A frontal assault would be a wasted effort; even a well-executed ambush would meet with dubious success. There were simply too many of the blasted creatures for his one quiver of arrows to eliminate. Even bending light offered no advantage. The Pale Man was both sorcerer and full-blooded aulden. He would meet Bloodhawk there in the halfway world of the Veil and end him and the rescue without pause. He had searched the forest for allies before their ambush on the shamans, but to no avail. The wolf packs had all fled from the great commotion of the enemy encampment, as had the birds of prey and the mountain cats. The grey bears would not have strayed far, but they yet slept their winter sleep, deep in the caves that scattered these foothills.
The caves, he exulted silently. Always the little things.
Singing Arrow always preached that the little things made victory certain. Whether in the wild or on the plains of battle, it was attention to detail that made the difference. Those who overlooked or discounted the insignificant often fell prey to it. Confusion would be his ally, not brute force. But he had little time to act.
Bloodhawk sat with his back against a tree, set his bow on his lap and his quiver at his side, making one arrow ready should a hasty draw be necessary. He closed his eyes and shut out the sound of the hrumm below him, focusing inward past the cage of his physical awareness. He felt the rush of nature flow through him and into him like a torrent of white water, his own petty being washed away like a mote in the deafening roar of life around him. Every tree, every insect, every rodent and reptile formed into this maddening cyclone of screams and whispers. He narrowed his focus, sifting through the countless voices until he found what he searched for, beneath the rock, clinging by the hundreds to the dank shallow caves all around him. Bloodhawk summoned his will and directed it toward the sleeping creatures, shaping it into a powerful call, more in images than in words, a vision that would drive them out of their holes in unquestioning panic.
An eloth will do. An eloth, coiling to strike.
Within moments, the ground at the feet of the hrummish left flank erupted in a cloud of thundering leathery wings. Streams of bats fled skyward, instinctually avoiding the constricting grasp of the cave serpent whose image filled their minds. The hrumm broke formation in surprise as great pillars of blackness darkened the starlit sky throughout the forest, and the maddened, panic-stricken creatures fluttered about them.
Bloodhawk raced through the startled hrumm. He could just make out Jasper’s limping form dragging Khyri up the opposite side of the shallow embankment. Bloodhawk shifted direction to intersect their path. He knew that the confusion of the bats would not last much longer. If nothing else, that dark, writhing column might be visible for leagues, alerting the castle that something was amiss in the forest.
As Bloodhawk neared his comrades, he saw Jasper’s pain in every line of his face, every plane of his straining muscles, every drop of blood that oozed from his injured leg. A cold emptiness spread in the pit of his stomach, and with the suddenness of his disturbing revelation, Bloodhawk halted in his tracks.
This is not Jasper.
The dark red ichor that so convincingly pumped from his wound left no trail in the snow. The desperate panting image before him was merely illusion, the lure at the center of a complex snare. The bats had fortunately caused sincere confusion amongst the hrumm. Bloodhawk little doubted his fate otherwise.
Escape must be immediate, before they recovered in full. The way he had come was out of the question. Doubtless the woods would be teeming with more hrumm than even he could deal with alone. Only the river offered safety. With a small enchantment he could ward off its biting chill, if but for a short while.
But Khyri – what if she were not illusion? She was like a sister to him; he couldn’t leave her here, even if it meant his death. He could also not risk close quarters combat with whomever or whatever pretended to be her doubtless deceased pupil. And he had a good enough idea just who that might be. Whatever he was to do, it must be done with haste, before he betrayed himself to his would-be captors.
“Jasper!” he yelled, “Drop her and run! Make haste, she burdens your escape!”
The pretender’s face seemed genuinely startled. “But, I can’t leave her –”
“Now, Jasper! I will take her!”
Jasper’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and then, with a ripple of light, he dissolved into the form of the Pale Man, his blade at Khyri’s back. “No more games, then. Surrender to me now or watch her die.”
“No surrender,” Bloodhawk stated, hiding the regret of his failed bluff. “Take me in battle if you feel Oghran’s luck, but call off your beasts.”
Dieavaul laughed. “I think not! Why waste such willing rabble by matching blades with you myself? Bards and storybooks have killed common sense in this age. Lay down your sword and come away as my prisoner or stand against my army and fall. Only the former will save the life of your friend.”
The hrumm were attempting to regroup below him. Bloodhawk felt his options slipping away with every moment he wasted in indecision. His mouth dried, and his throat tightened – he knew what must be done. He could not let Khyri fall prey to that damnable sword. He raised his bow and sighted a path along the arrow straight to one of Dieavaul’s soulless black eyes.
“Waste the arrow, if you wish. It will change nothing,” taunted the Pale Man.
The hrumm made their way up the slope behind their master, their remaining confusion quickly distilling into rage. There was little honor for hrummish warriors fleeing from a bat. A few of the archers reached for their quivers.
Forgive me, my friend, thought Bloodhawk in resignation, then let his arrow fly.
It struck true, burying itself in Khyri’s breast and knocking Dieavaul back a step, his face agape in shock and what may have been a kind of warped admiration. Hrummish arrows whistled into the snow where moments before Bloodhawk had stood, but within two ticks the wilhorwhyr had disappeared out of their sight on the other side of the ridge.
He ran to the riverbank, sick in body and spirit over what he had done. May Ingryst speed your soul, he prayed silently as he broke through a thin patch in the ice. Better simple death than the unholy suffering Dieavaul’s sword promised. With a soft-spoken word of invocation, he dove into icy waters that could still a beating heart in the space between breaths. His minor spell would preserve his warmth for a short time. With luck, it would be enough. When the hrumm arrived at this spot, they would find only a jagged hole in the ice, and none would dare follow him here – not even their dreaded master.
CHAPTER SIX
BAD NEWS GETS WORSE
TWO-MOONS and Symmlrey sprinted over the broken expanse of land between them and Castle Vae, carried on legs seasoned by leagues of hard travel. The exodus of bats told Two-Moons enough to guess that his friends were most likely in dire peril, but he could do nothing for them now. Far more people would die if they did not reach the castle with their news, and none of his stranded companions would want him to sacrifice innocent lives for their rescue. Still, it did not sit well with him.
“Why did we leave in such haste? We could have felled dozens more!” cried Symmlrey from just behind him.
He could hear the eagerness in her tone, the reckless abandon of youth. For her, all things were possible, except death or defeat. Was I ever so foolish? He knew in his heart that he must have been, but he could not recall it. He looked ahead at the granite walls of their destination as it loomed ever closer on the horizon and pointedly ignored his student’s question.
She persisted. “Two-Moons! Why don’t you answer?”
He knew her mood would be less curious if she suspected that none of her companions might emerge from the forest alive. He reached out and touched the panicked minds of the bats for an instant and surmised that Bloodhawk had called them, probably as a diversion. He could only hope it helped affect the escape of one or all of his friends.
“Two-Moons?”
The elder wilhorwhyr looked back a
t Symmlrey for a moment, sucking her into the depth and calm of his learned gaze. “Child, why ask questions whose answers you already know?”
Symmlrey seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Surely with five of us, we could-”
“Child.” Two-Moons sighed the word, speaking volumes with but one syllable, simultaneously chastising and sympathetic, impatient and tolerant. “One of us to every hundred hrumm is only fair odds in bard reckoning.”
“Of course,” she agreed, “but we could have killed tens more in our retreat. I have seen you do no less time and again. And Bloodhawk and Khyri, they are –”
“Dead for all we know,” cut in Two-Moons, his tone taking on the slightest edge. Slight, but razor sharp. “Have you forgotten our purpose in your excitement?”
“No,” she replied, defeated by his reason, “we must warn the castle at all cost.”
“Aye, and let us hope that cost grows no greater.”
Symmlrey’s subsequent silence was a relief for Two-Moons’ tired ears. Though the aulden had a reputation as dark and brooding, his student was of vanneahym stock, by far the most free spirited of the Seven Tribes, and even they considered her wild and reckless. She was atypical in many other respects as well. Not many aulden deigned to travel with mere humans, let alone be instructed by them. The wilhorwhyr, though friendly with the elder races, were still primarily of human or mixed lineage, and Symmlrey was an oddity in either group. Truth be told, Two-Moons suspected it was only as a wilhorwhyr that she would ever find any sense of belonging. She was not understood by her own people or welcomed by any others.
As the castle drew nearer, the drawbridge lowered, the portcullis cranked open, and a band of twenty knights issued forth from the gates at a full gallop, their armor ruddied by the glow of torches. It took less than half a span for the party to arrive, kicking up stunted clouds of snow as they came to a hasty stop in front of the wilhorwhyr.
The knights were lightly armored, in surcoats of azure emblazoned with the bold argent moon of Illuné. Their shields also bore the lunar device, some with a small eye staring out from four intersecting halos of light, in sinister chief. Border Knights. Their leader, set apart by his plume of glowing silver, raised his lance in salute.
“Good greetings to you both from Castle Vae,” he proclaimed. “I am Sir Prentis, Captal of the Watch. We must make haste within the walls. There is a war party not long behind you.”
Two-Moons raised his eyebrows, a gesture of great surprise against his placid features. “Your eyes are sharp in Castle Vae,” he said quizzically, “and your hearts very trusting to offer solace for two strangers in the night.”
Sir Prentis brought forward two bare back, bridle-less, mounts from the rear of his column. “Trust is not easily won in these times, milord, but by the grace of Illuné you were recognized by someone within the castle. The Lady ordered us make haste and deliver you within safely.”
“Did she?” mused Two-Moons as he gently mounted the offered horse, comforting the animal with a gentle caress. Symmlrey mounted the other beside him. “I don’t recall ever meeting her. No matter, let’s be off. As you said, time is short.”
“Yes, milord. So it seems for anyone with business at Castle Vae of late.”
Two-Moons didn’t bother to inquire further; there would be time enough for that inside. They set off again at a full gallop, and not long after the gates shut behind them with a solid clang of steel on stone. Torches were ablaze all along the inner courtyard, and soldiers scurried about purposefully, preparing the lower bailey and gatehouse for battle. Ballistae and catapults were cranked into firing ready, and pots of boiling oil and tar already awaited any who dared breach the walls. They had apparently been preparing for quite some time. Could the bats have been visible this far away in the dark of night?
Sharp eyes, indeed.
The immensity of the stone walls surrounding them made Two-Moons slightly uneasy. He didn’t care for closed environs. He had visited several such places: Tiriel, Mychah, Khalamahr, even once the vast sprawl of Moot Khy, but never by choice, and never for long. He was at home in the sweeping plains and dense forests of his home, comfortable enough in the mountains, tolerant of the Great Desert and the formidable Ice Reach, but definitely ill at ease when within these walls, within any walls. Necessity was an uncaring master, however, and he resigned himself to make the best of it. He would not stay long.
After dismounting, Sir Prentis led them through the outer defenses and then inside the central keep itself. Two-Moons noticed that Symmlrey kept quiet, her hood pulled low over her face. Just as well, he thought. Best not to attract any unwanted attention to her race.
Humans had little love for the fae, and he had no desire to test the hospitality of these people. Tales of aulden folk making away with good human stock for their mysterious purposes were still alive and well and sometimes even true. The fae were an enigmatic bunch, even to their allies, and speculation about them was not uncommon even within the ranks of the wilhorwhyr.
The interior of the keep was dark, lit by sputtering torches at intervals just regular enough to keep the passageways on the lighter side of dim. Thick, colorful, tapestries lined the walls, woven with epic images of battle and romance. Two-Moons recognized some of them as scenes from the Stands of Kiev Vae, others from immortalized tales of the Border Knights. The smaller hangings depicted various coats-of-arms of distinguished nobles. He guessed that such workmanship must have been quite expensive.
As they rounded the final bend in a flight of spiral stairs, many of Two-Moons’ questions answered themselves as he spied the imposing reptilian form of an old friend. “Kassakan! A blessing amidst curses! I wondered what eyes had seen so much where so little was to be seen.”
“Welcome,” said Kassakan, putting one of her scaly hands on his shoulder. “And thank you, Captal Prentis. I know you are anxious to return to your post, you need delay no more.”
“Yes milady. Thank you.”
As their escort left the way they had come, Two-Moons introduced Symmlrey to his friend. Kassakan bowed her neck slightly toward the hooded young woman, her nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air. “Welcome, child of the Vanneahym. This is a rare pleasure. Destiny’s call has reached the ears of many in gathering us to this place.”
“Thank you,” replied Symmlrey.
“Come, the Lady Evynine awaits us.” Kassakan swung open a door of belwood at least two feet thick with no apparent effort and then led them into the large brightly lit room beyond.
Within the chamber was a collection of paintings, tapestries and sculpture that shamed the articles lining the entry halls, and that was no mean feat in itself. Two-Moons looked upon portraits that seemed ready to walk forth from their burnished frames, creatures of fact and legend held only in cages of oil and canvas; and landscapes, some exotic locales where he himself had tread, like windows looking out on all corners of the world from within the confines of this one room. The thick, yielding rug on which they walked depicted the journeys of Goron Lionshield, one image flowing to the next as it led the viewer along on his ancient quest of exploration and discovery. Two-Moons had little use for material wealth that he could not carry on his person, but for him the wealth in this room far outweighed that of kings who filled their coffers with bits of shiny metal and jewels, thinking themselves rich beyond compare. This was treasure rich in spirit as well as gold.
Three large hearths lit and heated the room, one on each wall save that housing the main door, with a long obsidian oak table set before each. The tables were beautifully wrought, the legs rendered in the form of two entwined dragons, wings outstretched to support their polished surfaces. The tables on either side of them were empty, but the head table opposite the door was set with chairs and victuals.
A tall woman sat before them, gowned in a woolen garment of deepest blue. Her golden hair was pulled back from her face in a single braid, revealing features at once striking and welcoming. On her right was a bearded man, his bl
oodshot brown eyes staring from dark sockets, dressed only in a thin coverlet that clung to his moist, sweat-soaked skin. He had a warrior’s girth, slighted by his stooped posture and the tight look of pain on his pallid face.
Kassakan strode before them and bowed slightly to the table. “May I present Lady Evynine, Mistress of Castle Vae and Baroness of the Western March; and her friend and ally, Sir Osrith Turlun.” Kassakan then pivoted to indicate the guests. “And this is Two-Moons of the Ebuouki and his young charge Symmlrey, wilhorwhyr both, and friends to all that is good.”
“Welcome,” said Evynine. “Please accept our hospitality.” She waved at the empty chairs across from her. “Your journey has not been an easy one, I’ll wager. Eat and drink your fill, and we shall share news.”
Two-Moons eyed the plates set with aromatic cheeses, fresh-baked breads, pots of honey and fruit preserves, and several flasks of wine, ale and milk. A worthy meal for such short notice, and very politic to the strict dietary requirements of the wilhorwhyr. “Forgive my manners, but I am a man short on small graces. My news is best delivered straight away.”
Evynine tilted her head quizzically. “Do you not bring news of the hrumm? This we now know, with all thanks to you and to Kassakan’s discerning sight. We are well defended here, and well provisioned, not to mention extremely stubborn. Take a moment to rest, and we may yet discuss the details at length.”
In Siege of Daylight Page 8
