The Witch's Daughter

Chapter 7
Flight

THEY THUNDERED OUT of Corning’s eastern gate, a thousand grim-faced riders-nearly half the town’s garrison-with the ranger Belexus at their lead.

“They must keep the road clear if the fleeing people are to have any chance of getting across the river,” Meriwindle remarked to Mayor Tuloos as they watched the cavalry roll away.

“They will,” Tuloos growled. “We must believe in that.” He turned and led Meriwindle back across the town. They had their own business to attend.

Belexus spotted the lone rider, coming hard from the south, speeding like the wind, on a course to intercept his group. He gave over the lead position to the next in line and veered his mount away.

“Yer place is not here,” he said to the lone rider when she reined in beside him.

“But it is,” Rhiannon answered. “Those on the road know well enough the path o’ their flight; they’ll not be needing me.”

Belexus studied the young woman. She carried no weapon, and none would have rested comfortably in her soft hands. But there was something about Rhiannon, some growing power, that the ranger had a feeling might prove critical to the events of this day.

“How can ye help?” he asked.

“I’m no’ for knowing,”’ Rhiannon answered honestly. For all of the powers she had exhibited that day, the witch’s daughter understood them no better than the amazed witnesses. “But if ye fail in yer mission,” Rhiannon went on, “those fleeing’ll not make the river, whether I’m guidin’ them or not. Me place is here.”

Belexus’ first instinct was to send her back; he had promised his father he would watch out for the witch’s daughter. But looking at Rhiannon now, sitting so resolute and grim on her black and white horse, Belexus sensed that she did not need his protection. Indeed, it seemed that her presence would bolster his chances against the talon force.

“Come then, and be quick,” he said to her. She nudged her mount up beside his and bent low to whisper her magical encouragement into his horse’s ear. Then they were off, gaining on their comrades with each powerful stride.

A tear rimmed Mayor Tuloos’ eye as he looked back over his city, deserted except for the remaining garrison and the line of refugees, being guided from the west gate out through the east. But the stout mayor shook the moment of weakness away and turned back to his post on the western gate, reassuring each poor refugee in turn.

“The day will be won!” he told one man. “And fear not, the King of Calva will lend you aid to rebuild your home!” The man nodded and managed a weak smile.

They are all so tired, Tuloos noted. How can they possibly run all the way to the river? He patted the man on the back, hurrying him along.

“Another group!” the lookout called. “And talons at their backs.”

Tuloos rushed up to the parapets to stand beside Meriwindle. A few hundred yards down the road came a band of stragglers, mostly women and children, running for their lives. Behind them, and gaining quickly, charged a band of bloodthirsty talons, weapons clanging.

The few able men among the refugees turned to slow the monsters, brandishing pitchforks, wood axes, even clubs.

“They’ll not make it,” Meriwindle said with a grimace. Even as he spoke, the talons trampled down the meager resistance and bore down on the women and children.

“Mayor!” Meriwindle pleaded, grabbing the man by the collar.

No provisions had been made to split the garrison, and Tuloos had only thirteen hundred men remaining to guard his town. He could ill afford to lose any on the road outside the gates. But, like Meriwindle beside him, the kindly mayor could not ignore the terrified screams.

“Go to them!” he cried.

“To the road!” Meriwindle screamed, leaping down from his perch and rushing to his readied horse. He burst through the gate, sweeping up dozens of volunteers, most riding but others simply running. The noble elf did not look to see who was following; he cared not if he found himself facing the talons alone. In that moment of rage, all that mattered to Meriwindle was halting the talon charge.

But the elf was not alone-far from it-and the soldiers who rode with him were spurred by anger equally great, and they matched the frantic pace. As one they breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the refugees and put themselves between the helpless people and the talons.

One giant of a man, wielding a huge mallet and astride a monstrous horse, rushed past Meriwindle, slowing the lead talons by the mere spectacle of his appearance.

“Jolsen!” Meriwindle called after the smith, but there was no panic in the elf’s voice. Jolsen had lost his wife and all of his family except for the boy, Jolsen, in a talon raid a dozen years before. The huge man had moved to Corning shortly thereafter, and had promised that one day he would avenge those murders.

Though they understood that the main force of Thalasi’s army was far behind them, the talons had known only easy victories these last few days and came in with all confidence.

A single sweep of the huge smith’s mallet felled two of them, and Jolsen, his sinewy muscles bulging, reversed the stroke easily, back and forth, chopping and swatting.

Meriwindle used the confusion to his best advantage. “Charge on!” he cheered his riders, and the sheer weight of their mounted rush crushed through the first ranks of the enemy. Swords rang out above the screams, and many a soldier, talon and human, died in the first seconds of battle.

And an exhausted Jolsen, smiling in the knowledge that he had indeed avenged the deaths of his kin, went down under a flurry of talon blows. Even as the darkness of death closed over his eyes, the great smith managed one final swing, blasting yet another talon from life.

From the wall, Tuloos watched helplessly.

“There!” Rhiannon cried out.

Belexus followed her pointing finger to the north, but nothing was yet visible to the eyes of the ranger on the open plain. He trusted Rhiannon’s instincts, though, and he swerved the cavalry line to follow Rhiannon’s lead. Sure enough, only a minute later the talon cavalry came into view, swinging down around to the south for a straight rush at the road.

Belexus knew at once that he was outnumbered by at least five to one, but at that moment, with the memory of the pitiful line of desolate people making their way to the river so vivid in his mind, the odds didn’t seem to matter. The ranger understood his objective. He wouldn’t engage the talons fully; he couldn’t risk complete defeat. He would meet their lead riders from the side, turn them back to the east, and force them to parallel the road all the way to the river.

Where, Belexus could only hope, reinforcements from the eastern towns would be waiting.

Rhiannon, unarmed, broke off to the side and let the soldiers pass her by. She slowed her horse and tried to tune her senses in to the land around her, hoping that the earth would once again speak to her and give her the power to aid in the cause.

The forces came together in a brutal rush, the heavier horses gaining initial advantage over the smaller swamp lizards. Belexus drove hard into the talon ranks, every sweep of his mighty sword dropping a talon to the ground.

But the advantage was soon gone, for the sheer numbers of the enemy slowed the charge to a near standstill. “East!” Belexus cried, knowing that his brigade could not hope to survive a pitched battle, and he started them on their wild run, talons pacing right beside them and the battle moving on in full flight.

Rhiannon easily kept close to the thrashing throng, trailing the fighters by barely a hundred yards. The ranger’s plan seemed to be working, she noted hopefully. The talon line, intent on the ranger’s troops, followed the flow to the east. And in the continuing battle, where riders of both groups were more intent on merely staying in their saddles than inflicting blows on the enemy, few were slain. Belexus, so skilled with horse and sword, got his share of talons, though, and more than once Rhiannon grimaced as she watched a soldier go down, only to be swallowed up by a sea of the vile monsters.

But then the trailing edge of the talon line, in a rare display of insight, apparently began to understand the ploy. Remembering the commands of their warlock leader-that the road was their primary goal-more than half the force cut back behind the riders, once again aiming for the south.

Only Rhiannon stood to stop them.

Meriwindle could not guess how much of the blood that covered his body was his own. He was still in the saddle, one of the few who could make that claim. But three talons had fallen for every soldier, and, more importantly, the charge had been halted, and the elf looked back now at Corning to see the last of the refugees being ushered through the gates.

But any smile that might have crossed Meriwindle’s face was short-lived, for in the other direction, down the western road, now came the main force of Thalasi’s army.

“To the town!” Meriwindle cried, and those soldiers who could manage to break away turned back for home. Meriwindle scooped up two of the men, their horses torn apart from under them, and carried them along on the retreat.

“By the Colonnae,” Mayor Tuloos muttered from his spot on the wall, for beyond the fighting, all the western field had gone dark, a writhing mass of wretched talons. The boom of their drums and their battle cry rumbled out ominously, drowning all other sounds.

“Men die!”

Tuloos watched a spur of the talon force break to the north, another to the south, and knew at once that his town would be surrounded in a matter of minutes. He could break out now with his garrison, back through the eastern gate and down the road. But then the refugees would have no chance of survival, and the talon army would continue its run unhindered after the remainder of the helpless fleeing people.

“Secure the gates!” Tuloos roared with all the strength he could muster. “To arms!”

A moment later Meriwindle was back by his side. As soon as the elf looked around at the spurs of the talon force, he understood the wisdom of the mayor’s decision to close the town. A continuing flow out the eastern gate would only fall easy prey to the circling talons. Still, looking at the overwhelming mass of the Black Warlock’s force, Meriwindle had to wonder what hope the walls offered.

Tuloos shared those feelings, the elf knew. The mayor leaned heavily on the wall, watching the events unfolding around him. “We will stop them,” he said to Meriwindle.

“We must,” the elf replied.

“And reinforcements will arrive!” the mayor went on, mustering courage despite his doubts to the truth of his words. “Andovar will return with the army of Pallendara at his back!”

“Indeed!” said Meriwindle, and his face brightened. He clapped the mayor on the shoulder and turned back to the field, taking care to keep his true feelings of their doom from showing on his delicate elven features.

The talon army rolled on, not even slowing at the sight of Corning’s high walls.

“Arm every man, woman, and child,” Tuloos instructed.

Meriwindle understood; talons took no prisoners.

She never even thought of fleeing. Her duty was to the helpless souls on the road to the south, and to the valiant ranger and his troops battling the odds so bravely.

And as the talon cavalry approached, Rhiannon felt again that strange sense of power flowing up from the earth itself and gathering within her. “Go back!” she demanded in a voice so suddenly powerful that it caught the attention of Belexus, far off and moving away. He managed to look back over his shoulder to see the young woman standing so resolute against the flowing tide.

Belexus didn’t care that his plan had apparently failed; he didn’t care for anything beyond the figure of Rhiannon and the charge of talon cavalry that would gobble her up long before he could get to her side.

But as Belexus would now learn, and as the daughter of the witch herself would now learn, Rhiannon was far from helpless.

Power surged through her body and flowed down into her mount. She tugged on the beast’s mane, rearing it up. And when it slammed its hooves back to the ground, there came a flash as bright as a bolt of lightning and an explosion that rocked the plain for miles around. In front of the lead talons the earth split wide, gobbling up those whose beasts could not stop their rush. The rest of the talon force swung abruptly to the east to join their kin, fleeing the power bared before them.

But Rhiannon spurred her steed to the east and chased after them. Each stride of the enchanted horse continued the thunderous rumbling, and the crack in the earth, too, took up the pursuit.

Hope came back to the ranger in the form of awe and even fear. Most vividly of all, Belexus saw Rhiannon’s determined ride. She kept just behind the lead of the talon line, using the split in the ground to prevent the monsters from turning south.

Then Belexus realized that Rhiannon meant to carry the split all the way past his force.

“To the south!” he cried to his men, cleaving another talon down the middle. He charged back and forth, herding the soldiers out of the approaching gully.

Talons, also recognizing the danger, pursued the Corning force, carrying the fight to the other side of the coming divide.

But then, suddenly, the battle came to a standstill, a hacking mob of confusion. Rhiannon kept her charge straight in, knowing that if she veered to the south, she would take her chasm with her and strand Belexus and the others in the midst of the entire talon force.

Belexus saw her intent and tried to get beside her, but the press was too great, and the ranger could only watch in horror as a group of talons formed a line in her path to intercept.

“Fly!” Rhiannon whispered to her horse, and the horse leaped high into the air, soared higher than a horse could possibly leap, clearing the stunned talons beyond even the reach of their weapons.

And the ensuing thunder when the black and white steed’s hooves crashed back down to the ground rolled the plain like waves in an ocean. Lizard and horse, talon and human, tumbled to the ground, stunned and blinded by an upheaval of dust and clumps of earth.

But Rhiannon, her face streaked with sweat and grime, her black mane matted to her neck and shoulders, emerged from that cloud, charging along her route. And to Belexus, watching her courageous ride, she seemed no less beautiful.

They crashed into the walls, clawing and hacking with wild abandon, ignoring the hail of arrows or the burning death of boiling oil. Possessed with the fury of Morgan Thalasi, the talons knew no fear.

Meriwindle charged about the parapets, spurring his soldiers on. And when a few of the wretched talons managed to gain a foothold over a wall, they inevitably found the noble elf in their faces, slashing away with his sword.

And so it continued for half an hour, the talons blindly fighting to appease their master and their own hunger for man-flesh. And the proud people of Corning fighting back for their lives, and for the lives of those who had fled for the river.

Tuloos knocked one talon from the wall, only to find two others taking its place. The mayor stumbled backward and fell, and the hulking forms towered over him. He cried out, thinking that the moment of his death was upon him.

But then a sword flicked above him, once and then again, and both talons dropped. Meriwindle pulled Tuloos back to his feet.

The elf was a garish sight indeed, and Tuloos could not understand how Meriwindle was even standing with his life-blood flowing from so many grievous wounds.

“We are holding them!” Meriwindle cried, and all fear flew from Tuloos at the sheer determination in Meriwindle’s voice. Here was the elf who had stood beside Arien Silverleaf on the field of Mountaingate, the warrior who had survived the centuries in the jagged shadows of the Great Crystal Mountains.

Tuloos looked around at the carnage that was Corning, the rubble and the dead and dying. But more so, the mayor let his gaze drift out over the eastern gate, down the road to the river.

The empty road to the river.

He knew that the sacrifices made this day in Corning had bought those helpless, fleeing Calvans some precious time. If only he and his men could hold out a little longer.

If only…

The talon army calmed suddenly and backed away from the walls, those before the western gate parting wide to reveal a gaunt and robed figure.

“Angfagdul,” Meriwindle muttered grimly, using the enchantish name for the Black Warlock. He had seen the likes of Morgan Thalasi before.

“Surrender your town!” the Black Warlock demanded in a voice dripping with a power not of this earth. “Surrender now and I will let you live!”

Mayor Tuloos understood that doom had come, knew that all hope was gone. But he knew, too, the lie that he now faced. The Black Warlock would keep no prisoners other than slaves to draw his carts until they dropped dead in their tracks from hunger and exhaustion. All around him, his weary men leaned on their weapons, their will for this fight fading with the last remnants of hope. To a man, they looked to Tuloos for guidance.

“I’ll not make it easy for him,” the mayor whispered to Meriwindle.

“Send him a message,” Meriwindle replied, and he handed Tuloos a bow.

Smiling, the mayor notched an arrow and took a bead on the Black Warlock. Realizing that he could not hope to take out an enemy so powerful with such a simple attack, he veered his aim away from Thalasi and let the arrow fly. It thudded into the chest of the talon nearest Thalasi, and the beast dropped dead to the ground.

From every wall, from the courtyard below, the remaining people of Corning sent a final cheer into the air.

Thalasi trembled in rage. He hadn’t wanted to use his power-not yet. But such arrogance could not go unpunished, and his army could not afford to get bogged down at the gates of this city. He threw his arms up into the air and fell into that magical plane, gathering, demanding power.

Then Thalasi hurled his collected force at the battered town.

The western gates exploded into a million burning splinters. Now it was the talons’ turn to hoot and cheer, as they poured through the wide breach.

Meriwindle leaped down from his perch to meet them head-on.

Thus did Meriwindle die.

And thus did the town of Corning die.

In the frenzy of a few moments, the remaining talons on the south side of Rhiannon’s gorge were cut down, and Belexus led the charge in pursuit of the young woman. She had slowed, pacing herself to keep even with the weary lizard-riding talons across the chasm.

Still, when Belexus caught up to her, he was alarmed to look upon her pale and drained face, for her magical efforts had indeed exacted a heavy toll.

“Go,” Rhiannon told him. “I will keep this group from the road.”

Across the splitting earth, only two dozen yards away, more than a thousand talons rushed along, spitting curses at the wicked sorceress that kept them from their prey and from their goal in the south.

“Ye mean to cut the earth all the way to the river?” Belexus called to Rhiannon. “A day o’ riding and more that’ll be.”

Rhiannon knew the grim truth of his words. Already she felt her power beginning to wane. “Follow me, then!” she cried, formulating a desperate plan. “All of ye!” The cavalry fell in stride behind Belexus and Rhiannon as she picked up the pace again, easily outdistancing the talons across the way. And when she had gained enough ground ahead of the leaders of the invading army, she cut sharply to the north, turning the break of the chasm with her.

The change in direction, the breaking of momentum, sapped the last of the young woman’s strength. Holding on as tightly as she could, she spurred her mount back around to the west, encircling the terrified talons.

Belexus and the others understood her motives. Though few of the talons were surprised enough to tumble into the new angle of the gorge, the whole of their force had been suddenly stopped and thrown into disarray. Belexus charged ahead of Rhiannon, leading his soldiers head-on into the confused ranks.

Exhausted beyond its mortal limits, the black and white mare stumbled and went down. Rhiannon, barely able to remain conscious, crawled over to the poor beast and wept, caught in a tumult of confusion and revulsion. What awful power had she aroused? It had fully possessed her in a fury that she could not begin to comprehend, much less control. Was it her destiny, then, to rain destruction upon the earth, and upon the beasts of the earth, innocent and evil alike? She stroked the trembling flanks of the horse and spoke softly into its ear as it passed from life.

And then Rhiannon, fainting from exhaustion, knew no more.

Belexus did not miss the fall of his friend, and the sight of it spurred him on to new heights of rage, stole the weariness from his muscular arms. He tore into the talon ranks, hacking down two creatures at a time.

And then a new sight came over the battlefield, a sight that inflicted equal heights of rage in Belexus’ soldiers. Rising over the western plain came yet another pillar of black smoke.

Corning was burning.

They drove the talons into the gorge and trampled those who could not get out of their path. The hunter became the hunted as the talon forces were split in half, and many of the creatures broke from the back ranks to flee into the empty northland.

For a full hour they fought, men and talons with nothing left to lose. Again and again Belexus chopped down a foe, only to find another ready to take its place. But whenever weariness began to slow the ranger’s fell blade, he only had to look back beyond the edge of the fighting to the still forms of Rhiannon and her horse.

And for the men of Corning there remained the constant reminder of the billowing cloud on the western horizon. One soldier went down under the pull of three talons, and when he fell, five of the beasts leaped upon him for the kill. But it was the soldier that finally climbed out of that tangle, mortally wounded a dozen times but refusing to stop fighting, refusing to lie down and die, until the talon force had been beaten back.

How many talons died and how many managed to flee to the north in that savage battle would never be tallied, but of Belexus’ force of one thousand, only two hundred remained, and the ranger was convinced that five talons had died for every man.