by Vox Day
Her mouth fell open. How could he be so unfair? Didn’t he know that Merlian’s loss hurt her more deeply than it could ever bother him? Then she realized that he was testing her, seeing if she had the wherewithal to hold herself together. In that awareness, she found her resolve. She took a deep breath, blinked away the tears that had not quite filled her eyes, and stood at rigid attention.
“I’m sorry, my Lord. What are your orders?”
“That’s better.” The intimidating anger vanished from his face. “We’re seeing some indications that the Great Orc is finally preparing to make a move. We want two captives for interrogation, regulars, preferably officers. That’s why I’m sending two hawks, and two elves per hawk. We can get in and out faster if the rider stays in the saddle.”
“And having a spotter always helps,” Lassarian added. He nodded to Bereth. “I’m sorry about your bird.”
“Thanks,” she said numbly. “Who is the fourth?”
“The Collegium is sending over a proper mage. He’s called Daeledeth, and he’s familiar with both than and gwaed ludrith. We’ve had reports that their shamans are less hapless than would be desired and I don’t want to risk losing two more birds. We have few enough as it is.”
She looked down, all too aware of the implicit criticism in his words. She felt a pair of strong hands on her shoulders and looked up to see Lord Oakenheart looking closely at her. “Bereth, you simply must be more careful. Lord Kelethan was beside himself when you didn’t return and the Silverbow told us you’d gone after his wounded partner. You don’t have anything to prove, so stop taking these risks! Focus on your orders, on the mission. That comes first!”
But I do have to prove myself, she wanted to say. To you, above everyone! But she nodded obediently instead.
Daeledeth turned out to be a tall, quiet elf, more scholar than sorcerer, although his calm demeanor favorably impressed the three sky raiders. He arrived with the morning courier from Elebrion, bearing messages from the King and various other personages in the capital. The easy way he unbuckled himself and dismounted from the messenger’s hawk was also a good sign; not every scholar at the Collegium had experience with sky-riding.
Rhian, whose hawk the mage would be riding, explained to him their basic plan, and warned him of the orcish shamans. Daeledeth smiled faintly upon hearing them, which gave Bereth some confidence that he would be able to deal with them if necessary. Since Lord Oakenheart had scouts flying daily over the giant abscess the orcs had carved in the forest, they had a very good idea of where the various orc tribes were located; they didn’t know their names, but they did know the banners. The idea was to fly high over the outskirts of the camp, then drop down unexpectedly in one of the camps on the northwestern side that belonged to a tribe of regular infantry. Fortunately, there were clouds in the sky, not many, but more than likely enough to mask their approach from above.
The irregulars were much easier to capture, stationed as they were on the periphery of the army, but they seldom knew any more about the intentions of the orc high command than Lord Oakenheart did. In fact, they usually knew considerably less than the elven commander did about what was happening inside their own camp.
Bereth braided her hair as Oakenheart gave Rhian and Daeledeth some final instructions. Her own orders were simple; put an arrow into any orc or goblin who threatened hawk or rider, leap off the hawk and bind the hands and feet of any orc stunned by the mage so that the hawk could safely carry them, and not to take any undue risks while trying to fulfill the first two tasks. Above all, the three of them were to make sure that the mage was returned safely to the Collegium or consequences most dire would befall them all.
Two other warhawks were already over the targeted section of the orc encampment. They were spotters charged with identifying the probable officers and they could provide additional archery if required. But Lord Oakenheart made it clear that they should only be summoned in the case of the most dire emergency; he wanted to draw as little attention to the captured prisoners as possible. Given the poor communications among the orc tribes, news of the capture might not even make it to the Great Orc if it was accomplished in a sufficiently circumspect manner.
She felt a slight ache in her heart as Lassarian pulled her up behind him in the saddle. His Mellt was about the same size as Merlian, but was a more fidgety bird with a more pungent odor to him. She had two bows and more than fifty arrows stowed about her; hopefully she wouldn’t need many of them. It was far from the first time that she’d ridden skyward on another bird, but it hurt to think that this would be only the first of many such flights. It would be at least seven years before she could possibly raise another hawk from its shell; there were lengthy waiting lists and she was not of such rank as to jump the list.
A sky raider without her hawk might be a sky raider still, but she didn’t feel like one anymore. Even the familiar rhythmic surge as the warhawk leaped into the sky and bore them aloft on his powerful wings felt different without the reins in her hands. They flew at a normal altitude for some time, then the other hawk began to climb and she knew that they were approaching the orc-infested lands. At such heights, it was cold, and both she and Lassarian withdrew the leather hoods and masks that would keep them from getting overly chilled. Before too much more time had passed, they spotted the scouts far ahead, circling above a medium-sized white cloud that shielded them from any onlookers below.
At this height, of course, it hardly mattered, as even if they were seen, a warhawk was indistinguishable from a much smaller bird at a lower altitude. And there were no shortage of eagles, vultures, and birds of prey to be found soaring over the nest of abomination below, looking for carrion.
Rhian flew wing-to-wing with one of the scouts, then broke off to inform them of what he’d learned. “They’ve got three likely targets!” he shouted over the wind. “One shaman, two officers. We want to bag the shaman if we can; the mage here will take him out first.”
“Do they know we’re here?”
“They don’t think so!”
Lassarian nodded. He didn’t seem nervous, and Bereth probably wouldn’t have been if she’d been flying Merlian either. They practiced dive-landings and live extractions on a regular basis. But her stomach was already tightening; a steep vertical was terrifying when you weren’t the one telling the bird when to pull up. Not that a bird would ever fly into the ground, but every one was different and no two birds ended a dive alike. She found herself rather desperately praying that Mellt preferred to pull up sooner than Merlian had.
She tugged at the two sets of straps that would be keeping her in the saddle and pulled the looser of the two tight. She checked Lassarian’s too; both of his needed tightening. She pulled out an arrow; it was one of the green-stained ones from three days ago, and she tucked it under her arm with the bow. She could feel that Lassarian was already taking slow, deep breaths to prepare himself; his body was rigid with tension. It relieved her a little to know that she wasn’t the only one who was frightened.
After all, there were one hundred thousand orcs and goblins waiting below, all of whom would simply love to kill and eat them, if not worse, if given the opportunity. And no elf knew better than her how vulnerable they would be.
She could see Rhian leaning back and shouting instructions into Daeledeth’s ear. It would be worse for the mage than any of them, and they needed him to be able to cast his spells as soon as they leveled out, if not sooner.
“I hate this!” she shouted into Lassarian’s ear.
“So do I!” he agreed. “Just hold onto that bow! Now get ready!”
She leaned forward, tucked her head against his back, and put both arms around his waist, holding her bow and the arrow alongside her left forearm. Lassarian’s leathers were too thick to make them uncomfortable for him, and besides, that would be the least of his concerns in a moment.
With her eyes tightly closed, she couldn’t see Rhian give the signal. But Lassarian abruptly leaned forward onto the war
hawk’s neck and she heard Mellt furl his wings. Then they were falling, plunging like a stone dropped off a precipice and she screamed into Lassarian’s cold, leather-clad back as her stomach seemed to leap violently up her throat and out her open mouth. The wind howled in her ears, her heart raced, her muscles flexed tightly as if bracing for a blow. Lassarian was so rigid he felt more like a statue than an elf, only the motion of his breathing against her face and chest made it clear that he was alive. Down, down they fell, until it felt to her as if the torment would never end, that this was some sort of cold bottomless Hell into which the damned were doomed to fall forever.
Falling, falling, falling. It was too long! They had fallen too far! She cringed, wondering if she would even feel anything, striking the earth at such speed.
Just as she felt she couldn’t possibly take it anymore, Mellt stretched out his wings and a strangely warm sensation swept through her body as she was abruptly thrown backward. The great bird had come out of his dive considerably closer to the ground than she would have dared and was hurtling over the stripped and barren plain not far over the heads of the gaping, astonished orcs. It was with some difficulty that she pulled herself forward, then released Lassarian and concentrated on nocking her arrow before looking for a target. She saw Rhian and Daeledeth were two hawk-lengths ahead of them, and observed a faint purple aura swelling around the mage’s head as he focused his power.
Lassarian pointed out the two big orcs standing on either side of a grotesque figure wearing some sort of horned cloak. Presumably the shaman. Dozens of tents and scores of orcs flew beneath them, and she quickly scanned the ground to the left side of the hawk looking for archers or any ballistae of the sort that killed Merlian. She spotted one about one hundred fifty paces away, although its solitary crew orc was lounging against it and paying no attention to the commotion erupting nearby. She put an arrow through his neck anyhow.
After nocking another arrow, she saw that Daeledeth must have cast his spell, because both the big orcs and the suspected shaman were down. She loosed her arrow at the closest orc, then slipped her bow over her shoulder and unbuckled the saddle straps.
“Going in,” Lassarian said tersely. He had his own bow in one hand, and was guiding Mellt with the other. The hawk backstroked on command, extended its legs, and no sooner had it touched ground than Bereth was out of the saddle and off its back, leather thongs in hand. First she bound the shaman, slashing off a piece of cloth and stuffing it in his tusked mouth for good measure, then she tied up the nearer of the two officers. As she pulled his heavy arms behind his back and rapidly wrapped a thong around his wrists, she could hear the steady thrum, thrum, thrum of Lassarian’s bowstring as he methodically shot down any orc who looked like approaching.
Then there was a crackle and an explosion not far away. Bereth looked up and saw that Daeledeth had hurled a lightning bolt just in front of a large tent from which orcs had been pouring out. Now there was a crater, around which about twenty orcs were lying motionless where they had been flung, and the tent was burning. She finished tying up the officer, glanced at the other, and without thinking twice, drew her dagger again and drove it into his throat, then pulled back hard. A gout of green blood erupted in response.
Satisfied, she wiped off the blade on the furry rag that covered the first officer’s groin and ran over to Mellt. She leaped up and caught Lassarian’s extended hand; he pulled her up the side of the giant bird and into the saddle. Mellt took two hops, grasped the unconscious shaman in one talon, then leaped into the air. Bereth saw Rhian was already descending upon the other orc, so after buckling her straps she slipped the bow from her back and began scouring the area, searching for targets.
A tightly compact group appeared to be charging forward from the east, so she dropped the leader with an arrow through his leg, which caused them to spread out and slowed them down a little. She cursed; she’d been aiming for his throat but the jerking motion of the hawk as it climbed had thrown her off. She loosed two more shafts at two other orcs, both scoring hits, although she couldn’t be certain that she’d hit anything vital.
Rhian was right behind them, his hawk having swooped down and seized the orc in both talons without so much as touching the ground. Daeledeth pointed his fist and a second lighting bolt erupted amidst the orcs at whom she’d been shooting. Bereth looked on enviously as more than a dozen orcs went flying through the air. It was a neat trick, that. She consoled herself by putting an arrow through the face of one that had survived the sorcerous blast and was struggling to survive.
They were safely off the ground and out of the range of any orc archers when something went wrong. The other hawk abruptly stopped beating its massive wings and started coasting. Then, for no reason that either Bereth or Lassarian could see, the hawk began turning in a slow circle, as if it was going to head back towards the section of the encampment they had just escaped.
Both of them could see that Rhian was shouting and pulling on the reins, but to no avail. “Something is wrong!” Lassarian shouted, in case she hadn’t noticed, and he pulled Mellt around in a tight wingtip turn.
“What is he doing?” she shouted back.
“I have no idea!”
“Did it get hit?
“I don’t see how!”
And then, without warning, the other hawk furled its wings and began to fall from the sky.
Bereth
Bereth watched in horror as the warhawk ridden by Rhian and Daeledeth dove towards the ground. It didn’t seem to have been wounded or hurt, its bizarre behavior was almost as if it had lost its mind. Rhian was shouting commands and frantically pulling up on the reins to no avail while the mage seemed to be in some sort of trance. Then Bereth remembered being told that the Collegium elf was a specialist in gwaed ludrith, blood magic. The orc shamans used it to drive their own soldiers mad with battlelust, and sometimes even to demonically possess them. Perhaps Daeledeth was trying to break a spell….
Where there was a spell, there had to be a spellcaster nearby. She scanned the ground. There! An orc wearing filthy robes, as if in mockery of his elven counterparts, was standing with his head thrown back and his hands outstretched, as if calling the hawk to the ground. With an arrow already nocked, it was a simple matter to loose it and put it through his outstretched neck. She saw the fletchings appear in the center of his throat, then they all but disappeared beneath the first fountain of dark green arterial blood.
The shaman threw up his arms and fell backward; the spell broken, Rhian’s hawk shrieked in avian fury and spread his wings. The speed of his descent was such that he nearly bounced the captured orc in his talons off the ground, but he managed a sweeping turn just over the heads of a platoon of orcs who harmlessly hurled clubs and clods of dirt at the giant bird before climbing into the sky again on the strength of his powerful wings.
Bereth shot two orcs in the platoon on general principle, then stowed her bow as Lassarian followed Rhian higher into the sky.
“Nice shot,” Lassarian shouted. “How did you know it was the orcs?”
“I didn’t!” she shouted back honestly. Then again, who else would it have been.
Once at altitude, they pulled level with the other hawk. Rhian patted his heart, then gave her a thumbs up, while the mage acknowledged her with a wry smile and a little bow from the waist. The scouts who had been waiting in the clouds above descended and fell in with them, one on either side, not that they had proved to be any use in the emergency.
Whether it was the shock of the cold air high in the sky or simply the spell wearing off, both orcs soon woke and began thrashing about. But on command from their riders, the two hawks simply tightened their talons a little until the orcs stopped struggling; it only took three repetitions before the shaman learned his lesson. The officer required two further rounds of squeeze-and-relax before he likewise gave in to the inevitable.
Lassarian laughed and shook his head before leaning back and putting his mouth against her ear. “Not t
he smartest bastards, are they?”
No, smart they were not. And yet, they could afford to trade twenty-for-one and still come out ahead. The loss of the Silverbow yesterday was almost as grievous a loss as all the losses she and her fellow raiders had inflicted upon the cursed greenskins; throw in the loss of Merlian and even though she’d killed at least 12 orcs and one goblin herself, the end result was still probably to the Great Orc’s advantage. True, they were probably well ahead on the basis of Daeledeth’s lethal lightning bolts and the capture of the shaman, but things could have so easily gone the other way. How long could they survive this slow bleeding? The High King had to know he couldn’t win a war of attrition against a foe boasting such numbers.
It always seemed to take less time returning than it did flying out. The aerial sentries saluted them as they flew in, and three trumpet blasts were sounded by their earthbound counterparts as they approached to land. Mellt held up his captive in one talon while alighting carefully on a single leg, while Rhian’s hawk unceremoniously dropped the other orc before landing normally on two. Fully armored regulars leaped upon the orcs immediately, slashing through the thongs binding their legs and pulling them roughly to their feet before literally dragging them off to be interrogated.
The orcs were surprisingly subdued, but then, being ensorcelled, bound, hauled away and frozen at high-altitude was liable to dampen even the fiercest spirit.
“You did well,” Lassarian complimented her as she undid the strap buckles and retrieved her gear from the saddlebags. “That was some quick thinking back there.”
She nodded absently, then shook her head at him. “You pulled out of that dive awfully late. You should be more careful with him.”
“You’re probably right.” His grin disappeared and his eyes darkened with pity that was hard to bear. “Well, if you ever need a lift.”
“I’ll know who to avoid!” She winked to take the sting out of her words and swung herself down from the saddle. “See you around, Lassarian.”