by DAVID B. COE
Then Calbyr spun away and bounded out of the hollow, whistling sharply for his bird, and just barely avoiding a burst of grey flame from one of the mages. Once again relying on the light provided by the moon, and the stone that rested atop his weapon, he followed a narrow, overgrown path into the heart of the forest, feeling an unexpected rush of relief as he caught a glimpse of his bird gliding alongside him. He hoped that the confusion created by the death of the Owl-Master would give him a chance to escape. He and his men had made no provisions for regrouping after an incident of this type. Frankly, he had never entertained the notion that they might all be brought together in this way; he had split up the crew in order to avoid just this type of debacle. He expected, however, that if the other three managed to avoid capture, they would return to the LonTobyn Isthmus, the length of which they had traveled on foot when they first came to Tobyn-Ser nearly a year ago. That was where he planned to go. And then, from there, back to Lon-Ser and the Nal.
Provided that Cedrych would furnish him with a new set of birds, he could have another crew trained and ready within two years, maybe even sooner. Enough time for the mages to convince themselves that the threat had passed, but not so much that the memory of these attacks would fade from the people’s minds. If he acted quickly enough, he would lose little of the momentum he had built up throughout the summer. Provided that Cedrych would help.
Calbyr flinched slightly at the thought. There hadn’t been much that he could do to avoid this. He still wasn’t certain how the mages had gotten him here in the first place—wherever “here” was—but he felt fairly sure that the ghost had been at least partially responsible. Surely Cedrych could not blame him for this. How was he supposed to fight a ghost? No one in Lon-Ser even believed that they existed. At least no one in the Nal. Still, he knew Cedrych would not be happy about this. Just as Calbyr answered to him, Cedrych would be held accountable by the Sovereign and the other Overlords. And they had little tolerance for failure. Cedrych might understand, or he might just kill Calbyr and find a new Nal-Lord to do the job. Calbyr swallowed. This, it seemed, was simply a chance he would have to take. He certainly had no future in this land, and anyone in Lon-Ser who needed a person of his . . . talents would recognize him as Cedrych’s man: he had achieved a certain notoriety for his past accomplishments.
A sound from behind made him stop. Footsteps. One pair. Calbyr grinned in the darkness. Five mages and a ghost were one thing, but single combat was quite another. “Kill the bird, and the mage is yours,” Sartol had said. Indeed. Glancing back, Calbyr already could see the light of the approaching mage. Quietly, he slipped into a cluster of trees and prepared his ambush.
The image had seared itself into Jaryd’s brain like a brand, despite the tears that had blurred his vision. It would be with him for years, perhaps for the rest of his life. Half of Niall’s neck and most of his jaw had simply been blown away. There was blood all over his cloak, and even those portions of his face and head that remained intact had been blackened and blistered by the heat of the outlander’s fire. And still the Owl-Master was alive when Jaryd first reached him. He even tried to speak. Jaryd wanted desperately to try to heal the wounds, but he didn’t know where to begin. It would have been in vain, though—Baden told him as much—and they needed to preserve their power for the invaders who remained.
Clenching his teeth against nausea, he forced himself to watch as Niall closed his eyes for the last time. Only then did he turn away, just in time to see the man who had killed the Owl-Master duck under Ursel’s mage-fire and escape into the forest. Thrusting himself to his feet, Jaryd raced after the outlander. Ursel had started in pursuit as well, but Jaryd was closer to where the scarred man had entered the woods.
“I’ve got this one!” he called over his shoulder to the Hawk-Mage.
And then he heard Trahn’s voice. “Ursel! This way, after the others!”
A moment later, Jaryd plunged into the forest, noting with gratitude that Ishalla was with him, gliding above his shoulder. Briefly, he worried about Alayna and Baden, who were doing battle with the mechanical birds that still circled over the hollow. But then he caught a momentary glimpse of the outlander’s red stone, and all other thoughts vanished from his mind.
Baden watched as Jaryd disappeared into one portion of the forest, and Trahn and Ursel into another, and then he turned his attention to the birds—four of them mechanical, three of them real—that darted and swooped among the trees and branches overhead. He could feel Anla’s fatigue as if it were his own, and in a sense, it was. His power was fading; no doubt, given the increasingly labored flight of Alayna’s grey hawk, so too was hers. Amazingly, Niall’s bird, though released from her binding by the Owl-Master’s death, continued to fight with as much fervor as the other two, perhaps more. But at this stage, against these creatures, that meant only that her cries were more strident and her escapes less narrow. They hadn’t much time left.
“I can’t get an angle on any of them,” Alayna said a little desperately, her dark eyes fixed on the birds and her cheeks still damp with the tears she had shed for Niall. “They’re all moving so fast, I’m afraid I’ll hit Fylimar or one of the owls.”
“I know,” Baden told her, trying to keep the tension from his voice. “Take your time; impatience will only make us careless. And watch yourself,” he added a few seconds later, “they may come after us, as well.”
Alayna nodded, and for several moments they stood looking upward, gripping their staffs tightly. Then, without warning, a beam of purple light shot from Alayna’s ceryll, just barely missing one of the black creatures.
“Fist of the God!” she spat.
Baden readied himself for an assault from one or more of the outlanders’ birds, but it never came.
“That’s peculiar,” he remarked, his eyes still trained on the sky. “In Watersbend, once they were alerted to my presence, they attacked at the first opportunity.”
“Maybe they can’t do that now,” she commented.
Baden glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“What if they need human guidance? The other birds left when the four outlanders ran away. So these must belong to the ones we killed.”
“I still don’t follow.”
Alayna looked at him. “They’re probably not bound to people the way our hawks are,” she explained, “but, if they’re not alive, they must receive commands in some way.” She pointed a thin finger at Niall’s bird. “She’s still fighting because she chooses to—she doesn’t need Niall to tell her. But what if the mechanical hawks do? What if the last command they were given was to fight our birds? Even if we try to kill them, they won’t come after us.”
“But that one just avoided your fire.”
She nodded. “True, but maybe they’ve been given some kind of basic instinct for survival. Other than that, though, their last command might be all they’re capable of doing at this point. In which case, they won’t give up until they’re all dead. We can’t scare off one by destroying another.”
Baden said nothing, for in that instant one of the huge, fell creatures wheeled directly over where they stood. The Owl-Master thrust his staff upward, summoning just enough power from Anla for a single pulse of orange fire, which crashed violently into the black bird, sending it careening off a branch and onto the ground. It twitched once, and then lay completely still.
“Well done!” Alayna called, even as she unleashed another barrage of her own, this time striking one of the birds near the edge of its wing. It veered sharply down and to the side, and managed to land safely on a nearby boulder. But Alayna wasted no time, hurling a second bolt that shattered the beast into hundreds of pieces.
Baden started to return the compliment, but, even as he did, he felt pain stab through his mind like a dagger. And looking up again, he saw with horror that Anla had been seized by one of the creatures that remained. Her feet kicking spasmodically, her wings, one of them broken, beating awkwardly, desperately against the chest
of the enormous black hawk, Baden’s bird struggled to break free. But the alien creature was too powerful. It hovered above them, clenching Anla in its talons, its golden eyes glimmering like gems, and its beak opened in what looked like a triumphant grin. Baden heard Alayna gasp, felt himself growing dizzy with the agony conveyed to him by his familiar. And, as he watched the black bird tighten its razor grip on Anla’s neck and chest, digging its claws through the feathers and into her flesh, he understood what he had to do. Using what was left of the power he channeled from her, hoping the owl would know that he acted out of love and pride and grief, he sent one last blazing torrent of orange light at the two birds, consuming them both in a maelstrom of flame that annihilated the mechanical bird, but also killed Anla.
Baden had been unbound before, twice. But never so abruptly, and certainly never as a result of his own actions. The other birds had grown old and weak; his link to their minds and his access to their power had slackened gradually, over a period of several months. It had not been like this. He felt Anla’s sudden absence from his mind as a terrible void, a vortex of loneliness that overwhelmed him. He knew without confirming it that his power was gone, but that was the least of it. He was alone again, unbound. And he had been forced to do this to himself. Forced by Sartol, who had been driven to do a similar thing just hours before. It was too much: the irony, the grief, the shock. All of it was too much. His vision was a blur and there was a rushing sound in his ears, like wind or coursing water.
He barely registered the flash of purple light that flew from Alayna’s ceryll, and understood only when the Hawk-Mage came and put her arms around him that it had signified the destruction of the last alien bird.
“I’m sorry, Baden,” she murmured. “I wish there was something I could have done to save her.”
“There wasn’t anything,” he managed, “for either of us.”
He stepped away from her and shook his head, feeling tears fly from the corners of his eyes. This was not the time. There were still outlanders on the spur. Trahn and Ursel were chasing them, and Jaryd. Jaryd. This was not the time. Later, he thought, I’ll mourn later. He looked at Alayna, willing his eyes to focus and forcing his sorrow to the back of his mind. Already, he saw, she was gazing anxiously in the direction his nephew had gone in pursuit of the light-haired invader.
“We should go after them,” she said, her eyes never leaving the forest.
“I know,” he agreed, his voice thick, “but you have to let me go after Jaryd.”
She whirled to face him, an argument springing to her lips.
“Hear me!” he commanded, silencing her. “He’s gone after one man; Trahn and Ursel have gone after three. They need help more than he does. And,” he added, opening his arms in a helpless gesture, “I can’t help them anymore.” He swallowed. “They need you, Alayna, and I’ll do everything I can for Jaryd.”
She hesitated for what seemed a long time. Then, finally, she nodded once and turned to leave the hollow.
Baden watched her go, doubts crowding his mind. Certainly he had been right in saying that Trahn and Ursel needed her more than Jaryd did. That was obvious. But, as he hurried into the woods in pursuit of his nephew and the outlander, he was far less sure that he could do anything at all to help the young Hawk-Mage.
Beginning almost as soon as he dashed out of the hollow, Jaryd caught occasional glimpses of the outlander’s glowing red stone through gaps in the trees. It would come into view abruptly, swinging back and forth as the man sprinted across open patches in the wood, and then vanishing suddenly as he passed through a thicket or dense stand of trees. With Ishalla flying beside him, Jaryd pursued the blood-colored light as swiftly as the terrain would allow, leaping over the stones and downed branches that cluttered the forest floor. And though he did not feel that he was gaining any ground on Niall’s killer, he knew that he wasn’t losing any either. At least that’s how it had seemed the last time he saw the crimson light. But that, he realized abruptly, had been some distance back, as they crested a small hill and began to descend into another hollow. Since then, the Hawk-Mage had seen no sign of the invader or his glowing weapon. The recognition of this slowed him.
He was still moving forward, though not at a full run, when he saw the red stone uncovered just a few yards ahead. Only a sharp, wickedly contorting motion downward and to the side enabled him to avoid the hot beam of scarlet fire that surged just past his head and slammed viciously into a small tree, splintering its trunk. At the same time, he heard Ishalla cry out, and, glancing upward, saw his hawk dart under the outstretched claws of the outlander’s lethal, golden-eyed creature. He flung a bolt of mage-fire at the black bird as it swung around in pursuit of his familiar. But he missed, and before he could try again, he was forced to parry a second blast with a shield of sapphire magic that shuddered with the might of the invader’s blow. His hawk continued to scream as her battle with the mechanical bird carried her above the trees, but Jaryd could do little to help her. The outlander was sending volley after volley of crimson fire in Jaryd’s direction, forcing the Hawk-Mage to expend all his energy blocking them. And all of Ishalla’s energy as well. Every shield Jaryd raised seemed to take more effort than the last. Each one seemed to sag more under the force of the outlander’s blasts. And Ishalla’s cries sounded more desperate with each passing moment.
And so, when the next barrage came, as Jaryd knew it would, rather than merely blocking it, Jaryd exerted his power against it. At first nothing happened, but then the glimmering blue wall he had created began to move, slowly at first, but gaining momentum gradually as it forced the blood-red beam back toward its source. The meeting point of the two flames gleamed brightly, like a purple star illuminating the forest, and allowing Jaryd to make out the outlander’s features: the straight, aristocratic nose; the grim, taut mouth; the thin, pale scar that carved across the left side of his face; and the dark eyes, so filled with intellect and malice that Jaryd’s blood froze just looking at them. And, as the wall of light and fire continued to advance toward Niall’s killer, Jaryd saw another emotion creep across the bearded face and into the cruel eyes, and he heard the man shout out something in a language he did not understand, but in a tone that conveyed frustration and terror.
Jaryd could feel perspiration dampening his cloak, and he knew that he was taxing Ishalla to the limits of her endurance, but his mage-fire had almost reached the invader, and the man’s stone had begun to glow hotly, as if it too had reached some sort of critical point. Just a minute more and—
The sudden, raking pain that spread across his back and shoulders caught Jaryd completely off guard, tearing a cry of anguish from his throat and forcing him to break off his assault on the invader. At the same time, the heavy buffeting of rough wings on his head and neck told him what had happened. Twisting his body away from the slashing of the mechanical bird’s talons, the young Hawk-Mage rolled awkwardly onto his back, gasping in agony once more, and looking up to see the dark shadow descending on him again, its golden eyes and razor-sharp claws shining with the light of Jaryd’s ceryll. The Hawk-Mage threw an arm in front of his face to guard himself; he tried to ward off the attack with his staff, but he had no time to use his mage-fire. He had no way of stopping the creature. He heard the outlander laugh.
And then, incredibly, at the last moment, he saw an arc of orange light swing into view with blurring speed, smashing powerfully into the head of the descending bird, and sending it sprawling heavily to the ground. He heard the outlander roar in fury, saw the man level his weapon at Baden, whose staff had smashed into the alien hawk.
But this time, Jaryd was ready. Even as the stranger loosed his red flame, forcing the Owl-Master to dive out of the way, Jaryd unleashed a killing sapphire blast of his own that engulfed the outlander in a torrent of fire and ripped one last cry from the man’s seared lungs. For a moment, the burning figure stood writhing amid the flames, and then he toppled to the ground and lay still, his back arched and his fingers splayed r
igidly at his sides.
Jaryd closed his eyes and took a long, steadying breath. Then he glanced up at his uncle. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You saved my life.”
Baden offered him a hand and gently helped the Hawk-Mage to his feet. “I believe I owed you that,” he said. “From this morning, in the Great Hall,” he added in response to Jaryd’s puzzled expression.
The young man nodded and gave a small, mirthless laugh. “That was today?” he asked wearily.
Ignoring the question, Baden looked at him with concern. “How’s your back?”
“It hurts,” Jaryd replied honestly.
Baden turned him around to examine the wounds. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily. We should find the others and get that healed right away.” He hesitated. “I’d do it myself, if I could.”
Jaryd turned to face him again. “What do you—” He stopped, finally noticing what he should have seen right away. “Anla. Oh, Baden, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The Owl-Master tried a small smile. Failed. “I’ve been unbound before,” he commented soberly. “It just takes a little time.”
Jaryd tried to think of something to say, but in the end, saying nothing seemed most appropriate. For a minute more, the two mages stared wordlessly at the still-burning figure that lay prone before them. Then Baden retrieved the outlander’s weapon and the remains of the alien bird, and the two mages slowly made their way back, guided by the rhythmic pounding of the surf.
As he followed Baden into the hollow, walking gingerly and feeling a bit light-headed from fatigue, Jaryd saw that the others were waiting for them. The fires left over from the battle had been extinguished. Niall’s body still lay where the Owl-Master had fallen. Much to Jaryd’s relief, Alayna appeared unharmed. So, too, did Trahn, and the two of them had already mended the gashes on Ursel’s brow. Alayna ran to him when she saw that he had returned, but Baden stopped her.