Mercedes Lackey - The Robin And The Kestrel

She stared at him in puzzlement for a moment, completely baffled, as he shook her hand with impatience, and whistled the chorus. Then, as if dawn had suddenly broken over her, she knew what he was trying to tell her.

If the Ghost was free_oh, surely it was by now!_it would be only too happy to see Padrik again. And if it was free, well, couldn't they call it? They'd called an Elf before, just by thinking about Bardic music and magic and wanting to have an Elf answer them.

How could it hurt to try?

She nodded frantically, and began to hum Rune's tune under her breath, concentrating very, very hard on how much she wanted the Ghost of Skull Hill to appear right now_

Faintly, she heard Kestrel do the same. And as his melody joined hers, the internal music that sang of the power of Bardic Magic took on life and strength.

The line to the altar was long, but the two of them were so short that the Priests might have mistaken them for children; somehow they found themselves in the first rank when Padrik began the first "healing." Robin's teeth chattered unexpectedly and the melody she hummed broke for a moment. They hadn't expected to be up here _

Oh no_what am I supposed to be sick of ? she thought in a panic, T'fyrr momentarily forgotten. What can I fake? Infertility, maybe _

Padrik had his hands on the head of a "cripple," one of the Patsonos, of course, who stared up at him in carefully simulated admiration while the High Bishop prayed. And just as Robin decided that infertility was probably a good choice_

Every light in the Cathedral suddenly blew out.

Then the windows darkened abruptly as well, plunging the interior of the Cathedral into thick gloom.

There were screams from outside, as Padrik stopped in mid-sentence, and looked up at the windows, a most unsaintly expression of annoyance on his face.

"What is going _" he began.

But before he could complete his sentence, his final word was obliterated, as a bolt of lightning struck the roof of the Cathedral directly over his head.

The thunder that accompanied it flattened everyone to the floor. Glass shattered and showered the people with tiny slivers and specks; Robin's eyes swam with tears of pain from the burst of light, and she tried to blink away the spots obscuring her vision. Now there were people screaming inside the Cathedral as well as outside, but only the loudest could be heard above the ringing in everyone's ears the thunderclap had caused. The crowd surged towards the exit; she stayed where she was. Trying to move in any direction at all could get them trampled.

Something made her look up, as soon as she was able to see anything at all. The lightning had torn an enormous hole in the roof; she glanced at Padrik, only to see that he was just as surprised as everyone else.

So this isn't one of his miracles? Is this_could this be the Ghost?

She hardly had time to do more than frame the thought. In the next heartbeat, a terrible, chilling wind rushed in through the hole in the roof, a wind that chilled the soul as well as the body, and howled like all the nightmares that had ever walked herded together. It formed into a whirlwind in front of the altar, picking up bits of everything from within the Cathedral and sucking them up into itself. The debris began to glow with a spectral, greenish-white light, and the whirlwind spun tighter, faster, forming a column_

Oh dear gods. I've seen this before!

_and then into a manlike shape, a shape that wore a deeply cowled robe, a robe that had never contained anything like a human form.

But this time the shape was five times the height of a man. And the posture of the Ghost of Skull Hill said without any need for words that he was not happy.

And that he saw, and recognized, his enemy.

Padrik made a hasty motion, and a ring of fire sprang up around the Ghost, confining it, momentarily at least. Robin couldn't hear anything above the screams, but she saw Padrik's lips moving, and she didn't think he was praying.

So he is a mage!

The Ghost looked down at the ring of flames surrounding him, and moved towards them, but the bottom of his robes flared and flickered as he advanced. The barrier held against him. Padrik's expression brightened for a moment_but in the next instant, the Ghost made a gesture of his own, and the whirlwind formed around him.

The wind whipped the flames, and the flames thinned, threatening to die away altogether.

Padrik gestured again, shouting now, words and incantations that Robin didn't understand, but which hummed in the back of her head like a hive of poisonous wasps. The flames rose up again with renewed strength.

The Ghost spun his whirlwind faster still, staring at Padrik across the barrier of fire and wind, his hatred a thing so real and palpable that it, too, was a weapon.

Behind the more dramatic action, T'fyrr worked frantically at the lock of his cage with the lock picks Kestrel had passed him. Robin noticed him_at the same time as the only one of Padrik's guards to remain standing fast.

The guard's mouth opened in a shout that simply could not be heard over the howling of the Ghost's eldritch winds. He ran towards the cage with the keys in his hands_

T'fyrr looked up at the movement, and froze, dropping the picks. Before Robin had blinked twice, the guard had reached the cage_

And had put himself into T'fyrr's reach.

T'fyrr's taloned hand shot through the bars, and grabbed the hapless guard by the throat, plucking the keys from his hand and tossing him aside like a discarded doll.

In a moment, the Haspur had the cage unlocked and kicked open the door. But the guard was not giving up on his responsibilities so lightly.

The guard rose to his feet, drew a sword, and charged the open cage door; the Haspur didn't even pause. His eyes were red with hunger-madness and he was quicker than she would ever have believed. He slashed out with his clawed hands, using them as his weapons, before the man could even bring his blade up to guard position.

He caught the Guard across the throat, tearing it open with a single blow.

Robin turned away, sickened, as blood sprayed across the white altar-cloth, and the man collapsed with a gurgling cry.

There was a thunder of wings, and when she looked again, it was to catch sight of T'fyrr in flight, vanishing up through the hole in the roof, fighting the magic-brought winds. A moment later, and he was gone.

Movement at her side caught her attention, and she glanced back over at Jonny just in time to see him rumble at his belt and drop the pendant he had carried out of his pocket, along with a few coins. It fell out of its silk handkerchief and onto the floor, although there was so much noise that the sound it made hitting the marble was completely lost.

He snatched it up, cocked his arm back, and flung it with all of his might, hitting Padrik square in the chest.

It struck hard enough to distract Padrik, and broke the High Bishop's concentration_and it caught in all the gold embroidery decorating his robe, becoming entangled there. Padrik froze in mid-gesture, staring open-mouthed down at his chest.

The ring of flames vanished, blown out as easily as a candle_

And the Ghost reached forward with a howl of triumph, and seized Padrik in both clawlike hands.

The sound of the Ghost's laughter did not_quite_drown out Padrik's screams.

Blackness as thick as a moonless night descended on the Cathedral, and the crowd went utterly mad. Gwyna and Jonny simply huddled on the floor for a moment, then slowly crawled towards the altar, hoping in that way to avoid being trampled. But before they reached that haven, light returned, pouring through the shattered windows. Padrik was nowhere to be seen.