by A. R. Peters
Shock caused them a brief pause. But then, the men shouted with fury and leapt forward to fight back. Another shriek erupted, and Graedin turned to see another gargoyle soar down from the treetops, aiming for another five of his men. Three managed to be ready for him, stabbing or cutting at the creature’s wing bones as it plowed over them. It stumbled away shrieking, half of one wing cut deeply in several places—and yet, barely bleeding.
Graedin opened his mouth to shout a command, but yet another roar answered him. He turned around to see yet another creature come out of the forest. He couldn’t tell if it was a massive wolf or a thin, incredibly agile bear. Whatever it was, the black and gray monstrosity seemed to have the worst of both, mainly in the wolf’s speed and the bear’s power. It immediately began to attack another group of his men. He glanced over just briefly to see the woman laughing, still watching him, as he turned and began to fight frantically against one of the gargoyles.
His men were screaming out to one another, fighting hard to stay on their feet. He shouted encouragement as he fought too, but in vain. No matter what kind of blow the creatures took, they were not harmed. One gargoyle’s wing was completely severed off while the other was damaged, and it had been stabbed multiple times to the torso, and yet it didn’t fall. When he managed to get a glimpse of the second gargoyle, it too was still going strong with three arrows sticking out of its chest. He glanced over at the fight with the wolf-bear, and it too was still attacking, throwing his men down. His men managed to stay away from its teeth and claws, but only barely.
He glanced around, panicking. His men were getting wounded. Deep scratches and cuts, mostly. He caught a glimpse of one man with what looked like a broken collar bone. Graedin glanced back toward the woman, who was still staring at him with a grin. He spat in her direction, gripped his shield and sword tighter, and began to fight his way toward her.
She laughed, and stepped into the fray herself. Graedin hoped that she would be wounded by one of the men she passed, and fall, before she took up a sword. He watched, still fighting to get around his men toward her, as she approached one of his soldiers. The man whirled around, saw her, aimed for her neck with his sword, and swung. As the sword swung toward her, a man passed in front of Graedin’s view. He ducked around the other man as swiftly as he could. But what he saw confused him. The man had fallen to his knees, the woman was unharmed, and an ear-piercing scream erupted from his throat. He began to violently twitch on the ground.
Graedin gasped. What happened?
Something moved in his side-vision. He turned and hit a hard blow to one of the gargoyle’s wings. It shrieked as its wing was cut off, and then he turned to fight back toward the woman. As he fought toward her, he approached the wolf-bear. It was more than a match for the four men attacking it, and he leveled a hard swing at its shoulder. It roared, and swung after him, but he was shoved out of the way by one of his men. He stumbled away, and turned back. The man been mauled hard by one of the creature’s paws, and lay unconscious on the ground.
Graedin choked. He turning away, forcing himself to shove guilt down, and aim for the woman again. This time, ducking around men, he watched as she approached one of the scouts. The scout saw her, turned and swiped hard with his sword at her neck. She blocked the sword with her arm this time. To Graedin’s shock, he watched as the skin cut, yet did not bleed, and she shoved the sword away. The skin began to rapidly pull back together and seal, like wax, without so much as a scar. Again, the scout aimed for a killing blow, but she caught the sword with her hand again, gripped him by the throat, and shoved him away. The man flew backward at least ten feet. His mouth opened wide, like a scream, but made no sound as he writhed, his hands on his throat.
Graedin slowed his pace, still pressing toward her but unable to comprehend what he’d just seen. Was it just her touch? And why wasn’t she getting harmed? How was that possible?! And if she couldn’t be harmed by the sword, then how was he going to—
Someone slammed into him again. He fell to the ground and immediately rolled over, pulling his sword up, groaning from the pain in his shoulder. It had been a wing from the second gargoyle. He forced himself back up just in time to see the same creature’s wing slam into Tarven’s shield, throwing the knight backward. Graedin scrambled up and ran to him. The man’s normally handsome face was pale with pain and scarred with blood and dirt and sweat. He winced as Graedin grabbed his arm and yanked him up. “Come on! Get up!”
Tarven stumbled on his feet a little, looking dizzy. Blood trickled down the side of his head in his silky hair. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, coughing. “I’m sorry I laughed at you.”
“Not now, Tarven.” He caught his fellow Knight as he stumbled.
“Can you even kill a sorceress?” he asked, touching the blood on his head, shifting his shield, and looking into Graedin’s eyes. His own eyes were wide, despairing. “What do we do? She can shift into any shape she wants, can’t she? And control the elements?”
“We take it one blow at a time. Come on!”
Tarven nodded, and Graedin pulled his arm toward the woman, who was still targeting his men one by one. As he looked around, he saw more and more of his men stumbling. At least a quarter of them were injured. Four were writhing on the ground in a kind of agony he didn’t understand, touched by the foul hand of the strange woman. The creatures that fought with her were strong, but invincible, six or seven men could just hold out and kill one of them. But that sorceress—he shuddered—she would have to wait till last after all.
But if they didn’t hurry, she would defeat them—almost single-handedly.
He made up his mind and rushed at the first, most wounded gargoyle, Tarven following close behind. Graedin shouted directions to three other men as they fought, but it took time before he managed to get behind the gargoyle. When he finally managed to step behind the creature, the three men peppering it with a flurry of blows, Tarven jumped forward and plunged his sword into the gargoyle’s back. It arched and screamed. Tarven jumped back, and Graedin leapt forward with a heavy swing at its neck. To his great relief, the gargoyle’s cry cut off as the head tumbled away. The body fell into a shuddering heap at their feet. One of the warriors sank to his knees, gasping. The other two looked ready to weep with relief. Graedin turned away from them and looked around again. Only about a third of his men were still fighting unwounded, now. And he knew they couldn’t last much longer. “Go kill the other gargoyle,” he gasped to the three warriors. “Cut off its head.” They nodded, then stumbled away.
He glanced to his left just in time to watch as the woman slapped a man across his face. She laughed as he fell writhing and wailing at her feet. She kept her eye contact as she walked toward another man, seizing him by the back of his neck. The man’s eyes widened, and his hands shot up toward his neck as he screamed.
Graedin wrenched his eyes away, knowing he couldn’t help them. The second gargoyle was still fighting. The two men who fought against its claws and teeth and remaining wing were too exhausted to keep up for long. The three going to help them weren’t any better. Meanwhile, Su’rah and two others fought against the wolf-bear. The captain wielded two swords that could be locked together in a bladed staff. He whirled it around, occasionally stabbing, and he seemed to be putting the wolf-bear on pause if nothing else. The two men beside him had been wounded, but were jumping in to stab occasionally. They gave it several mortal stabs, or what should’ve been mortal, but still it fought, and they were tiring. Even Su’rah looked like he was slowing down.
Graedin looked away, the screams of the bewitched ringing in his ears. Tell me another story. About the King of Ye’shurun. Suddenly, Airaine’s voice broke through his mind. For a moment, he could picture her face perfectly, her gray eyes as bright as stars. Then her face faded, and Daireth’s appeared. He was shading one of his drawings. Airaine’s face appeared again as she lifted a book off of the library’s shelves. And Daireth’s shy smile as, in his memory, they drew close for an embrace. T
ell me about his magic, Airaine’s voice whispered again, but he was peering over Daireth’s shoulder, taking a closer look at the drawing, of a man wielding a sword on fire.
Graedin blinked, and their faces were gone again, as yet another man fell screaming on the ground. Tears filled his eyes, and he wrenched himself away. Tarven stumbled toward him through the slick, bloody mud on the trail. “To me!” Graedin tried to shout, but his voice broke. The wolf-bear stood on its hind legs, and he threw his sword as hard as he could. It went through the creature’s stomach, and it roared with fury, backing off and away from Su’rah. In return, the captain leapt forward and sliced down hard on its neck. The wolf-bear snarled, but still barely bled. Graedin mustered what remained of his voice, and cried out, “Fall back! Stand with me!”
Su’rah and the last two men turned and fled toward him, gasping. Graedin snatched another sword off the ground. The gargoyle and the sorceress were heading toward them now, and they watched as the wolf-bear tore the sword from its stomach with an ear-splitting snarl, still barely bleeding. It snarled again as it drew closer to them, cutting off their retreat. The gargoyle created a triangle as it drew close. “Circle up,” Graedin rasped. He glanced briefly around as they raised their shields and their swords once more.
He looked over as the woman’s laughter filled the air. And he suddenly realized that he would not die today. The sorceress lifted her hands, and they began to fill with smoke, as she grinned at him. Whatever she held in store for him, death would be far more desirable.
Graedin choked, butting his shoulder against Su’rah’s. In return, the captain gripped his arm. Su’rah looked at him, and he could see the man’s teeth were clenched, and his skin pale. He glanced to his other side, and Tarven had his teeth grit too. The woman laughed and moved her hand upward in a corkscrew-type spiral. The smoke left her hands in thick streams, and shot toward them. They gripped to Graedin’s legs, and he almost fell over. Glancing down, he saw the smoke wafting away, revealing thick ivy twisting up his legs.
His eyes prickled, and he wiped his eyes with his hand. Would Daireth and Airaine ever find out what happened to him? He doubted it. And he wondered if they would continue reading the stories he’d read to them. Stories about the King’s magic. About how Ye’shurun was once a land of justice. Of peace. Where magic was a source of comfort, and not of despair and fear.
Wait. He paused, something dawning on him. If this woman truly was a sorceress—and how could she not be?—then she would be an enemy of the King…
Graedin drew in a breath, and wept out weakly, “Ezer, melek makseh!”
He had never known what those words meant. He’d read them long ago, committed them to memory, because of the King’s journal. They were some kind of plea, he knew, some sort of magic words that men would call in desperate need. And in those stories, powerful magic would come to their aid, moving mountains, calling down the rain, stoking fires, setting the rushing wind loose. He didn’t know what they meant. He didn’t know if they would even work. But apparently, the woman knew. Her eyes grew wide, and she looked around swiftly. Then she jabbed a finger at them and cried out a high-pitched command, “Kill them!”
The wolf-bear and the gargoyle both cried, then rushed at the men. It stood on his hind legs, gave a roar, and raised its paw. The gargoyle, too, raised its clawed hands. And the woman ran right at Graedin, opening her mouth, her hand outstretched for his throat.
Light burst all around them, like lightning, so bright it hurt his eyes. And roars.
Graedin closed his eyes, in pain with the light, turning down to shield his eyes from the brightness. He clapped his hands over his ears. Suddenly, it darkened again. Feral screams and the terrified shouts of his men erupted with fresh fervor. Graedin opened his eyes, and gasped.
It was a mountain lion. That’s all he could think of calling it, but yet, it was something else. Its form was silver, and its very skin moved as if it were made only of mist. Trails of mist flowed after its clawing limbs, with each movement of its head, flowing after its tail. Then the lingering mist disappeared with an occasional faint flash of light, like fireflies twinkling. But yet, the strange lion’s body had to be solid somehow, for the lion had knocked the wolf-bear down. The wolf-bear cried in pain as its silvery, misty teeth sank into the creature’s shoulder.
Graedin shifted around, gasping again. There were three of them. One of them was attacking the gargoyle. It tried to flee, but the second lion bit into its leg and ripped it completely off. Then, as the gargoyle fell, crying with pain, the lion dove for its throat.
He turned again. The woman was running from a third lion. But it leapt over her and turned, its mouth opening wide in an ear-splitting roar. Its eyes were gold, like a real lion’s, glowing slightly, yet looked more solid than the rest of its body. The woman shrieked. With an explosion of gray smoke, and bits of fire that flashed out, the woman transformed into a coyote once more. But this form wasn’t the natural form it had been before—it was similar to the lion. It looked as if its body were made entirely of gray smoke, and bits of smoke drifted away off of its body with every movement of her tail, paws or head. The lion leaped, and the coyote jumped forward to meet it. They rolled, snapping and snarling, occasionally crying out in pain.
Graedin turned back to the other battles. The gargoyle was dead, and that lion joined the second lion to finish off the wolf-bear. Then they raced over to the final fight.
The volume of the sounds that the two creatures made forced Graedin to keep his ears covered, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. They were as bright as lightning, their roars and snarls shaking the very ground like thunderclaps, the flow of the smoke and vapor like a rushing flood all around them. Back and forth, they shifted into animals as the sorceress tried to escape. Once in a while, with a hard strike and a cry of pain, lightning actually flashed, and Graedin and his men cried out in fear. At another point, one of the creatures cried out in pain as fire flashed up. One of the lions on the sidelines roared and stretched out a paw. Water burst from its claws, landing on the burning shoulder of a misty wildcat, who was tearing at the side of a smoky badger. Finally, a misty fox threw down a smoky weasel, and just as the weasel hit the ground and scrambled up to run, she stopped. The two other lions shifted swiftly into foxes, and they snarled at her, blocking her escape. The creature that had fought her shifted back into a mountain lion, and to Graedin’s surprise, it spoke. “You’re wounded and surrounded. Shift into a human form.” The weasel turned and looked at the third lion with a hatred even deeper than anything Graedin had seen yet. “Do it now!” the lion roared. The weasel disappeared in smoke, and the woman stood before the lion and two foxes, clearly favoring one leg as they slowly paced, growling. The vapor followed after them, encasing all three in a circle of wispy silver. “You were once a friend of mine, Thayrah,” the lion rumbled. “But you have spent all the mercy I have left. If you, or any of the Rasha’im, continue chasing Graedin Kairathed, I myself will hunt you down, bring you before the one you fear, and leave you to his judgement.”
Though she glowered fiercely, she couldn’t hide her shudder. “You do that,” she spit. “But you can’t save every creature the Rasha’im choose to hunt.” She glanced at Graedin with another look of loathing. Her lips trembled as her teeth began to show. Her hands began to smoke again, and then blue fire began to flicker between the fingers of her fists. Graedin felt a chill race down his back and deep into his bones, just as the lion roared, and the foxes snarled. The woman wrenched her gaze away and burst into gray smoke again, bits of fire and tendrils of it following after her ran away through the woods again, in a limping coyote form. In seconds, she was gone.
“Tabbawk, Aman, see to the horses,” the lion commanded. “Make sure she doesn’t touch them.” The two foxes turned around and began to run, but then disappeared in the silvery vapor. Briefly, bits of light flickered and danced after them, then disappeared.
Then the lion turned and looked at them. After a moment, G
raedin felt heat on his legs. When he looked down, the vines were crumbling into glowing, then smoking, bits of charcoal. He saw his men moving their legs free, too. Graedin looked back just as the lion walked toward one of the twitching men on the ground. The lion lifted one of his massive paws and placed it on the man’s face. Slowly, the twitching stopped. Then the lion walked away. The man slowly sat up, touching his bloody shoulder. Tears began streaming down his cheeks as their eyes met. He was heaving in breaths, and looked absolutely terrified—but sane.
Graedin stepped forward and motioned to the man to join them. He struggled to get up. Keeping an eye on the lion, Graedin plucked up courage and ran over. Tarven followed. When the man was standing, and Tarven had thrown his arm around his shoulders, Graedin looked back to see two more men sitting up. They, too, scrambled up and away from the lion and rejoined the company. After a couple of minutes, all twenty-five men were alive and sane beside Graedin once more. They were wounded still, some with broken bones and one man with what looked like a serious head injury, some sitting or lying down due to their injuries. But all were sane. When the last man joined their group, Graedin turned back to the lion. Swallowing, he stepped forward ahead of his men. “Thank you,” he choked out, mustering courage to look in its eyes.
The lion’s golden eyes bore into his for a moment. Then it shifted again, but this time, Graedin watched as it stood up on its hind legs and, with the silver vapor and brief flashes of light, formed into something like a man. He gasped, and he heard his men cry out in fear, some shouting that it was a ghost. The man still had the silvery, bright, misty-looking body, but his eyes were still amber and piercing. He put one hand on his shoulder, which looked blackened, and winced. He looked ghostly, but with his wounded shoulder, and that kind of magic…