I imprisoned my grin before eruption. “How do you come by such knowledge, Lieutenant?”
Sky Dancer sniffed. “Quite often I’m assigned to the princess’ guard detail. She tells me stuff.”
“And She Who Hears knows a great deal about many things,” Storm Cloud remarked. “But can her intel be relied upon? Things change, you know.”
“But the men Finian keeps around him?” I asked, my wings stretched to their fullest. “That won’t change, Commander. He guards only his castle, and his folks fend for themselves. He’s made himself easy prey, and we are the predators he fears. Are we ready?”
“Ready, First Captain,” Lightning Fork answered, his disciplined unit approaching in silence, their only sound the soft beat of a hundred huge wings.
“Ready, sir.”
Just as the obedient and loyal crowd of land-locked creatures crowded around Malik and Roidan, I commanded the skies. Swift Wing rose high above, his unit hard on his tail. He led his band wheeling south, but his soldiers weren’t the only to leap forward. Both Lightning Fork’s and Storm Cloud’s wings split apart from the main, and vanished into the night.
Under the direction of Windy and Sky Dancer, the borrowed fifteen Griffins flew in an orderly formation behind them. In turn, they flanked me. Banking high and over, my wings beat swiftly toward the enemy fortress. With only a few leagues to fly, I and my team circled high over the north tower within moments. From this angle, I couldn’t see the window or the hearth light. Yet, I scented wood smoke and blood with my keen eagle’s senses.
“She hasn’t killed them already?” Windy asked, having caught the same odor I did.
“Listen,” Sky Dancer said, her tone low, hushed. “Can’t you hear it?”
“Fighting,” I answered, my tone grim. “Something’s going on in there.”
“Van,” Sky Dancer said, buzzing up to fly at my right wing. “I see ten guards on the tower, with perhaps another twenty on the walls to either side. Well-armed and armored.”
“Wouldn’t be much of a challenge if we didn’t have enemies to fight,” I said. “Windy, Dancer and you three – with me. The rest of you spread out and kill Finian’s soldier boys. Try not to make too much noise, but if you must toss a trooper off a battlement and he yells, don’t sweat it. Here we go.”
Banking hard left and down, I closed my wings and dropped. As silent as an owl stooping upon her mouse, I fixed my raptor’s keen night vision on two men strolling casually across the rampart. The other eight also moved in pairs, some standing and chatting, the rest walking their patrol and gazing down at the silent keep below.
Down. Not up.
Catching Sky Dancer’s eye as she dove at my right I pointed at the pair furthest away, then cut across my own throat with my talon. I did the same with Windy on my left, ordering him to take out the pair walking in the far opposite direction. Thus, we three each controlled the middle and both ends. The remaining three Griffin warriors would mop up the other four between us.
Windy and Sky Dancer spread apart from me, dipping wide to reach their marks at the same moment I hit mine. I didn’t need to glance around to see the other three hard on my tail. While I gave them no specific instruction, I knew they’d recognize instantly the plan I implemented. Their Atani discipline and training would carry them through without further guidance from me.
Seconds before impact, I spread my wings and slowed. The troopers never sensed my approach, nor glanced around. My weight, twice that of a fully mature bull, took my first victim to the ground. His back snapped instantly. He cried out in shock at the same instant my talon sliced his throat, effectively silencing him. His partner stumbled back, trying to reach for his sword, his eyes huge in his panicked face. I pounced on him, my wings flared and my talons raking him from shoulder to crotch. He tried to scream as his innards burst forth along with his still-beating heart.
I never much cared for the taste of human blood on my tongue. Thusly, I refrained from biting through his neck to open his carotid. Instead, I slashed his throat with my lion hind claws and leaped clear of his gushing red torrents. I know, I admit it. I don’t much care for human blood on my fur or feathers, either. Sue me.
A swift glance around showed me the effectiveness of a silent Griffin attack. None felt the need to toss an Raithin Mawrn soldier off the battlements, but the top of the ramparts ran red with blood. I wasn’t the only fastidious cat there, either. Both Windy and Dancer sat primly atop the battlements, with only a few spots of blood to mar their feathers, while one Griffin, drat, I never caught his name though he ranked a Lieutenant, winged his way up to perch on the tower cupola and shake red from his talons. The other two circled, and eyed the dead soldiers closely to ensure they all were dead.
“Windy,” I said, leaping off the battlement. “I’ll cut the right drawbridge rope, and you cut the left.”
“Vanyar!” Sky Dancer screeched, diving on my tail. “You aren’t leaving me behind.”
“Go babysit the other three, Dancer.”
“They don’t require babysitting, sir,” she retorted. “You, however, do.”
“Never mind,” Windy said, catching my pained expression.
Even a razor sharp Griffin talon had trouble with the triple-thick, heavily coiled ropes that held up the huge northern drawbridge. Clinging to the tremendous rope like a bat on a tree limb, I held myself in place with three sets of claws while sawing frantically at the rope. Likewise, Windy also held on tight, his right talon whipping back and forth. Slowly, the cable’s strands broke and shredded, the weight of the drawbridge making it weaker the further we cut. The incredible tension on the ropes helped, and the many strands snapped one by one, even without our help.
“When that thing let’s go,” Sky Dancer warned, flipping between the two of us, “It’s gonna send you flying –”
My rope broke with a sharp cracking sound. Sky Dancer was right, for I was sent hurtling skyward, out of control. I heard the second cable break and Windy’s yell as he, too, was recoiled into free space. Fortunately, neither of us struck the castle’s very solid stone walls. Cast out of control and falling free, I fought to reclaim both balance and wings. But when I saw the distant stars rather than the ground, I knew I needed to upend myself before I struck that selfsame earth.
I regained control of my wings in time to watch, fascinated, as the drawbridge swung ponderously down. The cogs that kept it upright and shut tight unwound with a sharp rattling of metal teeth. Chains that reinforced the heavy oak timbers chimed musically as the structure fell, down, down, across the moat into its moorings. It hit with a resounding boom and a wash of dust, no doubt waking the neighbors.
In the distance, another boom announced the falling of the second bridge. An instant later, a huge sparking fire raced across the dark heavens. The signal.
I launched my own firedrake into the early dawn sky, informing the King the bridge was down. As I did, my eyes caught sight of the lightening eastern horizon. Beating my wings slowly, I rose higher, with both Sky Dancer and Windy pacing me. In a line of three, we flew slowly eastward, our altitude granting us a better view of the sight arriving over the distant eastern sea.
“What the hell?” Windy asked, his tone low and shocked.
“That’s just wrong,” Dancer added. “It’s like – like –”
“The sun and moon rising together,” I finished for her, grim.
At the edge of the world, the sun crested the distant horizon, gleamed redly and sent out shattered clouds of pink, orange, purple and gold. Yet, at its side, moving inexorably closer to the new sun’s red-gold sphere, moved a black round ball of evil. As we watched, enthralled, it inched closer to the rising sun, its darkness swallowing the brightly colored rays like a demon swallowing hope.
Not enough time, I thought, turning tail and diving. The moon’s shadow was but minutes away from eclipsing the sun. Unless I stopped it, the Red Duchess would slay the troll on her ghastly alter and control our world.
M
y keen hearing picked up the galloping thud of thousands of hooves from both north and south. Cavalry horses, Centaurs, Minotaurs – all raced down from the mountains through the silent, frightened town and into the Castle Salagh’s keep. Their task was to seize control of the castle.
Mine was to find Iyumi. And the Witch.
Banking up and over, I closed my wings and sped like greased lighting toward the north tower. Like ticks on a deer, Windy and Sky Dancer hugged tight to my tail, never letting me out of their sight. Crossing the parapets and their bloody dead guards, I aimed for the fire-lit windows.
“Van!” Windy yelled, the wind whipping his voice back. “Where are you going? Are you insane?”
“Vanyar, stop,” Sky Dancer screamed, her raking talons trying to catch hold of my tail. “There might be more troops there.”
“Take them out,” I ordered. “I see a balcony, and a door. I’m going in.”
“Van!” Windy cried, his voice no doubt reaching what few guards that yet lived. “We can’t fit through that thing.”
“But I can.”
“Dammit, you can’t go alone!”
“Watch me.”
Dipping my left wingtip, I dove down.
CHAPTER 14
By Dawn’s Evil Light
“This is seriously spooky,” Buck-Eye whispered. “M’lord? Where is everyone?”
I hadn’t a clue. Less than an hour before dawn, and the time my mother demanded I arrive, our mounts clattered through streets so silent they echoed eerily. In a town, life often stirred before the sun rose. Butchers, bakers and even the candlestick makers worked while others slept. No lights showed in windows, not even in the poorest hovels where chinks in shutters permitted lamplight to escape.
We’d ridden through the city’s open north gate, by law shut and barred from sundown until sunup. No city watch challenged us. Should my illustrious sire learn of this, no doubt he’d string those derelict in their duty up by their toes and gut them while they yet lived and screamed. Buck-Eye’s observations were dead on. This was not just spooky – it was downright frightening.
The hairs on the back of my neck refused to lie down. My hand twitched toward my sword, continually, although no threat presented itself. Dra’agor skittered under Bayonne’s hooves, his hackles up and his lips often skinned back from his fangs.
“It’s her doing,” Iyumi said, her voice weary.
The last few days of heavy riding had taken its toll upon Iyumi, and the troll kid. She’d taken little food, and slept less. Though I tried to make her as comfortable as possible, tried cajoling more food down her throat, and bent myself into knots being friendly and kind, she deteriorated. And the troll refused food, even the fresh blood Dra’agor hunted for it. Seriously weak, I feared it would die in Iyumi’s arms long before we might bring it to my mother.
“What do you mean?”
“Her evil,” Iyumi replied, her face downcast. “Can’t you feel it? It’s like the sensation when you set your hand in a maggoty corpse when you reached for cake. Many of the common folk have fled, Flynn. The rest are in hiding. Your father’s soldiers have deserted their posts.”
“That I do believe,” Boden muttered from the rear.
“It’s not my mother,” I insisted. “It’s her. She’s taken control of my family. And I’ll kill her for it.”
“They’re one and the same, Flynn,” Iyumi said, her tone sharpening for the first time in days. “Use the scrying crystal. I dare you. I double-dog dare you, see what your mother doing right now. That should tell you, and us, once and for all.”
I didn’t answer. Nor did I reach for the amber at my throat.
“You’ve already tried.”
Iyumi’s tone lightened in wonder. “You didn’t see her, did you? Because she has the power to conceal herself from even the crystal. Only the Red Witch has that power. You’re such a fool.”
“Love makes fools of us all,” I replied, my blood cold. “Right?”
“What she feels for you isn’t love,” Iyumi said, more strength in her voice than I’d heard in a while. “She gave birth to you, but she isn’t your mother. She used you to gain power for herself. Why can’t you see that?”
“She’s my mother,” I said, my tone stern. “She loves me. You’re wrong about her, Iyumi. It’s the other one.”
Iyumi fell silent for a long while. Not wanting to rush despite the urgency of my errand, I held us at a walk as we rode through the cobbled streets. Expecting attack at every moment, I jumped at shadows and cursed under my breath. Dra’agor’s hackles refused to lie down. In a more normal turn of events, I’d listen to raunchy jokes bantered between Boden, Torass and Lyall, with Buck-Eye scolding them in an effort to instill better decorum. Instead, I heard little save the clop of hooves on cobbles. Should I bother to turn and look, I guessed I’d see many fingers making the sign against evil.
High above us loomed Castle Salagh, my father’s seat. The house of my ancestors. I reined in and looked up. Built upon a tall pinnacle of sheer, steep rock, the only entrances were the two massive gates in the north and the south facing walls. When the great drawbridges were down, folks from the castle and the town came and went freely. But once those bad boys went up, nothing got past them. Not even a lizard. Oak beams, layered three thick and bound together with steel and reinforced with iron, sealed the castle from attack. A deep moat filled with all manner of reptilian man-eating creatures surrounded it, leaving few opportunities to seize it.
In the distant past, invading armies tried, and broke themselves upon the solid rock. Some even managed to scale the walls and invade the keep. Yet, they, too, failed in the end, for the tall parapets were guarded by loyal men. The castle, built upon stone, repelled the most determined enemy time after time. Since before the Mage Wars, no one has ever taken Castle Salagh from without. It’s steep stone walls, narrow murder holes, high turrets and round guard towers kept the most determined enemy at bay.
My eyes were drawn to the highest tower, outside my will. Like iron to magnets, my sight fled past the high stone walls, past the battlements and turrets, and fastened upon the tallest tower. The northern. A light burned up there, in the window, high above. Not a lamp or a candle, but a hearth. That glow came from a fire. Someone was awake in the darkness before the dawn.
The Witch stood watch, waiting, alive to the night.
In the west tower, just next door, the royal apartments stood dark and silent. No lights burned in their windows. Perhaps my mother slept on, while my father, if he did indeed still lived, sat in his great chair in the darkness. For surely his wounds kept him wakeful in the dark watches of the night. I imagined Fainche sleeping, dreaming her dreams of butterflies and magic and kisses. Sofia slept in our great bed, her belly rounded. Month by month, the babe thrived and grew. I saw him within my mind’s eyes – growing, nourished by his mother’s blood, a mere fetus within her womb.
My son.
“It’s not too late, Flynn.”
Iyumi spoke from just behind me, and made me jump.
“What do you mean?” I asked, struggling to settle my voice.
“Turn back, while you still can.”
“M’lord.”
Buck-Eye’s soft tone set my skin to crawling. “Mayhap she’s right, m’lord. Maybe we should go back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “It’s one damn woman up there. We kill her, save my family, end of story. We go on.”
“Flynn –”
I ignored Iyumi’s tense worry. She’s dead wrong, I thought. She doesn’t know the situation as I do. My mother is the victim here. The Bitch controls my mother, and my father. Once I kill her, they’re free of her evil. If he did indeed survive as Lyall suspected, perhaps my father and I can call a truce, a cease-fire, and lift hostilities. He might even find a small bit of love for me. I’m his first-born son, after all.
Nudging Bayonne forward, I led the way into the castle’s shadows. My father’s guards, like the citizens of the town, ei
ther hid like cowards or fled. No one challenged us as our horses clopped across stone cobbles toward the ancient keep. The heavy drawbridge across the moat was up, sealing up the first of two entrances into Castle Salagh. I had no doubt the southern bridge was also up. All secure and safe – no outside intruders could possibly get inside.
“Now what?” Torass asked. “How do we get in there?”
“This way, boys and girls,” I said, aiming for a light tone. “I know a secret door.”
“M’lord?” Buck-Eye asked.
I tossed a grin over my shoulder. “How else does a boy late for curfew get home?”
“Uh –”
“I know. I was a rascal.”
“Was?”
I pretended not to hear Iyumi’s acid comment.
“I used to bribe the porter,” I said, still aiming for banter. “He loved sweets and I’d bring him a bagful of candy now and again. In exchange, he’d watch for me and open up.”
“Let’s hope he’s still on duty,” Lyall muttered.
“Got any candy onya?” asked Torass. “I haven’t.”
Built long ago as an escape route should the castle fall, the door lay cleverly concealed amid the stone pinnacle. Built to look like a rock outcropping, only those who knew of its existence kept the secret close. The porter had been the porter for over sixty years, a post passed down from generation to generation. I knew his seamed and smiling face as well as I knew my wife’s. Since I reached the ripe age of ten and became an outlaw, his outlandish accent and gruff voice berated me time and again. He never failed to open for me, nor in his loyalty ever halted his need to scold me for my foolish and dangerous behavior. In my self-contained misery, I never realized he actually liked me for me.
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