The Witch's Daughter Part 17

Bryan managed to get back into the house by the ladder, and he found, to his relief, the pantry empty of talons. He heard some shuffling in the next room, but couldn't wait to find out if the talons meant to come out or not. Moving to the trapdoor, he lifted it gently, calling to the woman in a quiet whisper to calm any startled outbursts.

"Come quickly," Bryan prompted, pulling the young boy out of the hole and then taking the infant girl from her mother.

"Did-" the boy blurted before Bryan could stop him. Bryan verily tossed the baby back to her mother, drawing his sword and throwing himself beside the door to the next room. But the talons were engaged in their own games and apparently took no note of the noise.

When he was certain that all was clear, Bryan led the family out of the house and up to the wall, pulling the ladder up behind them and dropping it over the other side. He could kill a score of talons this night, he knew, so engrossed were they in their celebration over the death of the "ghost fighter." But one look at the mother and her two children flushed any such thoughts out of the young warrior's mind. He had only one purpose this night.

"We have to get to the river."

They were in a boat-one of Bryan's hidden and growing stash-a couple of hours later, Bryan rowing the three across to the safety of the eastern bank.

"Why were they at such a party?" the mother asked, the first words she had spoken to Bryan since they left the compound.

"They thought they had killed me."

"You must be mighty indeed to inspire such joy," the woman remarked.

"They make me more than I am," Bryan replied humbly. "And I only use their fear to my advantage."

"You have been doing this a long time?" the young boy asked.

"It seems like years," Bryan replied, and the woman noticed for the first time how weary the young hero appeared.

"And is it over now?" she asked. "They think you are dead; why not let it be so?"

Bryan had to take a long moment to find an answer.

How much longer could he hope to evade the talons?

Why not continue on with this family and join up with the Calvan army in the north at the Four Bridges? Certainly he could use the rest and the company of humans.

But how many more families now crouched in dark holes, waiting without hope?

"I must go back," he said at length.

The woman did not question him further. She had seen too much death and suffering in the past few days to be concerned with the antics of one young warrior.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you?" she offered.

"I have some friends on the other side," Bryan replied. "Somewhere near Rivertown, I would guess. A young girl named Siana, and two boys my own age, Jolsen Smithyson and Lennard-" The name caught in his throat as he wondered suddenly if Lennard had survived his wicked wound.

"Of Corning," he continued when he got past the dark thought. "Find them for me. Tell them that Bryan hopes they fare as well as he."

The woman nodded. "And when, should I tell them, will Bryan return?"

The flash of Bryan's smile caught her off guard. She knew beyond doubt the grim truth behind Bryan's optimistic facade, and she could guess from that resigned smile that Bryan knew it, too.

"Soon."

Then the half-elf was alone in the boat again, rowing off silently toward the western bank, toward the army of evil talons.

So very alone.

Chapter 17.

In the Dead of Night THE MOON CAME up in the cloudless eastern sky, stealing the twinkle from the stars in its glowing path. So serene and peaceful seemed that nighttime canopy, so unlike the events on the land below. up in the cloudless eastern sky, stealing the twinkle from the stars in its glowing path. So serene and peaceful seemed that nighttime canopy, so unlike the events on the land below.

The wraith of Hollis Mitch.e.l.l spurred the h.e.l.lish stallion around the western perimeter of Avalon. Mitch.e.l.l had pa.s.sed through this wood in his former life, an encounter that still brought a scowl to the evil spirit. And now, even more hateful of places of beauty and life, the wraith looked upon Brielle's forest with open hatred.

Mitch.e.l.l turned his mount in and rushed up to one of the bordering trees. "For you, stupid witch!" he growled, and he slammed his bone mace at the tree. The weapon crashed in, its evil magic scorching and tearing the trunk.

But Avalon fought back.

Blue sparks encompa.s.sed the mace and its undead wielder. Mitch.e.l.l resisted their power for a few moments, but was then thrown from the back of his mount. He pulled himself up from the ground, stunned.

And then Brielle stood in the shadows of her trees.

"Horrid thing!" she cried at him.

"And you, witch," Mitch.e.l.l sneered back.

"Be gone from me wood," Brielle went on, rising suddenly tall and terrible. The Mistress of the First Magic, above anyone else in Aielle, recognized the true nature of the wraith, understood its very existence as a crime against the order of nature. "Ye have no place here, no place in all the world!"

"Oh, but I do!" Mitch.e.l.l shot back. "A place that will only grow larger and stronger. A place that will one day include your trees."

Seething fires burned in Brielle's green eyes; the emerald on her forehead, her wizard's mark, glowered at the sight of the perversion that was the wraith of Hollis Mitch.e.l.l. But for all of the strength and determination of her anger, an involuntary shudder s.h.i.+vered through the fair witch's spine; Thalasi's power must be great indeed for him to take a spirit from the netherworld!

"Be gone!" she commanded again, and even as Mitch.e.l.l's face began to twist into a mocking smile, a light as bright as the noontime sun filled the air around him.

"d.a.m.ned witch!" Mitch.e.l.l cried, flas.h.i.+ng pain burning him.

"It is yerself who is d.a.m.ned," Brielle replied. "Horrid thing, undead thing. By what right do ye walk the world?" She wanted to strike out fully at the wraith, test its strength there and then, and if possible send it back to the realm wherein it belonged. But Brielle had not yet recovered from her most recent encounter with the Black Warlock, and from her subsequent efforts to ward her wood against any further attacks.

Mitch.e.l.l swung back into his saddle, having no difficulty in directing his stallion away.

"I will be back, witch," he cried over his shoulder as he sped off toward the south. "And next time you will find it harder to get rid of me!"

Brielle shut down the glowing sphere of her enchanted light and watched the wraith depart. She feared that his words might hold more than a little of the truth.

"By me eyes, she's a beautiful night," Andovar remarked, looking out from the low glow of the campfire to the silvery sparkle of the great river.

"Too true," Belexus replied. "Not a night to be thinking o' war."

Andovar turned a wry smile on him. "But I was not," he a.s.sured his friend.

"Rhiannon, then," Belexus laughed. He spent a moment recalling the image of the raven-haired woman, and the exciting contrast of her s.h.i.+ning blue eyes. "Ayuh," he agreed. "'Tis a fitting night to be thinking o' that one. And me guess's that ye've been doing yer share of thinking o' that one."

"More than me share," Andovar replied wryly.

"She has ye," Belexus warned, but Andovar did not fear the truth of his friend's words.

"That she does," he admitted openly. "And when the business o' the talons is finished, she'll have me more, if her heart wants me more."

"Might be a time in coming, then," Belexus said. "The talons-and their boss-aren't for leaving so soon. Mighten be that ye should see yer way to the girl without a worry for the war."

"Too much fighting to be done," reasoned Andovar. "I know me duty, and I'll hold to it. I'm not for courtin' the la.s.s just to leave her with a dead husband."

"Better that she had one in the first place," Belexus argued. "Her thoughts be lookin' to Andovar as clearly as Andovar's heart's seeing her. Ye cannot be living in thoughts o' dying, me friend. If ye're for each other, then get to each other, and let the war do what it will."

Andovar nodded his agreement and let his gaze slide toward the north. They would arrive in Avalon soon after noon of the next day. "What do ye think-" he started, but Belexus had already guessed his friend's next concern.

"The witch'll not go against ye," he cut in with another laugh. "Suren she'll be glad for her daughter's joy, and glad, too, to have such a man as Andovar coming a'courting for Rhiannon."

"While such a man as Andovar's truest friend comes a'courting for Brielle herself?" Andovar had to ask, now holding a sly look in his own eye.

Belexus lay his head back on the folded blanket that served as his pillow. "I've seen her but a few times," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "But suren I've known her all me life." Belexus wasn't certain of his place or his duty concerning his feelings for the witch, or how she would react to those feelings. Was it the fair witch herself or her wondrous workings in Avalon that had steadily stolen his heart away over the past decades?

Whatever the cause, Belexus could not deny the emotions that filled him whenever he walked through the enchanted forest, and even more so on those rare occasions when he caught sight of Brielle dancing in a distant field or rus.h.i.+ng among the paths of her domain.

Andovar recognized that he had sparked a bout of contemplation in his friend, and he let the conversation drop at that. He turned back to the s.h.i.+mmer of the lazily moving water, turned back to his thoughts of the last few days, and of the years that might yet come, beside Rhiannon.

"Fate is kind," the wraith hissed when he spotted the camp-fire across the way and heard the voices, those most hated voices, that came back across the years in a rush of unpleasant memories.

"Belexus and Andovar," he mused, remembering the times that the two rangers had rushed to the defense of Jeff Del-Giudice, spouting threats against him. How much bite could those threats hold against him now?

The wraith turned the vile steed toward the river and started across.

He dreamed of home, of starry nights in Avalon and sunbathed hillocks of clover and wildflowers. But the urgency of his friend's call cut into the meandering visions, awakened the alertness that marked Belexus as a prince of the Rangers of Avalon.

"Belexus!" Andovar whispered harshly again. He was still standing by the great river, a few dozen feet from his dozing friend, and staring out across the flowing water at a globe of blackness that had floated out from the opposite bank.

Belexus propped himself up on his elbows, separating the reality of the moment from the haunting memories of the dream. "What do ye see?" he asked, checking that his weapon was comfortably by his side.

"Darker than the night," Andovar replied. "Come, ye must take heed o' this." Even before Belexus could respond, the blackness crossed the midpoint of the river, and its true image came clear to Andovar in the moonlight.

"By the Colonnae!" the ranger gasped.

Belexus scrambled to his feet at the urgency-the sheer fear-in his friend's tone. But swifter still was the flight of Mitch.e.l.l's black steed, and the wraith rushed across the remaining expanse of the river and fell over the startled ranger.

"What foulness is this?" Andovar cried, hacking futilely at the undead thing with his sword.

Mitch.e.l.l took the blows without so much as a wince of pain and then brought his deadly mace down at Andovar. The ranger got his s.h.i.+eld up to block, but the wicked weapon shattered the thing and the arm that held it, and drove Andovar to the ground. Mitch.e.l.l dropped from his seat, straddling the man and raising his mace up for a killing blow.

"Now I repay you," the wraith roared in its unearthly, grating voice. Andovar's sword struck again, to no effect. For the first time in his life Andovar's battle skill would not be enough.

The ranger knew he was doomed.

Then came a sudden flurry of blows so powerful and well-aimed that even the magical wraith could not hold his footing. Mitch.e.l.l gave ground as Belexus came on, the ranger's sword snapping and driving with incredible force and precision.

Again and again the broadsword of Belexus drove in at its target.

But the metal of the weapon could not truly harm this being from the netherworld, and the ranger's advantage was short-lived. Mitch.e.l.l, not even trying to deflect the blows, came back on the offensive, swinging his skull-headed mace wildly. Belexus felt the power of the thing each time it swooshed by him, and he realized that a single blow could spell his defeat.

He was arguably the finest warrior in all of Aielle, and the strength in his iron-corded arms was unrivaled in all the world. Backavar, the enchantish word for iron-arm, he was called by his admirers. Belexus Backavar, Belexus Iron-arm.

But for all the truth to his nickname, Belexus gave ground now, steadily and helplessly backing from the horror of the wraith of Hollis Mitch.e.l.l.

Andovar rolled onto his side and struggled to his knees. His s.h.i.+eld arm was useless, a dead thing, and he doubted that he would ever be able to raise it again. More than that, though, the wound had numbed his side, penetrated him with a ghastly chill that crept through his limbs. But Ando-var found a measure of his strength returning when he looked at Belexus, his truest friend, frantically parrying the wicked blows of Mitch.e.l.l's mace now and not even attempting to launch his own strikes. Andovar gathered up his sword again and fought away the deathly cold.

"Farewell, ranger," Mitch.e.l.l laughed. "You have met a foe this day that you cannot hope to defeat." Belexus could not find a reply to the claim when he looked into the dots of fire that served as eyes and the bloated gray skin of the animated corpse.

The mace came around to bear again, and Belexus, knowing that he could not play this defensive game much longer, sent his sword into it with every ounce of strength he could muster.

His sword blade splintered and fell to the ground.

Without hesitation, before Mitch.e.l.l could cry out in victorious glee, Belexus leaped right onto the wraith, grabbing the mace-wielding arm and throwing his other arm around Mitch.e.l.l's neck. He twisted and heaved, pulling Mitch.e.l.l off balance, and for just a split second it seemed that the sheer strength of Belexus would carry him through to victory. But after the initial shock of the move wore off, Belexus realized his folly.

Mitch.e.l.l's skin was so cold that it burned on contact. The ranger felt the searing pain stealing the strength from his arms, and when Mitch.e.l.l put his free hand on Belexus' back, the ranger felt its clawing fingers tearing into his very heart. Then Mitch.e.l.l laughed wickedly and heaved, sending Belexus flying onto his back. He scrambled to his hands and knees, fighting a wave of weakened dizziness.

"Run, me friend!" came a cry. "To Avalon! Suren the witch's the only one who can stop this beast!"

Belexus managed to focus his eyes just in time to see Andovar's sword tip explode out through the front of Mitch.e.l.l's chest.

Mitch.e.l.l glanced down to consider the weapon, then laughed again. He wheeled about in wild fury, snapping Andovar's sword at its hilt, and threw his arm around the stunned ranger.

"Run, Belexus!" Andovar pleaded, his voice falling away for lack of breath.

"No!" Belexus cried, willing himself to his feet. But even as he started back to help his friend, Mitch.e.l.l twisted Andovar about into an awkward position and wrenched with all of his undead strength.

The image of Rhiannon, the love he would never know, came to Andovar one final time. And then it was gone, stolen in the burning explosion of pain.

Belexus watched in horror as Andovar's body bent over backward, and he heard vividly, so very vividly, the cracking of his friend's spine. Then the wraith grasped the broken form by the neck in one dark hand and lifted it high into the air.

"Doom is upon you, foolish mortal!" the wraith roared. "Tonight is the night you die!" Mitch.e.l.l heaved Andovar back behind him with such force that the body fell lifelessly into the great river.

For all of his need of vengeance, Belexus knew he could do nothing against the wraith. He stumbled away into the night, choked by anger and sorrow and a horror beyond anything he had ever before known.

Mitch.e.l.l called to his h.e.l.lish stallion and thundered off in pursuit. The night was not dark, but even had it been moonless, the wraith would have had no trouble locating its fleeing prey. Mitch.e.l.l was a creature of the night; darkness only added to his strength.

Belexus heard the pounding of the hooves closing on him. He could not possibly get back to his camp and his own horse in time. He could not possibly escape.