"Maggie. Here,” Regan said, and the basset hound scrambled to her side.
She felt the Power renew in her stomach and a feral grin curved her lips. “My turn.” She pointed her hand at the viper. The snake struck. Blue fire leapt from her fingertips and caught the viper between the eyes.
The snake crashed to the ground, then writhed in a shroud of black smoke. “Take that, you asshole,” she said in a high shaky voice. From the charred mass at her feet, Dirkk's laughter rang out as the still smoking viper squirmed toward her, leaving a black trail of burnt flesh in its wake. At a vicious snarl from Maggie, Regan swung her hand down and fired another blast at the devil snake just as it reached her feet. The blue fire hit the reptile's head, which exploded and sprayed her feet and legs with charred flesh and skin. The smoking tail thrashed violently. Maggie barked wildly and lunged forward.
"No,” Regan cried, just as a sweeping backward lash caught the basset hound below her rib cage and flung her across the ground. The dog howled, landed with a dull thud, and lay still.
Stunned, Regan stared at Maggie's motionless body for a long moment, and then walked jerkily forward. She knelt and gathered the limp form into her arms. With a trembling hand she caressed the dog's velvety brown ears
"Open your eyes, baby. You've got to be all right.” The little hound remained still. Regan stifled a sob, then felt along Maggie's deep, rounded chest. The heartbeat was faint, but there. Regan heard a panicked bleat and looked up. A goat ran through the gates of the city, dragging a ragged rope behind. She stood with Maggie cradled in her arms and stumbled to a row of grapevines. With gentle care, she laid the basset hound beneath the vines. Tears filled her eyes as she stroked Maggie's ears. “I'll be back for you. I promise.” Maggie opened one brown eye. Her pink tongue came out and licked Regan's hand. Brushing tears away with the back of her hand, Regan turned and ran toward Raya.
* * * *
Pausing in the arched gate's shadow, she took a deep breath. The coppery smell of blood, intermingling with the sweet earthiness of crushed fruits and trampled vegetables, made her gag. Swallowing convulsively, she stepped from the shadows into the sun, then jumped back as an unarmed farmer and a mace-wielding Ru'taha careened toward her.
Cursing beneath her breath, she called the Power into her hands but, before she could react, the Ru'taha heaved the mace upward and brought it down. The spikes caught the man's head dead center. Blood and pale-pink globs splattered Regan's arms and legs. The man's startled blue eyes met hers, and then he crumpled to the ground.
An agonized scream jerked Regan's gaze up to the seat of a fruit-heaped wagon. A woman swayed there. Ashen-faced, she gripped a beveled shovel. Below her, another Ru'taha raised its club over an outstretched body. The woman plunged the shovel down. The vee'd point smashed into the Ru'taha's helmed head and its knees buckled. “Now, Carl!” the woman shouted.
From behind the wagon, a boy sprang, both hands clasped around the hilt of a rusted sword as tall as he. Beneath the short sleeves of his homespun shirt, his arms quivered as he lifted the sword high and then brought it down. The blade sank deep into the Ru'taha's neck. Black blood flowed from the gash, down the sword, and over the boy's hands. The Ru'taha dropped its mace and reached a hand to its torn neck. It raised its head and its black gaze sought the boy. Regan heard the child sob, then he bared his teeth, jerked the blade free and brought it down again in a hacking motion that severed the Ru'taha's right arm. Blood spurted from the arm's stump into the boy's eyes. He blinked, shook his head, and continued hacking until the white form twitched no longer.
Regan crossed to where the boy stood staring down at the pale mass of flesh. She reached and touched his shoulder. He shuddered and jerked away from her touch.
"Go, mage, I will see to my son,” the woman called down from the wagon, her voice void of emotion. “There are more who need your help."
* * * *
Her hands outstretched before her, Regan blazed a path to the center of the marketplace. The hurt and dead lay in uneven rows. Weeping and moans of pain assaulted her ears as she wound her way through women, children and men. Hands reached to grab her legs as she passed, begging for water or release from pain. Her heart aching, she pried their fingers loose and moved on with promises to return with help.
Numb and stumbling, she made her way to the beginning of the merchants’ area. Kelsey. I have to get to Kelsey. She repeated the mantra over and over to keep her legs moving. She stumbled from an alley and into a street swarming with Ru'taha and Black Vipers. Scrambling back into the shadows, she watched the marching horde.
They marched, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the closed doors and frightened faces that peeked from shop windows. They've one goal, she decided: to reach the castle and Tessa.
As the last Ru'taha marched by, she crept from the darkened alleyway, then darted across the street and into the dark entrance of another. A voice shrieked from the alley behind her. Regan whipped around. Two figures ran toward her, a woman dragging a child. Behind them, vipers slithered. The woman and child raced by to a shop's door and pounded upon it.
Regan incinerated the vipers, then turned and sprinted to the woman and child. It was Caroline and Anna Witherspoon.
Caroline grabbed Regan's hand, her wide eyes begging for help. Regan gave the hand a squeeze, then whipped around as the woman's face drained of all color.
The marching Ru'taha had stopped and turned to stare at them.
"No, Dirkk,” Regan screamed. “They're no threat.” The Ru'taha cocked their heads, and then five turned and shuffled toward them.
"Damn you.” Regan beat her fist against the locked shop's door. “For God's sake, let us in!"
Merchant Rastley's round pasty face appeared in the shop's oval window. He stared at Regan with wide eyes.
"Open the door,” Regan shouted, twisting the ornate doorknob.
Shaking his head, he backed from them.
In the shadows beyond the shopkeeper's shoulder, Regan saw a black form separate from a dark corner. She pounded harder on the door and pointed beyond the merchant. Rastley continued backing from them, his mouth opening and shutting like a suffocating fish. Behind him, a Ru'taha raised a spiked mace and waited.
He must have seen his fate in Regan's face, for he turned just as the Ru'taha struck. The mace ripped into the merchant's shoulder and he shrieked. The Ru'taha twisted the club free, ripping flesh from bone, and swung it again, this time at the merchant's round face. Behind Regan, Caroline screamed.
At Caroline's cry, the Ru'taha hesitated, and then turned and looked at the three of them framed in the shop's window. Its empty eyes flared green and Regan saw Dirkk's features flow over those of the Ru'taha. His lips curved upward as the club came down. Through the closed door, Regan heard the sound of Rastley's skull cracking. Anger burning, she pointed at the Ru'taha. The Power slid along her bones and erupted from her fingertips in a solid ball of fire. The fireball slammed into the closed door. The screech of hinges jerking free and the smell of charred wood filled the air. Regan stepped through the smoldering remains of the door and looked for the Ru'taha. It sprawled in a corner. At her approach, it lifted its head, all signs of Dirkk gone. Did I get him this time? She stared down at the Ru'taha's charred body. Its eyes opened and flared green. Dirkk's laugh filled the shop. The Ru'taha's neck muscles corded in a silent scream and its head slammed back against the floor and was still.
Regan faced Caroline. The woman held Anna's face pressed close against her skirt, her gaze locked on the Ru'taha.
"It's dead,” Regan said.
She walked to Caroline and pulled the woman and child inside the shop. “Stay here. They want me, not you."
Regan stepped through the doorway. “You want me? Well, come and get me,” she shouted, as she turned and ran down the street.
* * * *
Regan flattened her back against a perfume shop's wall. Pressing her hand against the pain in her side, she drew in deep ragged breaths and raked the
street with a searching look. It was empty, but she knew they were close. She had cut through alleys and twisted back on her own track again and again, but still they came, like hounds who scented a rabbit.
She pushed away from the storefront and looked toward the castle turrets just visible in the falling darkness.
From down a dark alley she heard feet shuffling and watched a Ru'taha exit into the street. It turned its head unerringly in her direction. “Go away,” Regan moaned.
The Ru'taha's mouth opened and from its tongueless depths Dirkk's voice flowed. “Why don't you destroy it?"
"You will only send more."
The Ru'taha grinned. “You know me so well for the short time of our acquaintance."
"You're a monster."
"You wound me, Regan. I'm not without a heart, something you will come to see when I've taken Raya from its traitorous queen."
"Tessa is a good queen."
"Tessa is a fickle harlot,” Dirkk said. “Now I tire of our game, so run, my little rabbit. Run to Tessa and tell her to enjoy what time she has left."
The Ru'taha turned away from her and headed toward the castle.
"We'll stop you, Dirkk. I promise you,” she screamed after him. Dirkk's laugh drifted back to her.
Chapter 24
REGAN LEANED AGAINST the keep's outer walls and held her breath as a black shadow paused, glanced down, then continued on. She released her breath and, hugging the chilled stone of the wall, inched her way to the downed drawbridge.
On top of each of the barbican's four towers, Queen Tessa's banner still fluttered, but Ru'taha walked the parapet, and the rays of the dying sun glinted off the mailed tunics of soldiers sprawled like limp dolls across the battlements. At the bridge's far end, the portcullis was up and from inside anguished cries and clashing steel flowed.
She pressed her hands against her ears and fought the urge to run in any direction except into that hell. Inside her the Power flared in protest of her thoughts. Yes, you're there, but how much longer without rest? I could leave; no would know. Inside the walls, a soldier's horn sounded a charge and the Power surged again. All right, I'm going.
She rounded a sagging tent held upright by a lone center pole, then dodged to the side as a farmer staggered into her path. In his left hand he wielded a short sword; his right hand he held pressed to the side of his neck. Through his splayed fingers she saw two raw slits still dripping yellow venom. He collapsed to his knees at her feet, the sword slipping from his hand. She bent and scooped it up. “S ... s ... s...” sounded from her right and she twisted to face it.
The Black Viper launched. She leapt to the side. It sailed past and landed just beyond her. Regan swung the sword straight over her head in a clumsy two-handed grip, then brought it down in a sideways slicing motion. The blade caught the viper's neck and slashed through. The severed head fell to the ground and rolled toward Regan, its mouth still snapping. She screamed, kicked at it, then scrambled backwards, her back slamming up against a hard rock surface. A cloud of flies swooped down and buzzed around her eyes. Batting at them, she turned and looked up. Her backward rush had ended against the wall of the gatehouse and from one of its open windows the gatekeeper hung, his face a roiling, featureless black mass. Then the wind gusted and a swarm of flies rose and buzzed angrily before settling again. Regan gagged and turned away. Shut the gate, a corner of her dulled mind commanded.
Her fingers clutched tightly around the hilt of the sword, she staggered up the gatehouse's blood-slick steps. Holding her breath and batting at flies, she skirted the gatekeeper's body.
The door to the gatehouse hung from one hinge. Bread, cheese and a spreading red stain from an overturned jug of wine littered a round wooden table. In the center of the room was a wood-and-steel winch. She staggered toward it.
The winch's handle was a huge crank, like one used for drawing water from a well. Loathe to discard her sword, Regan pulled on the handle with her left hand. The huge wooden spindle creaked, but nothing more. Cursing beneath her breath, she propped her sword against a narrow bed. Gripping the winch's handle with both hands, she leaned her weight into it. The winch groaned, moved forward an inch, then slipped and settled back.
"Damn!"
Pausing to gulp air, she looked out the far window of the gatehouse. Beyond the barbican, a jagged line of Ru'taha loped toward the castle. Regan inhaled a harsh breath of panic and leaned into the winch again, her straining legs trembling and her arms screaming with pain.
"Move, damn you.” As if in response to her command, the winch inched forward, rocked back, inched forward again, and then gave with a rusty groan. She leapt to the side as it rotated wildly and the rattle of descending chain filled the room.
The portcullis’ landing vibrated the gatehouse walls.
With a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Regan ran to the open window and looked down. The Ru'taha rambled to a halt in the shadows of the barbican. They milled for a moment, and then turned and trotted back toward the center of the city.
"To your side, mistress!” a shrill voice warned and Regan jerked around. A Ru'taha ran toward her along the parapet, its club poised to strike. She dodged, and the spiked club crashed into the stone inches from her face. Splinters of rock exploded and bit into her cheek. She leapt for her sword. Her knee slammed into the bed and sent the sword sliding across the stone floor. Tasting bitter fear, she glanced back over her shoulder. The Ru'taha stood framed in the square of the window. So this was it. It was over. Well, she'd put up a good fight. As she stared in acceptance, it started toward her. The Ru'taha's body jerked. It pitched forward and fell at her feet. An arrow, buried almost to its feathered shaft, protruded from its back.
"Thank you, whoever you are,” she whispered, and then ran for her sword and out the gatehouse's door.
* * * *
Regan leaned against the gate of the inner bailey. Straight ahead was the stable, and just beyond, the castle. She pushed away from the gate and sprinted toward the stable.
Pressed against the stable's open doors, she listened. A rage-filled scream and the shrill neigh of panicked horses launched her onward.
Rourk stood, arms extended, his hands gripping the hilt of a sword that looked to be as long as she was tall. Six Ru'taha circled him, their spike-riddled maces raised above their heads. She let out a deep breath. They stood too close for her to chance using the Power.
As she watched, a Ru'taha sprang and brought its mace down in a whistling arc. Rourk dodged to the left, slashed downward with his sword and separated the Ru'taha's arm from its shoulder. It reeled back, crashed into a stall door and slid to the floor. Rourk's chest heaved as he gulped in air.
She looked around wildly. Next to the stable doors was a water-filled bucket. She grabbed the bucket and threw it into the back legs of the nearest Ru'taha. “Over here, you bastards."
The Ru'taha scattered and, with an ear-splitting yell, Rourk charged.
A Ru'taha jumped to meet him, and with a sideways slash he opened its stomach from side to side.
Out of the corner of her eye, Regan glimpsed movement and whirled, her sword held straight out before her. The charging Ru'taha impaled himself to the hilt, slamming her backwards against the stable wall. Blood spurted and drenched her hands. She crawled from beneath the Ru'taha's dead weight and wrenched her sword free.
The three remaining Ru'taha had Rourk pinned against a stall. Regan watched his blade slip by a descending mace and slash below the eyes of the nearest. Blood flowed, veiling its mouth and chin in blackness. His next blow sliced the Ru'taha's head from its shoulders, and inky blood spurted from the stump as the head bounced and rolled across the floor to thud against Regan's legs. With a wild shudder, she kicked the head away.
The last two Ru'taha charged. Rourk fought back. His hand moving quick as a striking snake, he threatened first one Ru'taha and then the other.
Now she could use the Power. She pulled it from her stomach and out along her arm. “Rourk,
get clear."
He glanced her way, then spun to the side and leapt behind a bale of hay.
The Power's blue arc caught the first Ru'taha in the chest. It flew up, then back, and crashed into the second. Fire engulfed them both and they careened out the stable doors, their hands slapping against the wind-whipped blue flames.
She ran to where Rourk sprawled. He turned his bright-green gaze up to her and smiled. “Glad to see you in good health, lady. Now let's be off to the castle and my Kelsey."
* * * *
Rourk and Regan sprinted up the castle's marble steps and he shoved the double doors open. The roar of battle washed over them. Mage globes, hovering close to the castle's ceiling, flared and dulled, first throwing light on the struggling figures, then cloaking them in shadows.
With the clash of steel against steel, the knights in the anteroom fought Ru'taha who towered head-and-shoulders above them. Black Vipers slithered along the marble floor, coiled, and struck to bury their fangs into unprotected skin. Deeper inside the castle, a horn trumpeted a call to arms.
In front of them, a young squire turned to run, only to have his head split like a melon. Beside her, Rourk loosed a battle yell and charged. Swinging his sword, he mowed through Ru'taha and vipers, a scythe harvesting death. Across from her, Regan saw another empty-handed squire surrounded by three coiled vipers. “Hey,” she shouted.
The vipers twisted toward her and the boy streaked to freedom. She pulled the Power up into her arm, feeling it sear her bones in response to her rage. Her vision a red haze, she pointed her arm at the swaying black monsters. Blinding, blue-white light shot from her fingertips and flashed across the distance like a bolt of lightning. The vipers exploded into flame.
Still in a frenzy, she whipped around. Frustration burned as hot as her rage at the scene before her. Unless she was willing to kill all, the Power was useless in the compact mass of flesh. She bent, grabbed a discarded sword and, swinging it like a baseball bat, charged into the chaos. All the while, a small voice inside her head screamed, “What in the hell are you doing?"
The Blue Flame [Book 1 of the Daradawn Series] Page 31
