Owlknight v(dt-3

by Mercedes Lackey

And she would.

  Darian watched the Eclipse Shaman through narrowed eyes, sensing the ebb and flow of power in the ley-line that the Shaman had linked to. He didn’t think it had occurred to the Shaman to do the same, and that gave him an edge in knowing when an attack would come, if not how. Then again, Darian had the advantage of Tayledras training, and not merely the standard training, but also Firesong’s version of that training. The Hawkbrothers were steeped in the precise and most efficient use of magic, passed on for many generations, and by comparison this Shaman was likely self-trained or tutored in rough skills at best.

  The Shaman began to prowl his half of the circle, pacing back and forth, eying Darian with barely suppressed fury. Outside the circle, there was a battle going on; someone had broken the promise the Shaman had made. But neither Darian nor his opponent dared pay any heed to anything outside their wall of power; any distraction would give the other a chance to strike the fatal blow.

  Darian began to move warily himself, watching the Shaman and nothing else, keeping the same distance between them at all times. Then the Shaman darted toward him, pushing his hands forward, palms out.

  A massive wall of force hit Darian and knocked him backward; he’d have fallen if he hadn’t been moving himself; as it was, he had to dance sideways and fend off a second invisible blow, turning the force aside and into the wall of the sphere. That put him almost within physical reach of the Shaman, who made a grab for him.

  He dropped and rolled out of the way, jumping to his feet and putting the fullest possible distance between himself and the Shaman again.

  Again he watched the line even as he watched the Shaman, and again, an ebb in the power-level warned him before the Shaman attacked.

  Hands blazing with power, the Shaman lunged for him; there was no time to move out of the way, so Darian used the oldest of all of his defenses.

  The Shaman’s right foot caught on the earth for a critical moment; he stumbled and fell, catching himself with his outstretched hands. The power he had meant to use to blast Darian discharged into the ground, creating nothing worse than a blackened spot and the smell of scorched dirt.

  As he fell, Darian ran out of the way again; the Shaman picked himself up with red rage burning in his eyes. Darian reacted to the immediate drop in power just in time by strengthening his shields; this time the weapon he used was anything but subtle. He lashed at Darian with levin-bolts, whips of power that looked and hit like lightning.

  The levin-bolts arced into his shields with a crack that hurt his ears and an eye-burning light that made his eyes water. He held his shields against the bolts as the Shaman poured power into them and the air around him tasted of a thunderstorm at its peak.

  Abruptly, the Shaman released the bolts; Darian could barely see. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he used Mage-Sight to watch the Shaman instead, seeing him as a form laced with little threads of red and yellow.

  Those threads blazed up as the ley-line ebbed, but this time Darian reacted before the Shaman could; he made the Shaman’s foot stick again as the man moved sideways before his attack. The Shaman hadn’t expected an offensive move after so much defense; this time he fell hard, and while he was down, Darian lashed him with eye-burning levin-bolts.

  He held the bolts on his still-prone enemy until his own eyes had time to recover, then leaped sideways just as he released them, and just in time, for the moment he did so, the Shaman hit him with the conjured weapon he’d been planning to use.

  A massive sphere of energy rolled toward him, looking like fire with teeth, threatening to engulf him. He made a quick guess and assumed that the Shaman would expect him to run; he stood his ground instead, and held his shields. The sphere rolled right over him; it was dangerous in itself, for it immediately began to suck power from his shields, but it wasn’t as dangerous as the jagged spikes of energy that blasted out a pit right where Darian would have been if he’d run.

  That made another obstacle to avoid. He solved the problem of the sphere by puncturing its outer wall; it deflated like a punctured bladder, and vanished as if it were a flame out of fuel.

  The Shaman was furious. He was about to have his temper cooled. Darian detachedly reasoned out his primary advantage against this Shaman. The Shaman’s use of power was formidable, and his endurance considerable, but it was all oriented toward obvious, surface-visible effects - which was only logical considering he was a Shaman who also sought power among his people - when you want to discourage challenges and impress your followers, why not use the most awe- and fear-inspiring magics?

  Darian, however, was able to work beneath the surface. There were springs everywhere underground here; they accounted for part of the verdancy, part of the humidity, and were doubtless under pressure thanks to the large body of water nearby. Darian found the nearest underground reservoir, and with a few deft hand motions to help in the mental process of sculpting the channel underneath, brought it powerfully to the surface, right beneath the Shaman.

  Water blasted upward in a cold geyser, knocking the other to the ground, and soaking him in moments.

  Two can play at making holes in the earth.

  And while he was at it - in the next breath, he aerated the ground around the Shaman, creating an ear-numbing protracted thunderclap, then super-saturated the ground beneath the Shaman with water from that same geyser, turning it into a sinkhole. The Shaman predictably began to struggle, miring himself up to the waist - at which time Darian cut off the geyser’s feeding-channel, leaving the pressure to build below the surface. Another twist of the magic and Darian chased all the water out of the mud pit, leaving the Shaman embedded in rock-hard ground.

  Raven kept the Blood Bear warriors at the barricade; none got past the hedge of thorns backed by heavier pieces of tree trunk. Keisha pulled ten or twelve of Raven’s wounded to safety, mostly struck by arrows. After the first three, she got into a rhythm; wait for a lull, dash out, seize the victim by the shirt, haul him to protection. Then break off the arrowhead, pull the shaft out, stop the bleeding. Once that was done, most of her patients went grimly right back into the fray without pausing for more than a drink of water. She could hardly believe it - they must have been in terrible pain! But they didn’t seem to feel anything; as soon as she had them reasonably patched up with rough bandages and supportive bindings they grabbed another weapon and went for the barricade.

  The noise and stench were awful; metal clanging against metal, arrows piercing leather and skin, men and women screaming and shouting, punctuated with Kel’s war shrieks and the cries of the raptors - old and new sweat, blood, rancid grease, churned mud. It all overwhelmed the senses, impossible to block out. She couldn’t ignore the chaos, so she endured it, and after the tenth (or twelfth) man ran back to the lines as she finished tying off the bandages on his upper arm, she looked around for another patient and discovered to her surprise that there weren’t any.

  There were no more arrows flying into their lines; the fighting on this side of the barricade was all hand-to-hand, but now the advantage was with the defenders. They could continue to rain arrows down on the back rank of the enemy without even taking combatants from the line - the women and young boys stood off at a distance, lobbing their arrows in a high arc over the Raven lines and into the back ranks of Blood Bear. Blood Bear hadn’t managed to breach the barricade, as the thorns still held them at bay, and as bundles of thorns were broken and trampled by the sheer press of bodies, grimly determined children came dragging new ones to be shoved into place with boar-spears.

  Boar-spears - strangely enough, those were proving to give Raven a real edge. They were long enough to reach over the barricade and stab at the enemy without exposing their wielder to the thorns. The blade, long and sharp to piece a boar’s tough hide, was about the same size as the short-swords all of the fighters were using, and the iron cross-bar designed to keep the boar from coming up the shaft at the hunter made effective quillons. Anyone could use it to stab; really good fighters could use it
to slash as well. Although the only fatal wounds to Blood Bear so far had been caused by arrows the spearmen were holding the line.

  But where was Wolverine?

  Keisha stood on her toes behind the shelter of her carved pole, and craned her neck to look over the embattled defenders.

  Wolverine had not moved a single pace forward. In fact, some of them looked embarrassed!

  They broke the Shaman’s promise, that’s why, she thought, astonished. Blood Bear has broken the promise the Shaman made not to attack while he and Darian were fighting. This wasn’t a case of Northerner against out-land Southerner, where anything was fair and promises didn’t matter - this was tribe against tribe, where strict rules held.

  And Blood Bear had broken the rules. No matter who survived this fight, Blood Bear had blackened the name of their tribe. Even their own totemic spirit might choose to desert them, and no tribe or individual would ever trust the word of a member of Blood Bear again. That meant no alliances, no intermarriages, no trade agreements, no intercourse of any kind. Essentially, it meant the death of the tribe. The only way a member of Blood Bear could survive the shunning would be if he somehow convinced the Chief of another tribe that he had not participated in the oathbreaking; then he could be adopted into a new tribe.

  Which means no adult warriors of Blood Bear, period. Only the women and children. Wolverine will throw them out as soon as the fighting’s over. Skies above - I’m actually witnessing the final death of the entire clan that attacked Errold’s Grove.

  Wolverine wouldn’t raise a finger to help Raven, though. Their code of conduct didn’t extend that far.

  Another man fell, and Keisha dashed out to drag him into safety. This time her treatment took even less time; a simple slash wound, shallow, with no arrow to extract. In a few moments he was back in his place, boar-spear in both hands, punishing the man who’d managed to reach him with savage thrusts of the spear.

  One of the fighters in the rear of the Blood Bear mob pulled himself back and out of the fight; it was this movement against the flow of battle that caught her attention.

  The fighter, who by his elaborately decorated, heavy armor, was someone of high rank, whirled to face the combat between Darian and the Shaman. He grabbed a discarded bow from the ground, took an arrow from the quiver still attached to his belt, and took aim at Darian’s back.

  Keisha screamed, but her cry was lost in the general outcry. Her heart convulsed painfully, as she cried out a warning no one would ever hear -

  But someone did.

  A huge, white shape streaked from the far right of the lines, launched into the air, and sailed over the barricade with the grace of a swan in flight. It was Karles, and Shandi clung to his back, her mouth set in a taut line, her never-used sword in hand.

  Just as the warrior loosed his arrow, Karles reached him; Shandi’s sword licked out and, impossibly, deflected the arrow from its deadly flight.

  Their momentum carried them on past; the warrior put a second arrow to his bow, cursing loudly in his own tongue. But now, Shandi was not the only one who knew what he was trying to do.

  An ear-piercing shriek from above startled everyone into looking up. Kel had been voicing his war cries before this, but never anything like the one he produced when he realized who the bowman’s target was.

  Kel dove down out of the sky with terrifying speed, shallowing his arc the faster he went and the quicker he approached the ground, fore-talons outstretched. The fighter had only time enough to cringe down, trying (in utter futility) to hide. Kel hit him with more force than a levin-bolt, doubtlessly breaking the warrior’s back in an instant, and pushed him level to the lay of the earth for over five horse-lengths.

  Then Kelvren rose again into the sky, wings laboring, talons set firmly into the fighter’s shoulder and torso. The man screamed shrilly, writhing in what must have been incredible pain, for Kel’s talons had wrapped right around the protective shoulder plates and penetrated the joints between them and the rest of the armor, and the thumb-talon of the other foreclaw was surely right through the stomach. Blood oozed from the wounds, streamed down the armor, and splattered down on the heads of his fellows as Kel lumbered higher and higher into the sky.

  Then he let go.

  Still screaming, the man plummeted toward the ground, hitting it with a crunch that made even Keisha wince. The screaming stopped instantly and there was a moment of terrible silence.

  Kel had dropped the man practically on top of the Wolverine lines. The Wolverine warriors drew back from the mangled body - then, incredibly, turned their backs on it. No one bothered to see if the fighter still breathed, or render him aid in any way.

  The shunning had already begun.

  None of this seemed to give the Blood Bear fighters pause for more than a few moments. A heartbeat after their fellow hit the ground, they were back at the barricade again. If anything, their fury had redoubled.

  But now they had another target besides the Raven fighters behind the barricades.

  A handful of them turned on Shandi and Karles; the Companion reared on his hindquarters, lashing out with fore-hooves, then dropped back to the ground to kick those trying to take him from behind. Shandi laid about her with her sword; together they accounted for three of their assailants, but more turned on them.

  Shandi was screaming, but it was not in fear or pain. She was screaming, “For Valdemar’s honor! For Valdemar’s honor!” again and again, with each slash of the blade.

  Steelmind vaulted the barricade, racing to Shandi’s defense. Hashi and Neta joined him, helping him fight his way through the packed fighters to Shandi’s side. Steelmind wasn’t trying to use any weapons; he seized fighters before they were aware that he wasn’t one of them and physically flung them out of the way, while Neta used her horns and hooves to good effect in clearing the path, and Hashi attacked any pair of legs that wasn’t protected.

  Steelmind got to Shandi with only a minor gash on his head; once there, he pulled his climbing staff from the sheath on his back and began to use it with lethal efficiency. Neta and Hashi made a stand on her opposite side. Together, the three guarded Karles’ rear flanks, allowing Shandi and Karles to keep their attention on the enemy in front of them.

  Steelmind’s staff - a deadly device with a spike on one end and a sharply-pointed hook on the other, with several grab knobs at regular intervals - seemed as light as a straw in the Hawkbrother’s hands. His buzzard, no longer slow or sleepy, joined the battle with a series of heavy stoops, knocking helmets forward to obscure vision, knocking helmets off completely, then returning to lacerate the unprotected heads with his raking talons.

  Kel remained above, kiting on the strong wind, keeping watch over Darian. Meanwhile Shandi, Karles, Hashi, Steelmind, and Neta began working their way back toward their own lines. Kelvren then folded wings in for a moment and dropped to attack again, someone unseen, identified only by a short scream an instant later and the gryphon taking off again with a human arm in his beak.

  With a dry mouth and a pounding heart, Keisha watched the horrifying battle her friends were engaged in, oblivious to the fighting going on immediately around her, her hands clasped tightly under her chin. She was afraid to pray, for who should she pray for? Her sister, or her beloved? Her friends, or her family?

  Please, please, she whispered silently. Keep them all safe. . . .

  Darian wasn’t aware he’d been in danger from outside until an arrow arced high over his head, piercing both walls of the magic circle. The Shaman’s smile warned him that he’d become a target, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off his opponent.

  It hadn’t taken the Shaman long to blast himself free of his earthy prison - but it had taken time and physical energy, and the Shaman’s legs were badly bruised and lacerated from the effort. Darian had those few moments of rest, which the Shaman had spent in labor.

  Now they circled warily; the Shaman staggered, somewhat the worse for wear, and Darian tried to split his attention, usi
ng peripheral vision, trying to spot the archer who’d taken that shot at him while keeping the Shaman under his eye as well.

  Suddenly a shrill scream rent the air and stunned everyone on the field into momentary silence. Riding the scream down out of the sky came a bolt of golden-brown power, which hit someone in the melee and rose again, a shrieking bit of man-flesh dangling from his talons. It was Kel - and Darian hadn’t known the gryphon could lift and carry a man off before this. He wanted to gape in astonishment, but didn’t dare. He wouldn’t underestimate this opponent for a moment; the Shaman still had plenty of raw power, and the will to use it.

  But he had weaknesses. He didn’t look for attacks that weren’t purely magical power. He only used visible magic manifestations. And -

  And he’s focusing every attack just on what I do.

  The Shaman’s attention flickered away, as Kel dropped his screaming burden. The man hit the ground with a curiously wet crunch, and the screaming stopped. The Shaman turned his attention back to Darian, his mud-streaked face set in a snarl.

  But not before Darian had managed to snatch up and conceal a rock in the palm of his hand.