Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

The Straken Lord raised his arms as he passed over the dark swell of his army, and a million throats roared out his name. He might have been the sum of all things from the greeting he was given, and he acknowledged it as if it were his due. He let the dragon take him past his army and into the mouth of the pass, still high enough that no missile could reach him and big enough that no flit dared approach. He was showing himself to his intended victims—a clear indication he would be the last thing they ever saw in this life.

Just before wheeling away and flying back into the night, bearing its black rider with it, the dragon opened its huge maw and exhaled sudden gouts of fire.

“I don’t like that,” Sian Aresh observed.

“No wonder Arishaig was at risk,” Seersha replied.

“This changes my thinking about the value of our airships. That dragon is much more maneuverable than anything we have. Do you think there are any more?”

Seersha shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll find out.”

They waited patiently to see if there would be any others, but the Straken Lord did not return, and the creatures of his army began to settle down on the open flats, curling up in the manner of animals and dropping off to sleep. If there were guards or a sentry line, the Druid couldn’t find them. No precautions seemed to have been taken against a surprise attack. For a moment, Seersha considered the advisability of mounting one—of not waiting for the inevitable, but of striking first. She almost said something to Aresh.

But there were a million creatures out there—many times the number of Elves that might be thrown against them—and in the end she abandoned the idea. Better they hold their ground and let the enemy come to them.

Especially the dragon. No point in going hunting for something like that.

Seersha and Sian Aresh moved over to a promontory on the left cliff wall at the entrance to the valley, just apart from the guards assigned to protect them. The two were now joined by common cause and shared events. Together they had conspired to set aside Phaedon Elessedil as King, rendering him helpless enough that he was now kept under constant watch. He still couldn’t talk, couldn’t make himself understood, and was wrapped in a cloak of apparent madness that had everyone speculating about what had happened to him. Only Seersha and Aresh knew for certain, and neither was saying anything. It was sufficient that he could no longer interfere. He would remain in his present condition for at least another day, by Seersha’s reckoning, and by then the battle would be joined and its course likely decided. That was the best they could hope for.

“They will wait for the moon to rise and attack then,” the Captain of the Home Guard said quietly.

“I don’t think so,” Seersha said in response. “They will wait for dawn. The sun will be at their backs and in our faces. The Straken Lord knows something of tactics. That was clear at Arishaig.”

“We have a bet then. In my view, he won’t have the patience to wait until morning. He will act before then.”

Seersha shook her head in disagreement. “He sees himself as invincible. He chose to attack the Federation first because he believed it to be the strongest force he would face. He’s been scouting the Four Lands since the Forbidding started to crumble, sending out spies through gaps in the wall. This is a sustained invasion, and he intends to see it through. We were told this was his intention unless …”

She trailed off. There was no point in talking about Tael Riverine’s demand for the return of Grianne Ohmsford. Not unless it actually happened, which seemed unlikely. She found herself wondering if Railing and his companions had discovered the fate of the former Ard Rhys or if the search had fallen apart by now. She had never really believed it would come to anything, but she had never entirely discounted it, either. It was a time of strange happenings, and nothing was so impossible that it could be discounted out of hand.

Aresh waited for her to finish and, when she didn’t, said, “I don’t know how we can hold out against so many.”

“We can’t without help. But the Dwarves will come. Crace Coram will bring them. And maybe the Border Legion will join us.”

The Captain of the Home Guard nodded. “I cannot believe it has come to this.”

“Nor I.”

“I wish we had time to ferret out whoever killed the King. Because it certainly wasn’t Ellich.”

Seersha nodded. “More likely his son.”

They were silent for a time, scanning the darkening horizon, peering down the slopes of the cliffs to where Elven Hunters with torches were lighting watch fires that had been built earlier. Pockets of brightness blazed eastward across the length of the cliffs on either side of the pass, providing a shadowy view of the sleeping enemy army and of any creatures that might try to approach under cover of darkness. The fires would burn all night, their wood replenished as it turned to ash, the sentries on duty guarding against surprise attacks.

“What do you think has happened to Aphenglow and her sister?” Sian Aresh asked after a time.

Seersha shrugged. In the firelight, her dark tattoos reflected the brightness of the flames. “It will take them as long as it takes, but Aphen won’t fail.”

“If she finds what she’s looking for. Or if something doesn’t interfere with her search.”

The Druid gave him a look. “She won’t let anything interfere. She’ll find a way back to us.”

Aresh shook his head. “She’s really our only chance. And Arlingfant, of course. The only chance for the whole of the Four Lands.”

“Then we have to give them the time they need. You and me and all those gathered in this valley.” Seersha stepped away. “I think I will try to get some sleep.”

“And me. At least until they attack. I still think it will be tonight.

The scarred face wrinkled with her smile. “Then we have a bet.”

She went off to find a place to bed down. Aresh remained where he was, wrapping himself in his blanket, sitting upright and bracing himself in a depression on the hillside where he could look out over the enemy hordes.

Both did the best they could to fall asleep, but neither had much success.

Seersha won the bet. The Straken Lord did not attack during the night. He attacked at dawn.

It was a clear, bright day, and the sun rose in a brilliant yellow glow out of the eastern skies, the light blinding the defenders on the slopes of the Valley of Rhenn, exactly as the Straken Lord must have hoped. By then the entire demonkind army was awake and organized, restless to the point of making feints against the defenses—quick rushes at the entrance to the pass that seemed less well defended.

But it quickly became apparent to Seersha that Tael Riverine had other plans. Separating his army under cover of darkness into a series of commands, he had positioned them all across the vast sweep of the Streleheim, north and south for as far as the eye could see. When Elven flits flew out to have a closer look, bands of Harpies brought two of them down and the rest quickly turned around. Thus, when the attack finally came, it caught the unsuspecting Elves by surprise in more ways than one.

Instead of a head-on assault against the entrance to the pass, the enemy came at them from the flanks. Led by their lighter, more agile climbers, they scaled the forested slopes in simultaneous strikes intended to break through and get behind the defenders massed at the pass. Attacking not in large groups but in small clusters, they used the rocks and trees for cover as they swept up the cliffs in record time, barely slowing as they came, swarming over the front ranks of the Elven defensive positions and killing everyone not quick enough to fall back.