Abigail signaled Amelia and Jillian to make a pass. When their wyverns both roared, confirming their target, Abigail and Magda tipped into a dive, while Amelia and Jillian circled, gaining altitude for an attack run.
Moments after the wyverns roared, the horses broke into a gallop, all of them angling for a sparse grove of trees alongside the road. Abigail loosed an arrow, missing narrowly, but drawing the witch’s attention. Magda fired a light-lance, burning a hole through the rump of the Sin’Rath’s horse. The dying animal’s squeal seemed to linger on the wind as the wyverns banked to circle for another pass.
Looking over her shoulder, Abigail watched as the witch tumbled from her horse and started barking orders at the men. Two headed for the grove of trees while the other five reined in their horses and spread out to meet the next attack, each nocking an arrow while the witch started chanting guttural, almost animalistic words that carried into the darkening sky.
Amelia and Jillian lined up for a run, gaining speed, diving toward the witch. Amelia sent a blue sphere streaking toward the Sin’Rath. It hit her shield and seemed to flow over the surface of it, weakening her magical bubble of protection. Jillian followed with a string of five wedges of blue magical force, one after the other. The first three hit the shield, dissipating with the impact … but the fourth broke the magical barrier and the fifth grazed the witch across her shoulder.
Her guttural chanting culminated with a shriek followed by a streamer of black smoke rising from her outstretched hands toward Jillian. It moved quickly, separating into several tendrils as is neared, then wrapped around the wyvern’s wings, binding them to the beast’s body. Abigail heard the staccato popping of Jillian’s locking bolts coming loose just a moment before she leapt from her saddle. Her wyvern hit the ground with a terrible crash; the sounds of bones snapping and flesh rending filled the night.
Jillian landed gently several moments later, her featherlite spell slowing her descent. As she ran toward her dying steed, Abigail heard her yell, “No! No! No!” She felt a pang of sympathy for her as she nocked another arrow and focused on the task at hand.
With the soldiers’ arrows rising toward her, she couldn’t slow to take careful aim so she released her arrow too soon, missing again. Magda cast another spell, an orb of light growing in brightness as it streaked through the air, but rather than hit the witch, it stopped a dozen feet above her head, freezing in place, and then beginning to get brighter. The Sin’Rath snarled a curse, shielding her eyes from the light with one hand while pulling a human skull from her bag with the other. She began to shake the skull like a rattle. Even with the wind roaring in her ears, Abigail could hear a clatter of bone on bone.
Amelia formed up on Abigail and Magda for another pass, but before they could get lined up, the witch threw the skull to the ground, shattering it into pieces and releasing a darkness that seemed to seep out of the remnants of the bones, forming into a dozen distinct shadows, each with wing and claw and fang. From her vantage point, it was difficult for Abigail to make out exactly what they were, but she could see at a glance that they were not of this world.
The creatures rose into the air with a howl, their wings black as night, yet not entirely solid, their eyes glowing red with malice and hate, their open maws lined with needle-sharp teeth. Several went to the light floating over the Sin’Rath, swarming it and extinguishing it even as it burned them from existence, plunging the world back into dusk.
The rest flew toward Abigail and Kallistos. She sent an arrow at the nearest, finally scoring a hit. It dissipated like smoke on a breeze. She dropped her bow into its sheath and drew the Thinblade, coaxing Kallistos to gain altitude … but it wasn’t enough to evade them. The creatures were closing fast. Another vanished in a flash of light, then another as both Magda and Amelia fired light-lance spells. Then the five that remained were on Abigail, tearing at her steed’s wings and clawing at his flesh.
She lashed out at the nearest, her sword passing through it like it wasn’t even there, yet the creature vanished a moment later. Kallistos roared, snapping at another clamped onto his wing. Abigail watched it fade away like he’d bitten down on a puff of smoke.
Another hit her from behind, coldness seeping into her bones, claws digging into her shoulders. Before it could bite, she thrust back with the Thinblade and it vanished in a cloud of noxious smoke. One whiff sent her into a fit of coughing and gagging.
With a snap of his tail, Kallistos killed one clawing at his belly. The final creature shrieked one last time before vanishing on its own, why Abigail didn’t know or care … Kallistos was injured, a series of tears in both wings sending him toward the ground. She composed herself and guided him into a shallow dive that wasn’t nearly shallow enough. He was going in too fast, heading for a hard landing.
Magda’s wyvern quickly moved overhead, extending his talons. Abigail had only trained on the maneuver once, but she knew what to do. She grabbed Taharial’s left talon and pulled it into her saddle strap, then slapped the top of his foot. He gripped the strap, taking care not to injure Kallistos any more than he already was. When the second talon was locked in place, Magda guided them into a landing that brought them down near Jillian and her dying wyvern.
The impact was jarring, but they landed without causing Kallistos any more harm. Magda released at the last moment, gaining altitude while Amelia floated overhead providing cover, even though there was no need. The Sin’Rath and Torin were gone into the woods, lost in the night.
Abigail slipped out of her saddle, soothing Kallistos and inspecting his injuries, sickness growing in her stomach. He was in no danger of dying, but his wings were injured severely enough that he would need time to heal, even with the aid of magic.
After patting him on the jaw and offering a few soothing words, she went to Jillian, warily watching the shadows in the forest for any sign of the enemy.
“I’m so sorry,” Abigail said.
Jillian was sitting next to her steed’s head with a hand laid tenderly on his snout. Tears flowed freely down her face, but the look in her eyes was one of murder and vengeance more than sadness and loss.
“He was a good steed. I’ll miss him,” she said, dashing the tears from her face. “How’s Kallistos?”
“He’ll live but he won’t be flying anytime soon.”
Jillian nodded, seeming to come to her senses, remembering that they were still in potential danger, even though the enemy had fled.
Amelia continued circling overhead while Magda landed nearby. She came to Jillian without a word and took her into her arms, letting the younger witch cry while she held her.
Abigail’s emotions roiled within her. She was sad for Jillian, worried about Kallistos, and furious at the Sin’Rath. And behind it all was a crushing sense of duty, an obligation to press on, give chase, rescue the Prince of Fellenden from a kind of slavery that was so complete it made her skin crawl—and do so before he could be used to release a darkness like nothing the world had ever seen before.
Kallistos was licking his wounds, one wing splayed out, still too tender to be folded against his body.
“We have to move,” Abigail said, looking sadly at her wyvern.
“I know,” Magda said, separating herself from Jillian.
The younger witch nodded tightly, a lock of sandy-blond hair falling into her face. She brushed it back, wiping away fresh tears. “I’ll tend to Kallistos as best I can, then I’ll walk him back to the city,” she said.
“Amelia will stay with you while Magda and I go find that witch,” Abigail said.
Another tear slipped from Jillian’s eye. “When you find her, if you can make it painful, I’d appreciate it.”
Abigail hugged her without a word.
Within minutes, she’d transferred her pack and weapons to Taharial and they were in the air, following the road by moonlight. Abigail knew they would be able to easily overtake the enemy in the air, but it would be nearly impossible to find them under cover of darkness, especi
ally if they were traveling in the forest, so she opted to get in front of them.
Not an hour after lifting off, they came to a village at the intersection of the road and a fast-moving river full to the banks with snowmelt. The place looked like the home of five hundred souls, but more importantly, there was a bridge—a choke point. Abigail tapped Magda on the shoulder and she nodded, banking away from the village toward a rocky knoll in the forest about a mile from town. After a silent pass, Magda landed her steed gently on the secluded hill.
The half-moon was enough to see by, but just barely. Abigail moved slowly and cautiously through the woods, one hand out in front of her face to avoid branches that might blind her. Magda offered light, but Abigail didn’t want to alert the enemy of their presence. Surprise was a prerequisite for an effective ambush. She smiled, remembering a lesson from so long ago, a lesson she’d tried to sneak into just to be with her brothers. Anatoly had caught her … then told her she could stay, but only if she paid attention. She did.
They reached the outskirts of town within half an hour, certainly well before the Sin’Rath and Torin could have arrived, even at a gallop. The streets were mostly empty, the windows of nearly every building were glowing, and the chimneys were sending streamers of smoke into the sky. Moving quietly to avoid contact, they made their way to the bridge in the center of town.
It was a simple structure built of stout timbers lashed with rope and was just wide enough for a wagon. The river roared beneath, swollen with icy water. Abigail and Magda waited in the shadows of an alley between two nearby houses.
After they’d waited for several hours and not a single soul had crossed the bridge, Abigail whispered, “They should’ve been here by now.”
“I know. I suspect they’ve stopped for the night,” Magda said.
Abigail nodded to herself, weighing her options. “The question is, where? I could really use Alexander’s help right now. I hope he’s all right.”
“Your brother is quite resourceful; I’m sure he’s fine. As for the Sin’Rath, it’s hard to say where she might be.”
Abigail sighed and sat down, pulling her blanket out of her pack. “I guess we wait then.”
They took turns watching during the cold night. Abigail got some sleep but not much. Each time she woke, she was sore and cramped from sitting on the cold ground. Finally, as dawn neared, she packed her blanket and started pacing, partly from anxiety and partly to loosen her sore muscles and to warm herself.
“Have you thought about your future?” Magda asked.
Abigail frowned, stopping to consider the question. “Not really, I mean not past this war anyway.”
“I only ask because I have a vial of Wizard’s Dust set aside for you, but we’ve never discussed it.”
“Honestly, I’d forgotten about that. Now that you bring it up, I’m not sure that I really want it.”
“May I ask why?”
Abigail hesitated, her frown deepening. “It’s a really big decision, and it would change everything—if I survived.”
“I’m confident that with the proper preparation, you would succeed,” Magda said. “But I sense there’s something else.”
“Jack,” Abigail whispered. “I’m not sure I want to outlive him.”
Magda nodded with a sad smile. “That is one of the more significant sacrifices a witch or wizard must endure. However, I suspect that Jack would be welcome to undergo the fast if he wished to.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Abigail said, but before she could finish her thought, the sound of horses clopping through the streets broke the morning calm. It was just before dawn, only the brightest stars still piercing the deep blue sky. A few windows were starting to glow as the village’s residents began their day.
Abigail nocked an arrow and peeked around the corner.
“It’s them,” she whispered. Magda started casting a spell.
A party of eight, the witch, Prince Torin and six of his royal guard slowly and cautiously rode through town, looking this way and that for any sign of danger. Abigail caught her breath when she saw the Sin’Rath witch for the first time. She looked vaguely human but with grey skin. Long, sharp canine teeth protruded past her lips, leaving raw, red sores where they rubbed against her chin. Her eyes were completely black. A single horn jutted from the right side of her forehead, curving up over long, greasy jet-black hair.
With a single word, the men surrounding the witch stopped before the bridge. Her barbed tail flicked about nervously like a cat’s. Abigail withdrew around the corner.
“She’s not human.”
“No,” Magda said. “I could unhorse them all, but my spell might injure Torin, possibly even kill him if he falls wrong.”
“I don’t have a clean shot,” Abigail said. “Torin’s guards are in the way. Go ahead with your spell.”
Magda crept up to the corner and began whispering. Several moments later, she stepped out and released a pea-sized sphere of bright blue light that streaked to her target and then stopped, hovering in the midst of the guards for just a moment before expanding to twenty feet in diameter in an instant, toppling horses and tossing everyone to the ground, shattering the morning stillness with shouts of surprise and panic.
Abigail stepped out and raised her bow, but the enemy was scattered across the road, all of them still down. She raced onto the bridge, angling for a clean shot at the witch, with Magda following close behind her. They stopped when the Sin’Rath regained her feet, cackling with a mixture of glee and malice.
“I’ve waited a long time to face one of the Reishi Coven,” she said in a very reasonable tone, motioning for a guard who had regained his feet to attack. Abigail drew but couldn’t get a clean shot past the charging soldier until Magda knocked him over with a force-push.
The arrow flew true but turned suddenly a few feet from the witch, clattering harmlessly onto the road, a plane of shadowy grey magic no more than a foot in diameter becoming visible for just a moment where the arrow had been deflected.
The witch laughed. “Your weapons are of no use against me,” she said, raising her clawed hand toward Abigail. Magda stepped forward just in time to take a swirling bolt of black magic, wispy like smoke yet unnatural. It hit her shield and splattered away, dissipating a moment later.
Abigail sent another arrow at the Sin’Rath, using Magda’s shield as cover, but the result was the same. Several more of Torin’s men were coming to their senses and beginning to form up in front of the witch when Magda launched her next spell. A constellation of seven points of brilliant light, each trailing a shower of sparks, formed in front of her, then rose overhead, spinning around a common point until they reached a height of a hundred feet. They held there, spinning faster and faster for several seconds before, one by one, they targeted the Sin’Rath, slamming into her shield and exploding in a shower of sparks with each hit.
The witch shrieked in fury. Each blinding explosion illuminated another panel in her dark and angular shield. It looked like a swirling collection of panes of glass, each joined with the next at a seam much like stained glass, each shaped differently, many with five or six sides and each imbued with powerful dark magic … but not powerful enough. With each impact, a pane shattered, leaving gaps in the Sin’Rath’s defenses.
Abigail took careful aim, threading the needle between two of Torin’s guards and timing her shot to coincide with an opening in the rotating shield. Perfect calm flowed into her, confidence in her skill as an archer filled her mind. She released her arrow into that stillness and it flew true, slipping past the charmed soldiers, through the narrow opening in the shield, into the witch’s left eye socket and out the back of her head.
What happened next threatened Abigail’s sanity. Her perfect shot should have killed the creature, but instead, the witch froze as if time itself had stopped, and then she exploded into a cloud of locusts, black and angry, thousands strong, all trace of her true form vanishing into the swarm. Abigail watched in stunned amazement
as the swarm of devouring insects wrapped itself around Prince Torin and carried him away into the morning sky, over the river and into the forest south of the town.
The guards watched as well, a mixture of fear and revulsion soaking into them after the insects vanished from sight. The lead man looked at Abigail and Magda, confusion vying with growing awareness in his expression.
“Lady Abigail? What just happened?”
“Captain, you and your men have been under the influence of a witch.”
“Where’s Prince Torin?” he asked, alarm rising in his voice.
“She took him,” Abigail said.
The captain turned to his men. “Round up the horses and prepare to ride.”
“No, Captain,” Abigail said.
“But we’re sworn to protect him.”
“Yes, and you are all powerless to do so.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Tell me about the witch,” Magda said.
“Mistress Peti? She’s not a witch, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
“And yet, she just transformed into a swarm of insects and flew away,” Magda said.
The captain shook his head, trying to reconcile recent events with his understanding of the world.
“How is that possible?” he asked
“It had to be a constructed spell,” Magda said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Some spells are cast in the moment they are required, while others are cast well before they’re needed and set to be triggered by an event or a command. Such spells can be extraordinarily powerful because the caster has much more time to visualize a desired outcome. Constructed spells are typically linked to an item that is often destroyed in the activation of the spell.”
He shook his head, still confused.
“It felt as if obeying her commands was the very definition of morality,” he said. “How could we all be deceived so easily?”
Linkershim (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Six) Page 20