Terry Brooks - Witch Wraith

“Dwarves,” he told Mirai. “Come to aid the Elves. But there aren’t nearly enough of them—and they’re mostly foot soldiers, not fliers. If they land those barges, they will be destroyed before they can even get off the ground again.”

“I’d guess they can see that for themselves. But what else can they do? They’ve come all this way; you don’t expect them to turn around and go back again, do you?”

He didn’t know what he expected. A miracle, he supposed. Dwarves or no, the army of the Straken Lord was too massive to be stopped. The Elves might hold the passes through the Valley of Rhenn for a while, but in the end they would fall and Arborlon and the entire Westland would fall with them.

The creatures below them were milling about but not yet advancing, just growling and shrieking, making aggressive gestures and sudden rushes that ended after only a few yards. They were working themselves up, readying for the coming battle. Railing brought the spyglass up again and swept the rim of the mountain walls warding the valley. He saw Elven Hunters everywhere, but no sign of Seersha or Crace Coram. He wondered if perhaps they were responsible for the Dwarves’ appearance and were aboard the skiffs, but that didn’t seem right.

“What are we going to do?” Mirai demanded. “We can’t just watch this happen. We have to do something!”

As she said it, a handful of winged creatures—Harpies and huge vampire bats—lifted off the ground and came at them. They were agile and swift as they closed on the Quickening . The men at the railing backed away, realizing the danger. Weapons appeared. A couple of the Rovers rushed to the rail slings and swung them about protectively.

But before the winged attackers could reach the airship, the witch wraith rose from her crouch and walked to the railing, ragged clothing flying in the wind, dark visage gone almost black. For just a second it seemed to Railing, watching from the pilot box, as if she weren’t there at all. As if all that inhabited the inside of her tattered clothing was a shadow.

The Harpies and bats must have seen something of it, too, and they didn’t like it one bit. As if formed of a single creature, they broke off their attack and swung away abruptly, gathering speed as they went.

The witch wraith turned to him. “Fly to the mouth of the pass!”

He did so without hesitating. Whatever was going to happen now was not something he cared to interfere with. They were here at the witch’s behest; she must have known she would find the Straken Lord’s army attacking the Westland or she wouldn’t have bothered. How she had known he had no idea. But now that they were here, it stood to reason that she intended to face her nemesis—perhaps to do what she had been asked, or perhaps to do something else altogether.

The witch stood where she was, staring down at the army beneath them as they neared the pass. She didn’t speak or move; she gave no indication of what she was thinking. They might have been invisible for all the interest she evidenced. Railing thought it better that way. The less attention she paid to them, the better.

They were closing on the pass when the dragon flew out of the east.

Redden and his companions reached Arborlon before dawn, flying in from the Elven Hunter outpost they had stumbled on several hours earlier, aboard an ancient transport they had persuaded the garrison to put at their disposal. It wasn’t so much what they were asking as the force with which they asked it. Redden in particular had invoked both Aphenglow and her grandfather as friends and protectors. Mention of the latter immediately led to the revelation that the old King was dead, assassinated by his brother, and that the city was preparing for war. But the Hunters agreed it was a good idea that the strange trio proceed to their destination so they could give their report to someone who might act on it—especially after the young girl had begun to cry uncontrollably.

Oriantha, it turned out, could shape-shift in more than one way when the need was present.

But when they arrived in Arborlon, they found the city in chaos, with rumors of another attack on the royal family, this time on the King’s son; of several others killed in the attack, including the Captain of the Home Guard, Sian Aresh; and of a demon army massed at the passes east in the Valley of Rhenn where a terrible battle had been fought the previous day and was expected to continue at sunrise.

The tension and fear they encountered were palpable, and there was a strong sense of panic setting in. It was impossible to get an accurate story from anyone, especially since Tesla’s appearance seemed to scare them away. Not able to find anyone they knew personally or to learn what was happening from those they didn’t, they decided to fly to the site of the pending battle, reasoning that, wherever there was fighting, they would likely find one or more of their friends.

So Redden and Oriantha boarded their transport once more, hauling a decidedly uncertain and fearful Ulk Bog with them, and flew out toward the Rhenn as the sky ahead slowly began to lighten.

“Did you hear the woman who claimed there was a Druid involved in last night’s attack?” Redden asked Oriantha over the rush of the wind in the open cockpit.

“I heard there was and that she might have been killed. I also heard it was only Aresh. I heard lots of things. Did you learn anything useful?”

Redden shook his head. “What are we going to do once we get to the passes?”

Oriantha shook her head. “Look around?”

She was weighing her options, he imagined. His own were troubling. If Railing wasn’t in the Rhenn, did he join in the fighting anyway to help the Elves? Or did he continue looking for his brother? Where were Seersha and Crace Coram while all this was happening? Where were Skint and the Rovers? Oriantha knew no one except Coram, who had been part of their group when she had left him at the portal leading out of the Forbidding but of whom she had heard nothing since.

Still, someone had to know something about what had become of the other members of the expedition.

They flew on, their uneasiness increasing the closer they got to their destination. All Redden could think about was what waited there—Tael Riverine and the entire demon army. He could not stop imagining what it would feel like to be back in their hands—a very real possibility if he were forced into a fight against them. His insides recoiled at the prospect, and if it hadn’t been for his even more pressing fears about his brother, he would have turned around on the spot.

I don’t have to be a part of this fight, he kept telling himself. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. I just need to find Railing. I just need to make sure my brother is safe.

But he knew this wasn’t so. He was an irrevocable a part of what was happening and had been from the moment he had left in search of the missing Elfstones. He was even more committed now that he had found the Stones and knew they might make a difference in any struggle with the Jarka Ruus. He could tell himself anything he wanted, but the path his feet were set upon would take him in only one direction.

At one point, Tesla Dart wormed her way forward and pressed up against him. “You don’t forget your promise to me?” she asked, bending close.

He glanced over at her worried face. “I will keep my promise,” he said.

He would try to keep all his promises, he thought, even the ones he had made to himself and was afraid he could not face.

Time passed. They sun crested the horizon, a blazing light shining out on a bright clear day. Ahead, the passes loomed dark and shadowy in the lee of the Rhenn’s forested walls.

They flew straight across the near pass and continued on toward the far. No one tried to stop them; apparently, no one thought it worth the effort since they were flying such a harmless, decrepit vessel. There was no battle yet, it seemed. There were no sounds of it or activity atop the valley rim. If anything, it was unusually quiet.