Chris Pierson - Dezra's Quest

More cheers rose, and warriors stamped their hooves on the ground. Gyrtomon, however, felt a cold fist grip his heart. He glanced at his father, and saw his dread reflected on Nemeredes's face. Two thousand was a great many Skorenoi, but not as many as he'd hoped. Leodippos's horde still outnumbered Gyrtomon's warriors two-to-one.

"Not enough," Nemeredes said quietly.

Gyrtomon tossed his mane in frustration. Surprise, their greatest advantage, was gone, and the glaring sunlight would soon vanish too. When the next attack began, the river wouldn't stop it. It would become a hand-to-hand fight, a fight he couldn't hope to win.

"We've lost," he murmured, taking care to keep his voice low. It wouldn't do to let his warriors hear such things- although, he knew, many must be reaching the same conclusion. "We can't hope to stand against them."

"Not without help," said a lilting voice.

He stiffened. The buzzing sound that had dogged him before the battle was back. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.

There was nothing there. Then, suddenly, there was: two small, elfin figures-one male, one female-with copper hair and bright clothes appeared out of nowhere. Silver moth wings fluttered on their backs.

"Good morrow to ye!" proclaimed the male, bowing. "I hight Fanuin, and this is Ellianthe. It seems ye're in some trouble. Want some help getting out?"

Gyrtomon blinked, baffled. "What-who-"

Nemeredes strode up beside him and clapped his shoulder, grinning. "It's the sprites!" he exclaimed. "The ones Trephas met. He said they disappeared after they defeated Thenidor."

The winged folk nodded, grinning. "That's true," Ellianthe said. "Once we saw what became of Ithax, we knew ye'd need our help fighting these Skorenoi things."

"So we went back to our realm, as quick as we could, and brought our kin back with us," Fanuin added. "We've been gathering here all day-invisible, o' course."

"It looked for a while like ye wouldn't need us after all," Ellianthe concluded. "But ye're right: There's too many o' those beasts for ye to win. Unless we help, o' course."

Gyrtomon frowned, looking the sprites up and down. "I don't see how much help thou couldst be," he said. "Thy arrows are no bigger than thorns."

Fanuin's eyes sparkled. "That may be," he said, "but ye'll find they have quite a sting." He drew a tiny shaft from his quiver and held it out. Its tip was coated with dark venom.

"That will help," Nemeredes said, smiling. "How many of thee are there?"

Ellianthe frowned, counting on her tiny fingers. "I'd say… oh, about three hundred."

"Three hundred!" Gyrtomon blurted. He glanced around in amazement-could there truly be so many winged folk flitting, unseen, through the air?

"Just so," Fanuin replied. "Each of us invisible, with killing poison on their darts. So…" he added, extending his small hand, "would ye like our help?"

For a long moment, Gyrtomon could only gape in astonishment. Then he nodded as he grasped Fanuin's hand. "Aye," he said. "I'd like it very much."

Half a dozen Skorenoi stood watch before the pass leading to Grimbough's vale. The companions stopped thirty paces from them, watching from a copse of rotten oaks.

"This isn't going to be easy," Caramon muttered. He was breathing hard, his face creased with pain. "Trephas, do you think you can put one of them down from this range?"

The centaur glanced at the sky, where the black clouds continued to swirl, their insides blazing with lightning. He frowned, his arrow tapping. "I think so," he answered, "but the way this wind shifts, I can't be sure."

"Try anyway," Dezra said. "Six of them are too many for us to fight past."

Nodding, Caramon pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. As he drew back his bowstring, though, his arms began to tremble. He tried to sight down the shaft, then relaxed his pull.

"Big guy?" Borlos asked, touching his arm.

Caramon shook him off. "Just give me a minute," he grumbled.

Then Dezra's hands were on his, loosening his grip on his bow. "Here," she said. "I'll do it."

"You?" Caramon demanded. "You're no archer, girl."

"Maybe, but at least I can aim without my arrow waving about."

Scowling, he handed her the bow, then shifted his shield onto his arm and readied his spear. Dezra raised the bow, drew back the arrow, and held it, aiming carefully. "I've got the one on the left," she hissed. "Trephas?"

"All right," the centaur replied. "Be ready."

Caramon hefted his spear. Beside him, Borlos nodded.

Trephas turned, sighted his target, then held his breath, waiting for the gusting wind to calm. When it did, he wasted no time. "Now," he said.

His and Dezra's bowstrings thrummed, and their arrows flashed out of the trees. Trephas's shaft hit a Skorenos in the eye and exploded, snapping the creature's head back as it collapsed. Dezra's shot struck her target in the chest. The creature looked down, at the bright blood welling from its wound. Then the shaft broke, and the Skorenos sank to the ground. The other four Skorenoi stared in shock at their fallen fellows.

"Go!" barked Caramon.

The companions broke from cover, weapons raised. The Skorenoi fell back a step, then turned to face Trephas and the humans. Two of the surviving beasts were archers, but they loosed their arrows in a hurry, without aiming. One shot flew long, streaking over Dezra's head. The other homed in on Caramon. He batted it aside with his shield.

Trephas fired a second shot as he ran. His arrow caught one of the archers through the throat, exploding in a burst of flinders. At the same time, Caramon slowed his pace and heaved his spear with all his strength. The archer had enough time to cry out as the spear drove through its breast, then fell in a shower of splintered wood.

Dezra was the first to reach the remaining pair; they were ready for her, standing side by side before the pass. One thrust its lance at her, but she dove beneath the blow. Rolling, she rose nimbly to one knee, raising her sword to parry the second Skorenos's cudgel. The lancer drew back his weapon for a second thrust, then saw the rest of the companions bearing down and turned to face them. He swept his spear before him as Borlos lunged in, and the bard stumbled back, the lance's head narrowly missing his face.

Trephas charged in next, tossing aside his bow and pulling his broad-bladed spear from his harness. He and the lancer traded a flurry of blows, the hafts of their spears cracking together. Each of them took a bloody cut in the skirmish-Trephas across his chest, the Skorenos to the cheek-then they fell back, breathing heavily.

Dezra and her foe fought hard, sword and cudgel swiping viciously. They were well-matched, but then Caramon entered the fray, his face red and streaming with sweat. He shoved his daughter aside and lashed out with his sword. The Skorenos dodged the swing and reared, kicking with its forelegs. One of its hooves struck Caramon's arm, jarring the sword from his grasp. The blade spun away, landing well out of reach. Caramon fell, armor clattering. He foundered on the ground, trying to rise.

The Skorenos glanced away from him, looking for Dezra. She lunged back into the fray, sword whirling. The creature brought its cudgel to bear, blocking the attack easily-

Then its eyes widened as it saw the dagger in her other hand, flashing toward its unprotected flank. It tried to bring its club around, but was too slow. Dezra drove her dirk through the Skorenos's ribs, then released it, leaving it buried in the creature's side. The blade exploded, tearing a hole in the creature's side as it fell.

"Well done," Caramon groaned, struggling to his feet. He glanced over at Trephas and Borlos, who fought the last of the guards. As he looked, Trephas opened a long gash down the creature's forearm with his lance, then jabbed it in the stomach. The Skorenos doubled over, and Borlos leapt in, bringing his mace down on its head. It collapsed, Borlos's weapon smashing into countless fragments. The way into the vale stood clear.