Daughter of Prophecy (34 page)

Intense heat crinkled the skin on Serous's face, and for a moment there was no air to breathe. The night brightened, casting stark shadows as the fireball billowed skyward.

The horror lunged ahead with an ear-shattering roar. Its churning feet showered dirt and grass over Serous where he huddled over Phelan, barely an arm's length from the creature's path.

A heavy oily musk lingered in the beast's wake. Strong in Serous's nostrils, it was more than a smell. It penetrated deeply like a plunge into cold water and brought an awareness of rotted vegetation, of corruption, of pure, malevolent evil that sent shivers up and down his spine.

How is this happening?
Serous fretted while Phelan squirmed with surprising strength to break free.
Why are we herders always facing these things alone! Where is Lakenna? Safely asleep in the Rogoth hlaford undoubtedly. And that six-knot Keeper! Where is he? Most likely rubbing shoulders with High Lords and rich merchants, leaving a cripple like me to deal with the Mighty Ones' creatures
.

The horror skidded to a halt a few paces beyond, wings beating for balance. Its right hip was within spitting distance from Mil and Adwr. Hissing angrily, the beast swung its head back and forth as it searched.

Mil's bow wavered like a sapling in a winter storm, but he drew full and loosed. At that range, the powerful bow could drive a broadhead point three fingers deep into an oak plank. Tonight, the arrow sped to the side of the horror's jaw, quivered at the impact, then bounced off harmlessly.

But the blow caught the beast's attention. It pivoted nimbly about to face the two herders. Opening its mouth to reveal a double row of sharp teeth, it roared its rage.

Bravely, Mil fumbled to nock another arrow, but Adwr let out a blood-curdling shriek and bolted. His motion drew the horror's attention away from the trembling bowman.

Adwr ran, legs pumping, arms flailing. He looked back over his shoulder with bulging eyes and so did not see the second winged horror crouching in his path, the ball behind its jaw huge. Though smaller than the first beast, the fire this one spewed out was far more impressive.

A sheet of flame engulfed Adwr and turned him into a grotesque human torch, illuminating the meadow. His agonized shrieks echoed throughout the night and went on and on.

The hair rose on the back of Serous's neck as the inhuman wails hammered the core of his being, conveying a height of unimaginable agony. Bile rose in his throat as he watched helplessly while Adwr staggered about. In the macabre light Serous could see Rahl. The lad's face twisted in revulsion as he watched Adwr's plight. Then he bent over and vomited.

Mercifully, the shrieks finally ceased. Adwr dropped to his knees, then fell face forward to the ground and remained still. The flames on his blackened body flickered and died.

The stench of burning meat clogged Serous's throat, and he gagged as well. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—and realized that Phelan was gone!

Casting about, Serous saw the lad retrieve the burning brand, then wave it in front of the first horror to divert its attention from Mil's efforts to notch another arrow.

The first horror! Serous ground his back teeth.
This ten-year-old is keeping his wits better than I am!

Mil drew and loosed—to no effect that Serous could see.

“Rahl!” Serous shouted. “Come with me!” Then he sprinted where Mil and Phelan were frantically dodging an open-mouthed lunge of the angry beast. As he ran, Serous searched the night for signs of the second horror. But it was nowhere to be seen. It had disappeared back into the darkness and the bleating sheep.

Still retching, Rahl stumbled after Serous, determinedly not looking at the corpse smoldering a few paces away.

Again Phelan got the beast's attention. Waving the torch, the youngster darted in quick as a stable fly, then scampered nimbly aside when, with a low growl, the horror turned and lunged. Its teeth snapped loudly, missing Phelan by a hair.

Once more Mil drew and shot. This time the arrowhead penetrated a finger's length into the beast's upper neck.

With a bellow of surprise, the horror jumped straight up. Landing, it swung its head and caught Mil a glancing blow on his leg. The herder cartwheeled through the air, and the bow and arrows spun into the night.

“Find the bow, Rahl!” Serous called out. “And some arrows! Help him, Phelan! I'll keep the monster off you.” Then he wondered how he was going to do it. He didn't even have his staff, not that it would have done much good.

But instead of continuing the battle, the horror dropped its head and whimpered in pain. Dark blood dripped from the arrow shaft. The beast seemed confused.

Serous's blood surged. Undoubtedly this thing was not used to having the prey it encountered stay and fight.
Not only fight,
Serous thought proudly,
but also hurt it
—

Understanding flooded over him. He sagged with relief.
Somebody's praying!

He ran around the horror to Phelan and Rahl. With the light from the torch, they had found the bow and a handful of arrows.

Rahl took the bow and nocked an arrow.

“Aim for the heart, lad, and keep shooting,” Serous panted. “The arrows will penetrate now.”

Splatters of vomit stained Rahl's tunic. His face had lines not there at dusk, but his expression was a study in determination. Steady as a rock, he drew, aimed, and loosed.

The arrow buried a handsbreadth into the horror's chest.

Quickly, Phelan handed Rahl another arrow. Over and over Rahl smoothly nocked, drew, and fired, taking the next arrow from Phelan as if they had practiced for months. Each arrow penetrated deeper into the beast than the previous one.

The horror died with the fifth arrow. It crumbled inward and turned to dust.

Serous took the torch from Phelan and searched for the second horror, but he sensed that the beast had fled. The sheep were calming down.

Then he heard Mil's moans and found the herder a few paces away. His right leg was twisted at an impossible angle. His face was white in pain against the black beard, but his leg and bruises seemed to be his only injuries from the ordeal.

Phelan and Rahl joined them.

“I wish the one that . . . killed Adwr was still here,” Rahl said grimly, his mouth a straight line. “I have enough arrows for it.”

Serous listened into the night toward the other herd. Faintly, he heard the now familiar sounds of horrors bellowing and sheep bleating.

His blood chilled as he realized horrors were attacking Bowyn's herd.

Chapter Twenty-five

R
HIANNON

R
HIANNON GAVE ONE
last tug on the girth strap, then turned and lifted the bridle off the peg. She slipped the bit into Nineve's mouth and fitted the top over the ears. Taking the reins, she led the prancing filly out of the stable.

Grim-faced Rogoth warriors bustled about under Llyr's watchful eye, securing weapons and tying down supplies on pack mules. All wore swords on their belts and carried quivers bristling with arrows and strung bows on their shoulders. Their leather vests had hundreds of small steel discs tied on with rawhide strings: poor man's chain mail.

Puddles dotted the dirt after last night's hard rain. The gray false dawn was clear and cool with a nip in the air that hinted of the autumn to come, making Rhiannon glad for her cloak and leather vest.

Yesterday one of the herders had brought news of the attack and Phelan's safety. Tellan had been a growling bear, wanting to gallop off immediately, but he'd forced himself to wait for the reserve warriors to be called in and supplies gathered.

Now in the dim light he stood impatiently and talked to Mererid, Creag, and Girard. A group of herder wives and families gathered a few paces away, concern evident in their faces.

Tellan and Girard came to Rhiannon. “I want you with me when I talk to the kinsmen,” Tellan said, tilting his head toward the wives and families. “Girard informs me that everyone is convinced this is tied in with your prophecy. I think it will be good for them to see your involvement and concern.”

Rhiannon nodded.

Loreteller Girard smiled at her. “Know, m'lady, that no Rogoth harbors you ill will. On the contrary, most kinsmen seem to be taking pride in your prophecy. They see both the tutor's presence and the High Lord Keeper's arrival as further evidence of the Eternal's hand in the matter.”

“Thank you, Girard.”

Rhiannon and her father stepped around the puddles as they walked the short distance to the families. As he had many times in the past, Tellan instructed her: “We are their kinsmen nobility. They give us their fealty and their honor; we give them protection and our respect. In times like this they look to us for reassurance. We need to show concern and determination, but never fear. Whatever the outcome, we must make it better than they could have resolved on their own.” His mouth firmed. “If nobility cannot do that, we have no reason for existence.”

Cora Garbhach stepped forward and dipped a short curtsy. She was a stout woman with a sharp-nosed, handsome face. Her hair was drawn into a bun shot with gray. She gathered the ends of her shawl in hands red and rough from labor. “M'lord, m'lady. The Eternal's blessing on you and the warriors. We're praying for Master Phelan and the others.”

Tellan nodded solemnly. “If anyone can keep both men and sheep together and safe, it'll be Bowyn Garbhach and Serous Caillen. No two better men in these highlands.”

Cora tilted her head in acknowledgment. Then her eyes took in Rhiannon's sword and riding garb. Her brow knitted, and her mouth turned down in disapproval. “You're going? With the warriors . . . ?”

“Lady Rhiannon will ride by my side.” Tellan did not raise his voice, but his tone cut like a knife.

The woman's frown vanished. “Of course, m'lord. I meant no disrespect.” Still, she radiated disapproval.

“How is Willa?” Rhiannon asked into the resulting silence. Willa was Adwr's widow.

“Numb, m'lady.” Cora looked relieved at the change of subject though her gaze lingered on the sword. “She is most appreciative of yours and Lady Mererid's visit yesterday. After you left, we were able to get a sleeping draught down her. She'll be abed 'til noon. Her daughter should be here by then.”

Rhiannon looked at Vanora, who stood next to Rahl's mother. Their look of concern mirrored her fear. Keeping her features smooth, Rhiannon told them, “I know Phelan is safe with Rahl. Both Teacher Lakenna and High Lord Keeper Branor think no further attacks have occurred.”

Vanora blinked back tears.

Rahl's mother, a plump woman with a kindly face, nodded bravely even as her chin quivered. “Like Lord Tellan says, m'lady, Serous and Bowyn will keep everybody together till you and our men get there and deal with these evil creatures.” She shot a quick glance at Cora, then looked back to Rhiannon. “Teacher Lakenna was not the only one praying night before last.” Murmurs of agreement came from the others. “The Eternal woke many of us up to pray. We know Teacher Lakenna and the Keeper will be with you.” Her voice strengthened. “But you'll be riding under our prayers as well, Lady Rhiannon, both for this and for your prophecy.”

Another wave of agreement came with many nodding heads.

Tears came to Rhiannon's eyes. She did not trust herself to speak. “Thank you,” she managed finally. “Whatever the prophecy entails, I will strive to be faithful.”

Rhiannon and her father took their leave and hurried to mount up. Lakenna and Branor stepped forward. The Keeper wore his black rope and a thick winter cloak. His boots shone with fresh polish. Lakenna wore her customary white blouse, a blue cloak of heavy wool, and one of Rhiannon' split skirts. The two of them had altered that skirt and another one like it for Lakenna during the night's frantic preparations.

Night before last, Lakenna had startled the entire family after rising from her knees from what she described as another call to prayer similar to the one on the road to Lachlann. She said this one had seemed much more difficult, and without the assistance of some unknown partner, it might have failed. Since the hlaford and the immediate area were quiet, everyone's first thought had been for Phelan and the sheep. Those fears had been confirmed at the herder's arrival the next day.

Then, upon Branor's arrival at the hlaford late yesterday afternoon, he had related a prayer battle exactly like Lakenna's. At first, both Albane and Keeper had seemed relieved to discover the identity of their fellow spiritual warrior. But not for long. Things had quickly chilled since that initial revelation.

Now, however, they seemed in one accord as Lakenna spoke first. “M'lord, before we leave, there is a matter of grave urgency that Bra—. . . that High Lord Keeper Branor and I feel we must share with your family and your advisors.”

Tellan frowned fiercely. “Be quick. We have delayed long enough.”

Branor and the tutor stepped inside the sables. Rhiannon, Tellan, Mererid, Creag, Llyr, and Girard followed.

Branor and Lakenna described in detail their prayer battle on the night of the attack. Then, with each one helping the other put words to such a difficult subject, the two startled everyone—all but Rhiannon, anyway—by declaring they believed a siyyim indwelt Maolmin Erian.

Tellan received that revelation more calmly than Rhiannon would have thought, if a face hard enough to chop wood was calm. He stood with arms folded across his chest. Mererid stood straight-backed by his side, her fingers drumming on her leg as she digested the implications of what it would mean if the supreme leader of their clan were truly indwelt by a demon. Girard and Llyr stood on Tellan's other side. The loreteller was ashen-faced. He put a hand over his eyes and moaned. Llyr nodded to himself as he stared at the ground.

Finally, Tellan spoke into the silence. “Rhiannon, is this what you felt in the stable at Lachlann?”