Witch Wraith

Fifteen

The demon attack, when it finally came, caught everyone defending the city of Arishaig—and Keeton especially—by surprise.

All night he had waited for it, his soldiers stationed on the west wall, listening to the howling and shrieking of the creatures massed in the darkness just beyond the glow cast by the torches on the battlements. Midnight came and went. The night rolled on toward early morning and the approach of dawn.

But just before the first brightening of the sky east, while it was still too dark to make out anything clearly, the demon hordes attacked.

Not at the west wall, but at the south.

Somehow during the night, under cover of darkness, the attackers had managed to maneuver a second attack force into the lowland hills that rippled below the city. While the defenders’ attention was focused on the creatures massed at the west wall, thousands of their fellows had circled silently around from where they had been hiding earlier behind the ridgeline until they were in position.

When they attacked, no one inside the city was ready for it. There were soldiers on the south wall stationed at regular intervals with orders to keep watch and be ready, but larger numbers occupied the west battlements because all the enemy activity of the previous day had been centered there.

To Keeton’s credit, he did not panic. The fact that the initial attack had come from the south did not mean that those creatures gathered below the west wall were no longer a threat. The first attack could be a ruse to draw his soldiers away; the west wall could still be the main point of attack. So he took every third soldier out of the defensive line and sent them to reinforce the south wall and followed them over to see for himself how bad it was.

It was much worse than he had imagined. The army below the south wall mirrored the one threatening the west in size and ferocity. The attackers were already swarming the gates, surging up against them and hammering on the ironbound timbers with clubs. Dozens of creatures were climbing the walls, finding grips in the rough surface of the stone that would never have served ordinary men and women.

The defenders seemed stunned. A few were reacting to the assault, manning the fire launchers, training them on their attackers, but too many were just standing in place, waiting for the attack to come to them.

Keeton snatched the closest torch from its rack and dropped it into the oil trough, igniting the flammable liquid and instantly setting fire to dozens of attackers. Racing down the wall behind his soldiers, he slapped them on the shoulders and screamed at them to fight back, snapping them out of their shock, propelling them into action. New soldiers from the west wall appeared in droves and suddenly everyone was responding to the threat. Spears were used to dislodge the creatures climbing the walls when they got within range. Pitch was poured out of barrels onto the assailants massed at the gates and torches dropped to ignite it. Archers rushed to fire their arrows down into the hordes trying to scale the walls.

It was chaos, but the effort of defending against the surprise attack was working. The assault might have reached the south wall, but it had failed to force the gates, and fire launchers had cleared away most of those attempting to climb the walls.

Then the first of the warships was aloft, circling over the massed attackers through a wash of hazy light, everything misty and surreal but clear enough for rail slings and fire launchers to find targets. Keeton watched as the vessel roamed back and forth through the gloom, bursts of fire erupting from the launchers, the deep hum of the rail slings reverberating in the brume.

Then, abruptly, everything changed.

The dragon they had seen circling overhead the previous day materialized out of the concealment of the mist, swooping into view above the warship. The airmen were concentrating their efforts on the creatures on the ground and never looked up. Even the lookouts failed to spy the danger in time, caught up in the excitement of the moment, their eyes directed out and down rather than up. Although Keeton and dozens of others on the wall screamed in warning, their efforts were to no avail. The dragon attacked, its maw opening wide as it did so, raking the vessel end-to-end with fire, which burst in a steady stream from its great throat. In seconds ship and crew alike were aflame and falling earthward.

When it crashed, the diapson crystals that powered the ship and launchers erupted in a series of massive explosions that consumed the wreckage in seconds.

The attackers on the ground who had fallen back in the face of the fires from the trough oil and the fire launchers returned, carrying makeshift ladders that they threw up against the walls. Then they began to climb. Again the defenders used poles and spears to try to push the ladders off, but attackers still on the ground held the scaling equipment in place while those clinging to the rungs grappled with the implements being shoved at them and wrenched them away. Fire launchers and rail slings were brought into play, and archers sent arrows raining down on the climbers. Many were stricken and dropped away, but some got through and, once on the wall, became almost unstoppable. Heedless of their own safety—or their very lives—they tore at the defenders like animals, leaving them shredded.

The battle seesawed back and forth as dawn broke and the sun rose into the morning sky from behind the eastern mountains. The gloom faded, but the haze remained, thick and swirling in the rising heat and the slow approach of a storm coming down out of the north. Screams and shouts reverberated across the city, and men and women died with the passing of every minute as the struggle intensified.

An hour after sunrise, the army massed at the the west wall attacked.

Keeton, still rallying his soldiers on the southern battlements, left for the west instantly. By then Sefita Rayne had four warships in the air, two flying into each battle. It made all the difference. Fighting as a pair so that one vessel warded the other and both had sentries aloft in the crow’s nests watching for the dragon’s return, they hammered the attackers on the ground with onslaughts of rail sling missiles and fire launcher flames alike.

It became a war of attrition on both walls, but the deciding factor was the presence of the warships. The dragon returned briefly, but was sighted quickly in the improving light and met with intense weapons fire from each pair of vessels when it tried to approach. Only once did it get close enough to set fire to one of the light sheaths, but the sheath was cut loose quickly and dropped away before the fire could spread.

On the ground, the defenders kept control of both the south and west walls, and the gates held firm against any number of efforts to force them open. As noon approached, the demon army began to withdraw, leaving their dead and wounded where they had fallen. They turned away with studied indifference to the arrows still tracking them, their rage undiminished. Keeton was appalled that his soldiers had killed so many of them and still the creatures seemed as numerous as ever. He called for a cease-fire from his defenders, not wanting to waste resources that would be needed later.

Below the west wall and on the approach road winding between the now abandoned watchtowers, scavenging beasts from the demon army caught hold of the bodies of fallen defenders and dragged them far enough away that they could feast on them, still within view of those soldiers manning the city walls.

Standing with Wint, peering through the smoke and ash rising from the last of the oil burning in the trough, Keeton watched the remnants of the demonkind slowly disappear into the distance.

“They’ll be back, Commander,” his second said quietly.

Keeton nodded in agreement. “They’ll be back.”

Seersha was exercising on the Home Guard practice field, using various members of the elite corps as sparring partners, when the messenger arrived. He stood to one side looking flushed and impatient until there was a pause in the fighting, then he rushed over.

“The King wishes to see you immediately,” he said.

No matter its portent, this was welcome news. The Druid was eager for anything that would break the monotony of her current life, of endless hours spent waiting for the King to mount an Elven advance into the deep Westland to monitor the prospect of an anticipated demon breakout. She had thought it would happen long before this. She had been certain, after Aphenglow and Arling departed with the Ellcrys seedling, that their grandfather would move quickly to advise the High Council of the danger and then act on it.

She had been wrong.

The old King had waited two more days before telling the High Council of the collapse of the Forbidding, of the fate that had befallen the Druids and their companions, of the warnings given by the Ellcrys of its failing, and of the need to prepare for war.

But the members of the High Council had split into two groups, and the one led by the King’s son Phaedon had urged restraint, arguing that no one really knew anything, as yet. A breakout could be weeks away; the words of a young girl who might or might not have fully understood what the Ellcrys had told her were no reason to dispatch an entire army into the wilderness of the Westland. Better that flits be sent to skim the countryside and search for signs of a breakout. Better that the army be properly mustered and prepared. Better that everyone know more than they did at the moment about what was happening.

In spite of support from both Emperowen and his brother Ellich, the younger Elessedil carried the majority of the Council. Heads in the sand, the lot of them, Seersha had thought at the time. It was especially disappointing when the old King went along with this nonsense. Seersha had been enraged, but resigned to waiting them out. What else could she do? She could take Crace Coram and fly back into the Westland, just the two of them, searching for a way back into the Forbidding. But what she needed was a strong military force so they could withstand an encounter with the Straken Lord and his demonkind.

Admittedly, she kept thinking the King would change his mind, that he would grow impatient and realize that delay in this matter could prove fatal and he must act, High Council support or no. But days went by and nothing happened, and she lacked a way to force the issue. She was a Dwarf, not an Elf—an outsider and a visitor of limited status in Elven country—and all her allies had gone elsewhere save for Crace Coram. More to the point, she was a Druid, and the prevailing view on Druids was that they could not be trusted.

No one was going to listen to her.

But now, at last, after more than a week of waiting, it seemed things might change and the waiting come to an end. She couldn’t imagine another reason the King would summon her. Her impatience to confirm that she was right was matched only by her exhilaration at the prospect of doing something besides sitting around.

Nevertheless, she took time to strip off her protective gear and weapons, gather them up and put them aside, and then straighten her clothes and hair. She would see the King looking somewhat better than a tavern brawler—whatever the news he was about to impart.

A part of her was anxious to make her escape from Arborlon and the Elves because of how uncomfortable she was with both. A fish out of water didn’t begin to describe it. She was a rough-featured Dwarf woman with an eye patch, multiple tattoos, and a body ridged with scars acquired in countless battles both while serving as a Druid and before. She was not openly shunned by the Elves, but she was clearly avoided. Except for a handful of the Home Guards who respected her skills as a fighter and cared nothing for the prejudices harbored by so many others against all things and people Druid, she was pretty much alone. Only Sian Aresh had shown more than a passing interest in spending time with her, talking at length about military tactics and training. But while the Captain of the Home Guard visited with her as often as he could, he was limited by the extent and demands of his duties.

At least she had Crace Coram for regular company, and they had whiled away long hours reminiscing about growing up in the Eastland and the Dwarf communities that had been home to them at various times in their lives. Coram was as impatient with their inactivity as she was, and in the last two days he begun coming to the practice field to spar with her, as well. The two shared the common bonds of Race, homeland, warrior background, and the events of the Druids’ ill-fated journey into the Westland to find the missing Elfstones.

But it was the absence of Aphenglow that really left Seersha feeling isolated and alone. The two had been friends from the beginning of their time together at Paranor. Whatever secrets or private thoughts they chose to reveal, they revealed them to each other first, even after Aphenglow fell in love with Bombax. This sense of closeness had only increased since the rest of the Druid order had been decimated. And now, with Aphen gone in search of the Bloodfire, Seersha felt increasingly isolated.

She finished cleaning up, stowed her fighting gear, and signaled the messenger that she was ready. As she departed the practice field, a few of her sparring partners called out, making tart, rough-hewn comments and wishing her well, bringing a smile to her face. She waved back to them, cheered by the sense of camaraderie.

Things really weren’t so bad, she decided.

With the messenger a few steps ahead, keeping silent and apart as they walked back through the city toward the palace grounds, Seersha found herself studying the young man’s lithe, slender frame and comparing it with her own thick, stocky build. Here was another contrast that served to point up the obvious differences between Elves and Dwarves. She was enormously powerful and could probably crush the messenger’s head between her bare hands. But while she was inordinately strong, she was slow afoot and not particularly agile. She envied him his ability to move so smoothly and with such little effort. She envied all Elves, for that matter. She could never expect to move like that.

Normally, she wouldn’t have given that jealousy more than a moment’s thought. But it was an uncomfortable reminder of why she felt so out of place in Arborlon, where there were so many Elves and almost no Dwarves.

She let that feeling persist for a few minutes longer before dismissing it as self-indulgent. There was no place or reason for that sort of thinking. She was better than this, in any case, and letting such feelings trouble her was irritating.

She had forgotten the matter and improved her attitude by the time she reached the palace grounds and walked up to the front doorway of the ancestral homes of the Elven Kings and Queens. Home Guards shadowed their progress coming in, and two were there to meet them at the door. After determining that they were expected, the guards admitted them, and the messenger took her down a hallway to a reception room and departed.

She waited no more than a few minutes before the King and his brother, Ellich Elessedil, appeared in the doorway.

“Thank you for coming,” the former greeted her, taking her hands in his own. He made it sound as if it mattered a great deal that she was there, and she was immediately suspicious. “We need your services badly, I am afraid.”

“Whatever I can do, High Lord,” she said.

Ellich closed the door behind them, and the three moved over to a gathering of chairs in a windowless corner of the room. The King seated Seersha across from him while Ellich moved over to the window as if intent on keeping watch. Outside, the gardens were flowering, and the air was thick with scents that wafted through cracks in the window sash.

“The demons have broken out of the Forbidding,” the King announced without preamble. “Sometime yesterday, they started massing around Arishaig.”

“Arishaig?” Seersha repeated, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

“I thought the same,” Ellich interjected, looking over at her. “Why there? Why not here? The Elves are the obvious enemy of the creatures in the Forbidding. But we still don’t know the answer.”

“There is every reason to think the city will be taken.” Emperowen was leaning forward now, his voice lowered. “If that should happen—something we think likely because of the size of the invading army—Ellich and I believe we will be next. We can’t sit around waiting for that to happen.”

“Like you have been doing up until now,” Seersha pointed out.

The King was taken aback by her bluntness, but he nodded in agreement nevertheless. “We will follow the steps taken by Eventine Elessedil when he was King and the Forbidding failed all those hundreds of years ago. We will unite the Races and make a stand against our common enemy.”

“The Dwarves will fight,” Seersha said at once.

“I thought you would say as much. But we will need more than that. We will need the men and women of the Borderland Cities, as well. And the Trolls from the deep Northland. Word will be sent at once, asking for their help.” He paused, glancing at his brother. “Ellich and I believe we need to make an immediate effort to save Arishaig. There are hundreds of thousands of people trapped in that city, and if a way to stop the attack of the demonkind isn’t found, they will be overrun and killed. Do you agree?”

“The Federation army is the strongest in the Four Lands,” Seersha pointed out, looking from one to the other. “Their largest garrison is housed in Arishaig. The city won’t be easily taken.”

“Nevertheless,” Ellich said.

She looked at him. “Yes, the city will be taken sooner or later. The creatures of the Straken Lord will keep attacking until it has fallen. Which is why we shouldn’t be sitting around discussing the matter. We have lost time to make up for. If you can assemble an army, I will travel with them to Arishaig at once. Crace Coram will return to the Eastland to inform the Dwarf tribes and rally their fighters to our—”

Emperowen held up one hand to stop her in mid-sentence. “Our course of action is clear, but not yet approved. There is a problem.”

She nodded slowly, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “The Elven High Council?”

“I require their permission before I can declare war and dispatch an army of the size required. It is by no means certain that the Council members will grant this.”

“There are some among them who will never even consider allying the Elves with the Federation,” Ellich interjected. “Our history is a bitter one, and some among our people have long memories. There will be no problem with allying ourselves with the Bordermen or Dwarves or even the Trolls, but those alliances have traditionally been formed against the Federation.”

Seersha sat down slowly. “So the High Council may choose to leave the Federation to its fate rather than swallow their pride? They will abandon our strongest potential ally because of a history that is now more than a hundred years in the past?”

“Sadly, yes.” Ellich left the window and walked over to a sideboard, where he poured three glasses of ale and passed them out. “There are prejudices and resentments that will be difficult to overcome.”

Seersha had heard enough. “What I know of Elven history suggests that Eventine Elessedil did not have this problem. Nor would he have stood still for an entire week of delay while his land and people were threatened with invasion. Where is your conviction in what is right and necessary, High Lord? Where is your courage?”

“Do not speak to my brother like that!” Ellich snapped at her. “Remember your place, Druid!”

“My place?” she snapped back. “My place is to advise you! How am I to do that if I hesitate to be honest in my appraisal of things? An entire week of preparation has been lost! And whose fault is that? How much more time do you intend to waste on a Council that will not act?”

Emperowen Elessedil held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Please! Enough from both of you.” He stood, facing Seersha. “We go before that recalcitrant Council to make a plea for their support. We would like you to accompany us to this meeting and give the members of the High Council a clear picture of what it is we are facing. Word of the massing on Arishaig is already spreading, but you are the only eyewitness available who can speak to what happened in the Westland and therefore pass judgment on what’s likely to happen here. We need your help. Will you give it?”

She took a deep breath. “Of course I will. But whatever happens with the High Council in this meeting, High Lord, I am all done sitting around and waiting on others. I intend to act as I see fit afterward.”

The old King gave her a slow smile. “I would expect nothing less from you, Seersha.”

“That’s enough!”

Phaedon was on his feet, his face red with anger and frustration, his posture combative as he faced Seersha across the table where the Elven High Council was gathered.

“More than enough,” the Druid agreed, meeting his furious gaze squarely.

“Elves don’t need a Dwarf Druid to tell them how to conduct themselves!” he hissed. “We were here long before you, and we have mastered knowledge and skills far beyond anything you ever even thought of. Don’t presume to tell us how we should conduct ourselves toward those who have done so much to destroy us!”

Seersha stayed calm. “Is it presumptuous to suggest that common sense should guide your decision making, Elven Prince? Is it wrong to weigh the consequences of selflessness over selfishness? Does it really need to be explained that a preemptive strike against those who would annihilate you is a better course of action than waiting for annihilation to come knocking on your door?”

The two had been arguing for the better part of the past hour as the discussion of what to do about the demon invasion had gone back and forth between advocates of two points of view—one that favored immediate intervention in the assault on Arishaig and one that favored sticking with known friends and allies to meet the threat when it moved on from the Southland and came north.

Emperowen had made his presentation to the Council and argued that immediate action was essential. With Ellich’s support, he had pointed out the advantages of including the Federation in the alliance—an alliance against an enemy that hated all of the Races equally and would do its very best to see them ground into dust. Deliberately choosing to exclude the ally with the strongest army and most advanced weaponry seemed a dangerous choice. Perhaps in this instance, if no other, sending Elves in support of the Federation was the proper course of action.

But Phaedon was quick to slide past that argument with reminders of the Federation’s history of treachery and unpredictability. These were cities that, for centuries, had sought to subjugate not only the Elves but the other Races, as well. Less than two months ago, a Federation fleet had attempted to seize Paranor and destroy the Druid order. How could they even think of forming an alliance with creatures capable of such behavior?

At that point, without being asked, Seersha had entered the discussion. Taking her cue from Ellich, who glanced her way, she caught the attention of the King and asked permission to speak to the members of the High Council about what had happened to the Druid expedition when they had encountered a break in the Forbidding just a few weeks earlier. Granted that permission in spite of a disapproving look from Phaedon, she had launched into a graphic rendition of the events surrounding the struggle within the Fangs and the Forbidding by those who had gone with her. She described in detail the nature of the creatures they were up against and the savagery these creatures would display if allowed to gain a foothold in the Four Lands. She described the deaths of her friends and companions, and the terrible emotional toll taken on those few who had survived.

She closed with a warning. Aphenglow and Arling Elessedil were in search of the legendary Bloodfire that would quicken the Ellcrys seed and restore the failing wall of the Forbidding, but there was no guarantee how long that quest would take. There was no guarantee that it would succeed. The only sensible approach was to assume the worst and expect that it would fail utterly. Taking control of your own fate was the better choice. Fight now and fight hard, and your chances of survival were immediately improved.

Thus the two, Elven Prince and Dwarf Druid, had become locked in a combative argument.

“You make it sound as if the end of Arishaig is a foregone conclusion,” Phaedon resumed, sitting down again and giving her an irritated look. “You suggest there is only one choice, and you are the one to make it. Where is the reason and judgment in that course of action? Would you have us appoint you as our leader, as well? Should we dispense with our own military commanders and simply accept you as the better man? Or woman?”

She shook her head in reproach. “I do not propose to lead. I propose to stand with you. All I am saying is that time slips away.”

“Oh, yes. Time slips away. In point of fact, it slipped away entirely from your order, didn’t it? Taking with it most of its members. So now you need a new situation and a new cause. Because you did so well with the last, no doubt.”

“Phaedon!” his father called out in warning.

The Prince was baiting her, but Seersha did not bite. “I did poorly in my last situation, as did we all. But we learned valuable lessons, Prince Phaedon, and lessons that are paid for with blood and lives should not be ignored. So I say to you again: Do not mistake the extent of the danger that faces you. Act now to prevent it from getting closer. Put aside the past and embrace a future that can be different for all concerned. Assemble your army, convey it by airship to the walls of Arishaig, and end the demon invasion.”

“Let’s put it to a vote!” Ellich Elessedil insisted.

There was a general murmur of approval, and sensing the favorable mood of the Council the King was quick to act on his brother’s suggestion. Only Phaedon and two others voted to withhold support for the Federation and besieged Arishaig. Seven others, the King included, voted in favor.

When the Council was adjourned, Phaedon rose and departed without a word or a glance at anyone.

“Well done, Seersha,” the King whispered, his face expressionless as he escorted her from the chamber.

Deepest night.

Edinja Orle’s creature slid through the darkness like the passing of a great cat, all swift movement with only a suggestion of substance, carrying its limp burden easily. It had come from its place of hiding among the Elves, changing into its true form, discarding its disguise until it finished what it had come to do. No one had seen it, and no one would. It would do what it had been given to do before this night was out and then return to its hiding place and resume its other identity with no one the wiser. This night’s mission would remove one more obstacle to its mistress’s plans, and it would accomplish that mission and leave again with no sign of its passing.

Its instructions had been delivered earlier in the day by an arrow shrike, the favored messenger of its mistress. The creature had found the bird at the usual place, away from the city and the prying eyes of its citizens. The message had been plain and direct. There was no chance of a misinterpretation or a misunderstanding. The instructions were to be carried out this night, and they were to be followed to the letter.

The creature understood and obeyed. This was Edinja Orle, after all. Refusals were not allowed.

It made its way through the city, keeping to the back paths and staying in the shadows. When it reached its destination, it took to the trees that grew thick and plentiful throughout the sprawling grounds, their branches closely intertwined, providing a perfect avenue to avoid being seen. Moving smoothly from branch to branch and tree to tree in spite of the weight of its burden, it passed above the heads of the guards keeping watch below, some hidden and some in view but none suspecting for a moment it was there.

It could not allow itself to be seen. It could not be detected. It must be as if it were never there at all.

From the trees, it passed above the roof of the building and dropped onto a section no one slept beneath so that the sound of its landing was not heard. Carrying its limp burden, it made its way across the tiles to where an enclosed courtyard sheltered interior gardens, and dropped down onto its stone walkway. From there, it entered the house through a pair of windowed doors and moved deeper inside, passing through living quarters and down a hallway to the bedrooms.

Security was light. Strong outside, where it was intended that any threats would be met and quickly dealt with, but absent altogether once inside the residence.

Even though it was the royal palace and the ancestral home of Kings and Queens, and the Elves should have known better.

It knew the layout of the home; it had been here many times before, always in its other form, always as a welcomed guest. It had been given many opportunities to study the home’s rooms and passageways, and it could find its way about easily.

It knew exactly where the old King slept.

When it entered his room, it found him slumbering in his bed, unaware of the danger. Edinja’s creature wasted no time. It set aside its burden, moved to the bedside, slid the knife from its belt sheath, pinned the old man to the bed with one hand covering his mouth, and drove the knife into his chest.

Emperowen Elessedil shuddered once as the knife reached his heart and then went still.

The creature withdrew the knife in a rough, jerking motion, spraying blood and creating the impression that the attack had been violent and heated. It threw bedclothes on the floor, overturned a chair, and arranged the King’s body to suggest that a terrible struggle had taken place and he had been all but dragged from his bed. Then it turned to the unconscious man on the floor, smeared the King’s blood on his clothes, and placed the knife in his hand.

Satisfied, it took a final look around, and then picked up a vase and threw it through the glass of the bedroom window, the sound reverberating in the night’s stillness.

Seconds later, it was back in the courtyard as the Home Guards rushed inside to discover what was happening, climbing the walls to the roof before leaping into the cover of the trees and disappearing.