James Davis - The Shield of Weeping Ghosts

Sounds of battle echoed from the door on his left, and he followed them. Torches flickered dimly in the storm. Men screamed and shouted oaths through the whistling wind, but Bastun's eyes first rested on the thrashing blot of darkness kneeling on the ground just yards away. A living gargoyle torn from night's fabric, the thing shook its victim, feeding and shaking the last vestiges of life from the body. It began to detach itself from the finished meal, its face featureless save for two wide eyes glazed over with death.

The eyes had haunted him from drawings found in dusty old tomes of vremyonni lore. The wings stretched out and shook-just as he had once imagined they would-as the embodiment of all his childhood fears raised up from his memory to regard him with hunger and a blank black visage. A nighthaunt.

He reached to his pouches, his stores of components and crafted magic, as the beast crawled over the drained corpse.

"Where is Bastun?" Thaena's whisper reached him and vaulted him into motion. The nighthaunt shuddered and pounced.

He abandoned magic and raised his staff, the axe blade blazing to life as he slashed at the thing. The creature changed its direction, twirling in flight with a grace that had nothing to do with wind or wing. Overbalanced by the swing, Bastun fell forward as the nighthaunt's tail whipped his shoulder. He spun with the strike, gasping at the burning touch of the creature even as he rolled into a crouch. He caught a quick glimpse of the others far down the bridge before turning to defend himself again with the axe.

He struck the nighthaunt's wing, feeling it tear through, but the leathery hide mended itself even as it was wounded. It turned and circled, preparing to dive again. Bastun ran, chanting and drawing a tiny bead of tree sap from his pouch. Following the forged path through the snow, he searched for signs of movement in the air.

In a blink it appeared before him out of thin air, rushing forward with gangly arms outstretched. At the last moment he fell flat on his stomach, enduring the pain of claws scratching at his back as the nighthaunt passed over and circled for another strike. Kissing his fist with a prayer to the Three, he hurled the tree-sap bead into its path.

He lost sight of the bead in the snow, but the nighthaunt's circle faltered. It shook its arm as tendrils of the sap grew, entangling its horns and wrapping around its wings. It fell from the air, writhing against the substance to disappear beyond the wall's edge. With a sigh of relief he rushed toward the others.

Screams came to him through the storm high overhead. The creatures were said to on occasion feed while on the wing. Over battlefields and cursed places, dying beyond sight of ground or salvation, their victims fell as a grim, silent rain. He shivered to imagine such a fate.

Closer now he could see the battling shadows through the snow. Thaena's cries drew him to his left. He found her on hands and knees, struggling to stand. Something caught his foot and he tripped, falling on his right shoulder. The body of yet another sellsword lay beneath him. Pushing himself up, his aching limbs straining to keep moving, he watched as a nighthaunt dived for the ethran.

Duras fought valiantly barely a stride away from her, unable to see the looming threat. The spell poured from Bastun's lips on reflex. It was fast, and he had no time to think. Thaenas head turned. She had pulled off her mask, baring the face he had not seen in almost seventeen years. The woman that looked upon him was the echo of the girl he had known, the despair in her eyes crushing him in its intensity.

Magic coursed through his arm, and flashes of light appeared at his fingertips. Motes of blazing brilliance flew from his hand and into the nighthaunt s path. Its eyes blinked, and it shook its horned head to avoid the light that popped and burst in its face. It turned and wheeled away, swiping at the clinging bits of arcane illumination that followed. Though harmless, the spell had been enough for the moment.

More light exploded from his right, and he found Anilya defending her men. Rising to one knee he watched the dtfrthan making slow progress toward Thaena, and fear brought him to his feet. She had not yet seen him, and the spell he brought to mind would put her deception to rest alongside the nighthaunts' victims. The Breath hung heavy at his side as if more substantial in the presence of one who sought its power.

A thud shook the stones beside him. Flinching and raising his axe, he stared at the body of a sellsword, legs bent at odd angles, face buried in the snow. The hairs on Bastun's neck stood on end, and he whirled in time to catch sight of the nighthaunt before being tackled to the ground. The axe flew from his hand as cold claws found his throat.

Instinctively he held the blank face back, his hands slipping on the nighthaunt s slick, leathery skin. He kicked and squirmed in its grasp, gripping the curling horns and twisting to get away. Beating wings churned snow into his eyes, and the things long tail whipped around his ankles. Blinking, he managed to see Anilya kneeling close to Thaena, waving her hands in the midst of casting.

"No! Thaena!" He yelled, but the nighthaunt held him fast and pushed with unnatural strength on his chest. He fought for air and strained to hold back the unraveling pit of darkness that erupted between the creature's horns. The pale eyes became pools of shadow, bottomless and hungry. Fine threads of curling black mist stretched and brushed through his mask, tracing thin lines of pain on his cheek. He could feel himself being drawn into the swirling vortex.

He turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut. Desperate, he let go with his left hand and fumbled through the snow for his axe. The darkness drew closer, drawing the energy from his body. He choked as the emptiness touched him. His flailing hand found nothing, and he groaned before brushing against hard metal pinned against his leg.

Grabbing hold of the object he tugged and pulled it free from beneath him. Swinging blindly he connected with the nighthaunt's head. Bits of horn broke away and bounced off his mask. The shadows disappeared, and his spirit rushed back from the edge of the nighthaunt's dark hunger. Opening his eyes he met the glazed orbs of the beast and swung again, the wavy blade of the Breath biting through wing and shoulder.

The nighthaunt panicked, releasing his throat and legs and kicking away. Bastun followed, stabbing the ancient blade into the creature before it scrambled out of reach. The beast crawled over the side of the wall and disappeared. Turning back to the battle, he found Thaena gone, but he heard her voice calling out to charge the guard tower.

In the place where she had been Anilya now stood. The durthan faced him with sudden interest in her eyes, her gaze lingering on the Breath before turning to join the others. Her figure became a blur through the snow, silhouetted against the madly dancing sparks of torches in the distance.

Somewhere in the battle, Thaena began casting, sending bright beams of light flashing through the darkness and burning the circling nighthaunts.

Bastun shoved the Breath back into his belt and forced his legs to move, stumbling through the snow and trying to catch up. He knelt to retrieve his staff and lit his way along the wall, following in the deeper paths.

The figures ahead disappeared, one by one, into the white wall of the guard tower. The storm shoved him from left to right, wind screaming in his ears. The dancing lights blinked out, leaving him nearly blind beyond the reach of his staff s illumination. The slamming of a heavy door resounded like an executioners axe against the block. He passed lifeless figures lying in the snow, but not as many as he had feared-and most were of Anilya's band.