R. Salvatore - The Witch_s Daughter

Rhiannon nodded and leaned on the half-elf for support. “Another big one,” she replied softly. “Bearin’ wagons and ridin’ donkeys.”

Bryan needed her support as well. How many talons had come to join the fight? he wondered. Ten thousand? Twenty? The call of the Black Warlock had spread wide indeed, for the columns of new troops flocking to join his army did not seem to have an end.

Rhiannon steeled herself against the despair that threatened to swallow her and moved away from Bryan. Earlier that day the young witch had witnessed Thalasi’s greatest perversion: the gray that shrouded the sun. Now, as she felt the power of the earth once again tingling within her, she wanted with all of her heart to strike back.

“Not this time,” she growled at the half-elf, and Bryan took a step back from the bared power in her voice. He watched from a cautious distance as the mysterious young woman moved to a nearby tree stump, hollowed and filled with rainwater.

“Come,” Rhiannon bade him as she waved her hand and took up a chant over the still water. Gradually the darkness within the stump lessened, and where before the water had shown only the reflection of Rhiannon and Bryan, there appeared an image of a nearby trail.

“Hundreds,” Bryan muttered, staring at the result of Rhiannon’s divining. For along the trail moved a caravan of talons, some walking, some riding donkeys, and still more leading beasts hitched to dozens of wagons laden with supplies.

“They must be from Windy Willows,” the half-elf reasoned, considering the donkeys. “The Black Warlock is reaching out to all the wide corners of his western domain.”

“They’re not far,” Rhiannon remarked. “We can get to them.”

“Why would we want to?” Bryan asked incredulously. “We can do little against so many. Unless…” His voice trailed off as he took a closer look at the young witch’s grim face. “What tricks,” he asked slyly, “might you have in store for this group?”

Rhiannon wouldn’t let him in on her secret. “Come,” was all she answered as she started off toward the trail. Bryan smiled widely as he fell into step beside her. He had seen the result of Rhiannon’s wrath once before, and with her on his side, he was not afraid, no matter the odds. He slid his elven sword from its sheath, too eager to let it wait on his hip.

This was going to be fun.

Rhiannon chanted over each of the arrows individually, then handed the entire quiver back to Bryan. “Shoot for the biggest groups,” she instructed.

Bryan took the gift reverently, not certain whether he wanted to ask the witch what enchantment she had put in the weapons or to just let them fly and watch the magic as it loosed its fury on the talons. Rhiannon offered no explanation, though, for something off to the side had caught her attention.

In the distance a tree shuddered to life and dropped a heavy branch on the head of a crouching talon.

“Talon scout,” Rhiannon explained to Bryan matter-of-factly. She moved off through a thicket to take her position in front of the approaching caravan. Bryan followed a few steps behind, watching her every move.

Without a thought the young witch waved her hand, and another tree a bit farther in front of them rustled, catching a talon around the neck with a supple branch and hoisting it up off the ground, kicking and gasping for breath.

And Bryan found his own breath hard to catch. He had never seen Rhiannon so grim and callous, even when she had come to his rescue in the stony canyon. She moved on from the scene of her second kill, impassive and strong, a lioness at hunt.

The talon caravan rolled down the wide trail, unmindful of its impending doom. They came to answer the call of Morgan Thalasi, the father of their race, to join in his moment of triumph over the hated humans. They could not know the power that stood to block them.

Rhiannon sensed them before they came into sight. She remained in position behind the cover of a stony ridge and motioned for Bryan to ready his bow. Then the young witch moved away a bit and sat quietly, knowing that the magic she had let into her body would dictate its place in the confrontation.

Bryan drew his bowstring and waited as the caravan rolled into sight. He still did not know the extent of the power within his arrows, but he felt a tingle in the one he had notched, as if the arrow itself was eager for the coming flight.

“The biggest groups,” Rhiannon said again, and so the half-elf took aim on the first cluster of talons, huddled around a wagon and fighting over the scraps of food they could pull from it as they went.

“Now,” Rhiannon whispered, and Bryan let it fly. The arrow soared off into the night, leaving a glowing trail in its wake. And then Bryan had to blink to be certain that his eyes were not playing tricks on him, for the arrow split apart and became two, and those two split into four, and those became eight, and again and again until a score and twelve soared into the talon horde. Nearly two dozen talons dropped to the ground, mortally wounded, and all the caravan began hooting and howling to warn of the attack.

Bryan fired several more of the enchanted arrows off quickly, showering the confused monsters in a virtual rain of arrows before they could find cover. Even so, the half-elf’s attacks barely dented the large force, and these talons had marched all the way from the Ballendul Mountains in search of battle. Ignoring the cries of their wounded, the group rallied and charged on against the onslaught.

But then the young witch started to sing.

Rhiannon’s voice rang out strong and sweet in the night, filling Bryan with courage and draining the blood from the faces of the talons.

Trees along the edges of the trail danced to the witch’s melody, swatting and strangling those talons that tried to move from the stony center of the path. Still the throng rushed on and Bryan cut them down. He fired off four shots that became six score and eight, evenly spaced across the breadth of the trail, and decimated the front ranks with a wall of killing darts.

Still the young witch sang, and now the donkeys heard her call. They bucked and spun, tossing their riders to the ground and trampling them before they understood what had happened. Those donkeys pulling wagons charged about wildly, overturning the carts and scattering lines of talons.

Rhiannon stepped out into the open, glowing with power. She thrust her hands out before her and sheets of flame sprang forth, reaching down the trail to engulf those talons brave enough, or stupid enough, to continue their charge.

“Rhiannon!” Bryan gasped, horrified and elated all at once. But the witch didn’t hear him, too consumed by the power she loosed upon her enemies.

For the talons, the trees had been bad enough. But this open display of witchery was simply too much for them to accept. They scattered and fled, back down the trail and all the way through the pass toward their dark holes in the Ballenduls. This group would find no place of glory beside the Black Warlock.

Bryan meant to follow their retreat with a few showers of arrows, grim reminders of what awaited them should they return. But the half-elf could not. His eyes remained transfixed on Rhiannon, studying her expression as she completed her release of magic.

And while he had been in awe of her during the brief battle, he felt only pity when it ended. Rhiannon looked at him, tears streaking her face. So frail she seemed that Bryan could hardly believe she was the same being who had just wreaked such destruction.

“Help me,” she whispered, and then she collapsed, thoroughly drained, into Bryan’s arms.

If the Black Warlock had been paying attention, he most certainly would have sensed the display of magic in the Baerendel Mountains that night. But Thalasi was off on his own exercise of magic, creating the finishing touches to his army.