabantae!” Halcot bellowed, kicking his mount to greater speed.
“Orontae!”
The two kings swooped directly up into the thraik’s path. It pulled up and back, screaming its frustration. The knight behind it caught up and slashed at its right wing. Halcot jerked back in his saddle. The thraik’s claw missed him. Halcot riposted. His sword tip grazed the slimy, green-black skin and drew blood. The injured thraik went into a frenzy, striking out in every direction. Soliandur was more daring. He urged his horse higher. As it passed the creature, he leaned out of his saddle and struck it point-first under the wing with his sword. The thraik’s reaction nearly pulled the blade out of his hand. It twisted its head to bite his arm. Soliandur refused to let go of the hilt.
“Father!” Magpie shouted. He kicked Tessera, turning her to race to his father’s side.
Halcot was nearer. He urged his horse upward, placing himself between the snapping teeth and his brother king. He rammed the creature in the neck with the top of his helmeted head. It withdrew, choking.
“Thanks, friend,” Soliandur called, wheeling his horse around for another sally. Halcot grinned, patting his head as if to reassure himself that it was still there. By now several of the Scholardom had arrived to take on the thraik.
“My lords, below!” Lar Loisan called. The two kings looked about to realize they were above the level of the lookout’s basket. Sharhava’s lieutenant’s craggy face was full of disapproval. “Leave this to us, if you please!”
Sheepishly, Magpie brought Tessera down to her previous circuit. Soliandur and Halcot flew outward and down, avoiding the ongoing battle. The thraik screamed and struggled in the midst of the well-drilled crowd of defenders, who were determined this one would not escape. The deck below was full of werewolves, eager to tear yet another thraik to ribbons. The other warriors broke into smaller groups to pursue the rest, always aware of the horde of winged demons like a cloud of midges above them. Magpie was aware that the thraiks could afford to lose more than three-quarters of their force before the humans matched them in numbers.
The thraiks had added new tactics, varying their attacks in an effort to mislead their foe. Instead of a dart and dive maneuver to capture whoever bore the Compendium’s mark, they sought to distract the defenders and draw them as far away as they could, then vanish, leaving the guards wondering until they chose to reappear and strike. He watched the tactic now. At a signal from the largest and fiercest of the winged demons, a force of fifteen or so fled from Teryn’s soldiers. Any moment, they would disappear. Yes, there they went.
“Ware!”
Magpie braced himself and brought Tessera to hover directly over Serafina. The sky split open a few feet from the mast, and thraiks came tumbling out of it like potatoes from a sack, all intent upon the rune on the deck. They never reached it. The matriarch Patha, standing on the wheelhouse, let out a cry that could have been heard for a hundred miles. Her kin, all in wolf form, leaped to grab for the winged beasts. The tallest and broadest male bounded to the rail and threw himself onto the back of the nearest thraik. It bucked and twisted as he raked its neck, but it could not dislodge him until he had drawn blood. It flew off toward the mountains with him still clinging to its back. His kin wasted no time mourning him. They sought to make their own mark on the demons. Battle was truly joined as the thraiks turned to retaliate.
Sergeant Belaft, Teryn’s second officer, brought the second squad around. The warhorses balked at charging the thraiks. Magpie could tell they didn’t like their smell or the abrupt way they moved, but they obeyed their riders.
The beasts were so strong that it took three to six warriors to hold on to the wing of a single thraik. All the humans could do was wear them down, and hope for luck and skill to give them room to strike at a vital spot. Flailing wings and flashing claws took their toll on humans and horses alike. A guard in Teryn’s company let out a yell. His sword fell from his hand. Bright blood stained his livery, and his arm hung useless. Teryn waved him away, toward the healers who waited on board the Eclipse.
The thraiks angled around, moving closer to the center of the ship, wanting to get at that precious rune. At a cry from the lord thraik above, four of them disappeared into blackness. A rider in white and red spurred after them, and nearly made it to the gash before it closed. He rode through the spot and reined his horse in a half circle.
“What in the timeless void do you think you’re doing?” Teryn barked as he returned to his company.
The same question must have occurred to the guard, because his swarthy face was gray with shock.
“Get back in line!” Belaft shouted. “More help there to the right! Up, guards, up!”
The thraiks screamed and struggled. One was weakening. Magpie could tell it was using all its strength to stay aloft. Two more of them vanished, leaving the injured one and a small one alone among the warriors.
“Ware!” Teryn shouted, looking around for the others.
They were not long in reappearing. Suddenly the defenders were surrounded by the six and a dozen more. The warriors were beset both ahead and behind by the winged monsters. Teryn wheeled her horse on its hind hooves, striking again and again at two thraiks. Belaft’s force finished off the wounded beast, which dropped heavily among the werewolf crew. They swarmed over it, slashing at it to make certain it was dead. The last one vanished from sight.
Bursts of blue light dazzled his eyes. He shielded them, squinting.
Four shadows arrowed in from above: the next wave. Flame hit one thraik square in the back. It shrieked an earsplitting cry and bit at its own back. The blue fire caught on its jaws and spread out over the thin wings. The thraik threw itself into the sea. Magpie saw the brilliant light descend swiftly until it was extinguished. He wondered if the thraik was dead or if it could vanish underwater.
“To me, knights!” Sharhava cried, charging down from above, sword high over her head. Two troops of six knights followed her as they pursued the winged beasts. The largest thraik spun in midair to face her not far above the mast of the Corona. Its snakelike head angled down, then struck upward, aiming for her horse’s throat. Sharhava threw her sword in the air and caught it hilt downward. She stabbed the back of the creature’s neck. Magpie let out a crow of admiration. The beast jerked its head back and up, and struck out with its claws. Sharhava faced it fearlessly, parrying the talons with one canny stroke after another. It brought up a back foot to rake at the horse’s chest. The horse screamed, but it was not injured. Its barding turned the blow. It kicked out with iron-shod hooves. Flesh and ichor flew from a wound in the creature’s ribs. It was the thraik’s turn to scream.
By then, the rest of her troop was at her side. Lar Braithen and Lar Thyre, coming in low, jabbed and struck at the thraik’s legs. It twisted around, snapping its whiplike tail. The tail hit Thyre square in the chest, knocking him out of his saddle. The werewolves below him braced themselves and caught his body before it slammed into the deck. Once he caught his breath he thanked them, then put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. His horse, realizing it was riderless, galloped in a downward spiral to return to him.
Magpie gripped the hilt of his sword, aching to throw himself into the fray. Even his erstwhile ladylove fought on the front lines, while he was relegated to a defending role. Inbecca, sword-trained as all children of royal houses were, rode in a troop under the command of Lar Brouse. Magpie shielded his eyes against the sun to look for her. He caught sight of Brouse’s generous silhouette leading a group back from the west, and scanned the party for Inbecca. She sat tall and proud. Three or four of the knights were wiping their swords on cloths. How many thraiks, he wondered, had they slain? She caught his eye and nodded, a small smile on her lips. One, at least, and she’d had a hand in it. He felt a swell of pride for her. He must ask her later for the whole story. It might make a song.
“To me!” Sharhava shouted again. Brouse raised a hand over his head. His company rode in to flank the thraiks facing the abbess. She withdrew slightly to rest her right hand. It was still scarlet in hue, though the color faded daily. She had yet to tell the story of how it came to be healed, only that it had been done by a werewolf physician, something that still filled Magpie with wonder. None of the knights, not even Inbecca, would reveal all the details of her change of heart.
Blackness bloomed almost under his nose. Tessera bucked and cried out. Magpie pulled her upward just in time. Three thraiks came pouring through.
“Ware!” he shouted.
The attack above had been another ruse. These were meant to try again for the “book.” Tessera, a proven warhorse, recovered her wits in a moment and galloped to intercept the leading flyer, a slender thraik with very long paws. Encouraging shouts from above told him that the other warriors were coming to aid him.
“Father, ward Serafina!” he called over his shoulder.
The king of Orontae needed no instruction. He and Halcot cantered side by side to take up a guardian position above the wizardess. She could not be better protected.
The thraiks led him out over the tossing waves. Magpie’s long hair whipped him in the eyes and the cheeks. The leader aimed its ugly face backward to shriek defiance at him. He grinned. They were going to disappear again. They thought they were fooling the poor humans, when the joke was on them. Keep them busy, that was all he need do. He waited, as if for a juggler at a feast to perform the trick. One, two, three!
Blackness tore open the sky, and the thraiks vanished into it, just a few feet from the rocky shore. He pulled Tessera in a wide circle and looked up at the endless number of beasts. Was that frustration etched upon their runes? He put a thumb under his chin and flicked it at them in a gesture of derision. He and his fellows could keep the thraiks occupied a good long time, while their strength held out. Serafina could restore anyone to strength with the guidance of the engraved runes. He was almost enjoying flouting the unknown wizard.
He looked back toward the east, where darkness was already gathering on the horizon.
And a strange darkness it was. Magpie tried to put his finger on what was wrong with that end of the cove. With the setting of the sun the tide was going out; that was normal. The winds changed so the clouds scudded in the direction of the prevailing winds; that, too, was normal.
The runes!
He had lived with the golden sigils for so long that the absence of them on every surface was a shock to him. Yet the rocky pillars at the edge of the cove were plain, as was the sea beyond them. He knew then that Tildi must have moved so far away that the book’s influence no longer held good. He looked up at the knights. Did they notice? Would the thraiks understand what it meant?
The void crept toward the ships a few paces at a time. He spurred Tessera back toward the ships. Five or six separate battles went on in the air above them. Where was Sharhava?
It was difficult to distinguish one blue-clad knight from another in the growing twilight. He realized then that he had never troubled to learn their runes. It had not seemed a priority before. He wished then he had taken the trouble.
It did not matter. They were all in danger.
Thraiks twisted and danced in the sky like a basket of snakes, all struggling to get at the object they so craved. Knights and guards, inside the sinuous, moving framework, strove to drive them outward and away.
The shadow was running toward them faster now. Yes, running. He hoped that it boded no ill for Tildi and the others, but it certainly changed the equation for those who fought out there in the open. A group of knights burst free of the cage of thraiks, driving the creatures outward with sparks of blue light and swords that caught the dying brightness from the sun. They careened out over the harbor, nearly touching the blankness. Was Inbecca among them?
Magpie urged Tessera from a canter to a gallop. He must stop anyone from flying into the void.
Between his knees, the mare began to pant.
“Are you tiring, my dear?” he asked, patting her on the neck. She turned one large, brown eye in his direction. In it he saw love and devotion, but also determination. Tessera would not let him down.
The thraiks were growing increasingly desperate in their bid to gain possession of the book. They sought to get past the troop of knights, whom they outnumbered but seemingly could not outwit. As long as the defenders held the advantage, they could keep the thraiks at bay. The void continued to grow.
“Now!” Vreia cried. She rose in her stirrups and brought the point of her sword down through the top of the creature’s head. Its face froze in startlement, and it plunged toward the sea. Vreia just had time to pull her blade free. She wiped it on her saddlecloth and moved to aid one of her companions.
“The book is moving,” Magpie said. He pointed out toward the rocks, but the void had grown well past them. Vreia’s eyes, weary until then, widened.
“We must find the abbess,” she said. She cast about, then pointed to a rune bobbing in the dusky sky. “There she is, highness. Go. Tell her. She will know what to do.”
“I will,” he said. He angled off toward the faint image, trying to fix it in his mind. How was it that he had never learned one from another? The knights had learned their lesson after the tragic death of Lar Bertin. He’d held himself aloof from joining in their studies, and it might have been good for him. Now that it was nearly dark, he could no longer see Inbecca.
Sharhava saw him long before he reached her and came to meet him.
“There is urge
ncy in you,” she said. “Tell me your need.”
“The runes are vanishing,” he said.
Sharhava raised her eyes past him and surveyed the tossing waters. Already half the bay was bare of the golden images. Her mouth set in a straight line.
“We must continue as best we can. See if the wizardess can spare you. I can release none of my knights to stand vigil.”
“I will,” Magpie promised. “The lady Inbecca . . . ?”
Sharhava looked at him sternly. Her neat habit was torn at the sleeves and across the breast, and wisps of her hair had escaped from beneath her chainmail coif. “Is going about her duties, as you should be. No time for nonsense. We will do what we can. Go!”
Without hesitation, she flew back into the battle, and Magpie made his way through to the Corona. Lamps had been lit and hung against the wall before the captain’s cabin and in the rigging. There, Serafina knelt on the deck beside a knight whose belly was a mass of swollen red. It took but one glance to realize that the mass was the man’s insides. Magpie swallowed hard. A werewolf and another human crouched beside the man. They, too, had been horribly wounded, but they were whispering encouragement to the victim, whose eyes showed white all around his irises. He jerked and twitched with the pain. A werewolf healer held a cup to the man’s lips. He managed to swallow a little, but the rest of the dark liquid rolled out of the corners of his mouth. It looked like blood.
The young wizardess held her hands over his belly. She looked over her shoulder toward the wall where the metal rolls had been placed. Magpie watched in wonder as the man’s rune, which was on the third row, fourth from the left, glowed into being over him. It lowered onto the sign that was there. The brilliance increased as the old rune faded, leaving only the restored one in its place. Magpie, who freely admitted himself no scholar of the ancient language, had no trouble seeing the difference. He blinked as the magic caused the man’s skin to crawl back into place like a blanket being drawn over a bed. In a moment, he could sit up. His eyes no longer strained in agony. He looked down at his stomach, once again well muscled and rather hairy, and nodded deeply to Serafina.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 51
