The Witch's Daughter (15 page)

    Across the river, Thalasi stalked up and down the talon ranks, enraged and concerned as his plans continued their downward spiral. He had wanted to get across the river quickly and without heavy losses, but the stubborn Calvans, and his own blunders, had foiled that notion.

He watched now as more defenses were set in place on and around the bridges. He knew as he viewed the scene that
other eyes were also watching, the eyes of a witch in a distant wood and the eyes of a wizard in a white tower. For three hours they had held his magical intentions at bay, countering his every move.

And the third of his powerful enemies, the wizard Ardaz, had not yet even entered the battle.

“T
HOUSANDS OF THEM
,” Siana cried in dismay, looking out over the fields to the west and north. From her high mountain vantage point, the young girl could see dots of light—campfires—stretching off to the horizon.

“Talons,” Bryan observed. “They have heard the tides of war and are coming to join the main force down by the river.”

“What can we do?” Siana whispered hopelessly. “What can anyone do?”

“We must warn the people,” Bryan replied in an even tone. “Come, we can get to the river this very night.” They started off at once, down the mountain trails they knew so well. They passed by several talon camps without incident, though Bryan would have dearly loved to stop and pay a visit upon the evil things.

For now, though, he had his mind focused on the mission at hand. Someone had to get across the river and warn the defenders at the Four Bridges of the true size of the gathering talon force. Skirmishes with roving bands seemed unimportant next to delivering the warning.

But a few hours later, plodding along the eastern foothills
of the Baerendels with the great river in sight, Bryan and Siana came upon an encampment they could not ignore. From inside a small cave, its entrance hastily blocked by piled stones and brush, the two heard groans of pain.

Bryan recognized the voice before he even entered; Lennard had been his closest friend for all of his life.

“Bryan!” Jolsen Smithyson cried when he saw his friends. The large lad dropped his sword to the floor and gave Bryan and Siana a great bear hug.

Bryan pushed by him, more concerned with the garish wound showing on Lennard’s leg. Jolsen had broken the shaft off the spear and had tried his best to get the tip out and clean the wound, but the talon’s strike had been vicious indeed, twining tendons and shattering bone. Lennard lay on a fleeting edge of consciousness, more delirious than awake.

“Can you carry him?” Bryan asked Jolsen.

“I fear to move him,” Jolsen replied. “Or leave him. I meant to go back out along the trails to see if I could find any of our friends—”

“Forget the others,” Bryan snapped coldly, startling both Jolsen and Siana. “We have to get Lennard across the river.”

“The others might be out there,” Siana reminded Bryan. “Wounded like Lennard, and lying all alone in the cold of the night.”

Bryan felt the pain as intensely as Siana and Jolsen, but he understood his place in this predicament. “We go to the river,” he said. “Jolsen will carry Lennard.”

Jolsen and Siana exchanged concerned looks. “What if we refuse?” Siana dared to ask.

“Then I go alone,” Bryan was quick to answer. “And you will remain here to watch Lennard die, and probably to find a similar fate for yourselves at the hands of the foul talons.”

“You do not offer us much of a choice,” Jolsen remarked, his voice holding an uncharacteristically angry edge.

“There is none to offer,” Bryan replied in the same tone. “We have not the time—the troops camped across the river have not the time—to waste. If any of our friends are alive out there—and I know that none of those who fled Doerning’s Walk in the group beside me remain alive—they will simply have to fend for themselves.” He led their glances to Lennard.

“How long do you think he might live out here in this filth?” he asked earnestly. “We have to get him across the river.”

Jolsen’s eyes narrowed, but he did not refute the half-elf’s observations. The big lad was fairly certain that all of the others who had fled from Doerning’s Walk were indeed dead, but he could not shake the terrible notion that one of them might be out in the night, huddled in a hole, trembling with fright.

    They cleared the mountains about an hour later and picked their way cautiously across the short expanse of open field. The bulk of the gathering talon army remained miles to the north by the bridges, but some of the scum had made camps even this far south. The four got safely to the river, though, and moved north along the bank in search of a way to get across.

Dozens of cottages lined the great river this close to Rivertown, many having docks and small boats. Bryan and his friends came upon such a place only a short while later. Talons now inhabited the main cottage, but the human cries inside told the friends that the original inhabitants had not escaped in time.

“Two guards on the wharves,” Bryan remarked from his concealment behind some shrubs.

“What about inside the house?” Jolsen asked, unable to block out the wails.

“If we work it correctly, we can get the guards too quickly and quietly for any others to join in,” Bryan explained.

“But we cannot leave!” Siana hissed as loudly as she dared.

Bryan gave her an icy glare. “We’ll get the guards and ready the boat,” he instructed her coldly. “Do as you are told.”

Siana wanted to respond but could not find the words. Her expression of horror spoke for her, though, and Bryan realized that he might have been a bit too rough.

“We have to make certain that we will fulfill our mission,” he explained. “And we have to save Lennard. Once we’ve got the docks secured, we can attend to the people in the house.”

That promise appeased Siana and Jolsen, for neither wanted to go against Bryan. Not out here, not with other people’s lives hanging on their every decision. They followed Bryan’s lead to a closer position to the docks, drawing their bows as they went.

“Wait till I am close,” Bryan whispered. “Your shots will lead me in; I’ll make certain that the job is done. Then get Lennard to the boat and wait with him there.” And before either of his friends could question him again about the plan for the talons inside the house, Bryan disappeared into the darkness.

The two arrows whistled off together, both finding their marks but only Siana’s killing a talon. Before the remaining creature could cry out to its friends, though, Bryan was upon it, his sword’s fine edge turning the talon’s intended shout into a quiet gurgle.

Jolsen scooped up Lennard and followed Siana down to the docks, where Bryan had untied two boats.

“The house?” Siana questioned.

“Trust me,” replied Bryan. “Get in one of the boats and
hold a position a few feet from the docks.” All their eyes turned abruptly back to the cottage at the sound of yet another cry of pain.

“If I do not return,” Bryan went on, “get across the river and warn the soldiers of the approaching talon forces.”

Jolsen complied, setting Lennard down softly and taking up the oars. Siana, though, appeared doubtful.

“I am coming with you,” she insisted, fitting another arrow to her bow.

“Not this time,” said Bryan. He flicked his sword out, severing the eager girl’s bowstring. “Do not make me cut anything else,” he threatened, his sword still dancing out in front of him and an angry glower flashing in his elven-bright eyes. “Get in the boat.”

Stunned, Siana backed away and slipped into the boat without taking her eyes off Bryan. And then he was gone again into the gloom.

    “Don’t yous fight me!” the talon roared, as much in amusement as in anger. The young girl on the bed kicked out again, only to have her foot clawed viciously by the wretched thing. She tried to cry out, but had no more screams left to give. Sobbing, she lay very still on the bed and waited for the inevitable.

“Better!” croaked the talon, giving the smooth leg a final twist. “Now yous gets to see me weapon,” the beast proclaimed, unhitching its belt.

It wasn’t what the talon had intended, but an instant later the tip of a sword exploded through its backbone and out the front of its chest. The talon slumped to the floor. Bryan took its place.

The terrified girl started to shriek, and Bryan did not try to stop her; the other talons in the house would expect such a noise. The half-elf put his sword away, slowly easing the
girl into a gentle hug. He waited patiently for many long moments as the last of her sobs died away, then offered a hopeful smile to her tear-streaked face.

“Come,” he whispered. “I will get you away from these beasts and across the river.” The girl snuffled away the pain and slipped off the bed to follow, pausing only to give the dying talon a kick in the face for good measure.

“Who else?” Bryan asked her.

“My mother and brother,” she replied. “Downstairs, in the room beside the kitchen.”

“Go out the window and to the docks,” Bryan instructed her. He pointed to the open window—the window he had come in through—on the closest end of the hall. “Friends are waiting.” He started to go the other way, but the girl grabbed him by the arm and turned him about.

“Please,” she whispered. “You must get them out of here. And if you cannot …” She paused, stuck on the words, then steadied herself and continued. “Do not leave them at the mercy of the talons, I beg of you. If you cannot get them out, take their lives quickly and painlessly.” Her voice died away and she had to grab at her mouth to stifle a rising sob.

Bryan wiped a tear from her cheek. “On my life,” he promised, “I will get them out.” He sent her off then, and waited until she had slipped safely out of the window.

Then the young half-elf moved down the dim hallway toward the staircase. He paused at one door, hearing loud snoring. Not wanting to leave any enemies at his back, along the route he might need for escape, he slipped in and deftly cut the throats of the two talons sleeping within.

Then to the stairs. Below him, in the glow of a blazing hearth, he saw three talons milling about a sitting room. On a sofa sat a middle-aged woman, beaten almost to unconsciousness and staring blankly ahead at an empty wall.

“Herry up!” one of the talons croaked. To emphasize its
words, it strolled over and slapped the woman across the back of the head.

A young boy darted through a door off to the side, bearing a tray of food and drink and being hurried by the thongs of a fourth talon’s whip.

There might have been more of the monsters about, but in his simmering rage Bryan didn’t care. He took two running steps down the stairway and leaped out into the center of the room. He landed in a roll and came up between two of the beasts, cutting them down before they realized he was there.

A third, the one behind the boy, reacted quickly, though, snapping its whip out around Bryan’s ankles and tripping him up. Stumbling away toward the far wall, Bryan turned about just in time to see the approach of the fourth talon’s spear. He tried to get his shield in its course but could not deflect the spear far enough to the side. The crude weapon slipped through, thudding into his chest.

Bryan curled reflexively, catching the shaft between his arms. He thought his life to be at its end, but was amazed to realize that the nasty weapon had not dug in.

His armor, his magical elven armor, had stopped the point.

Bryan fell back against the wall, taking the spear with him. He groaned and swooned, playing upon the over-zealous talon’s hunger for the kill. Thinking its spear had completed the job, the stupid thing strode right in to retrieve the weapon. It reached out to grasp the spear shaft, then stopped in confusion as the weapon fell suddenly to the ground. The talon’s puzzled expression only heightened when it realized, beyond its belief, that no blood stained the spear tip.

The ugly brute looked back at Bryan for an explanation, and got a sword between its ribs in reply. Bryan yanked his blade back out, and as the talon dropped to its knees, he savagely brought it back in, lopping off the monster’s head.

The fourth talon shrieked in horror and bolted for the kitchen door. In a single movement Bryan slipped his arm out of his shield straps and hurled the shield across the room. His aim proved perfect, the shield clipping the talon on the side of the leg with enough force to send the thing sprawling headlong on the floor.

Before it could regain its feet, Bryan was upon it, slashing and hacking away until the mess of blood and gore beneath him hardly resembled a talon.

    When the second boat, bearing the mother and her two children, floated out to join the first, Siana and Jolsen looked curiously back to the shadowed figure on the docks.

“Come on, Bryan!” Siana insisted.

But Bryan had made his decision. How many more families remained on this side of the river, hiding from talons or already captured?

“You know what to tell them,” he replied to Siana. “Farewell, and pray that we might meet again.”

“I do not wish to leave you,” Jolsen Smithyson said stubbornly, and he pulled his boat around, back toward the docks.