Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

Kirra spun on one heel, lifted her arms above her head, and collected herself into a dark winged shape. Flinging herself into the air, she skimmed over the heads of the visitors and ducked out the great door. She barely beat Tayse, who had sprinted for the threshold the instant the magistrate’s last words had sounded. Senneth turned to follow but got caught up in the milling crowd. People were crying, reaching out to grab each other, calling out questions, edging for the door, edging back.

Malcolm strode through the mob, Kiernan close at his heels, then turned at the door to address his guests. “You are probably safest if you stay here,” he said. “Those with weapons who wish to use them are welcome to join the defense.” And he disappeared out the door.

A hand caught Senneth’s arm; she turned to find Will and Casserah beside her. “Will you stay or will you fight?” Casserah asked. Senneth was impressed at her iron control. She clearly realized the situation was dangerous but was not about to melt into a puddle of fear.

“Fight,” Senneth said, “though I’m hardly dressed for it.”

“I have a sword in my room,” Will said.

Senneth shook her head. “No. You and Casserah stay here. The point of this whole day was to unite Danalustrous and Brassenthwaite. It’s why Malcolm wanted the ceremony concluded. The two of you must be safe no matter who else falls.”

Will glanced at his new bride. “Do you have any idea who would attack? Has Halchon Gisseltess decided to open his war on Danan Hall?”

Casserah shook her head. “No one crossed the borders. This is local trouble.”

Senneth’s eyes narrowed. So Casserah, like her father, could sense when the boundaries of the land were breached. “Who would wish you so ill on your wedding day?”

“I’m only guessing. But I suspect Thirteenth House lords who have been dissatisfied with the distribution of property.” She thought a moment. “There is one young lord in particular who dislikes me. Chalfrey Mallon. He would be especially glad to see me wounded on what should be my happiest day.”

Senneth felt rage race through her; her temperature was rising, dangerously high. “Cruel and stupid,” she said in a harsh voice. “To try to bring pain where there should be joy.”

“He is cruel and stupid,” Casserah agreed. “And so we have death instead.”

Senneth stalked toward the door, her dark blue dress swirling around her ankles. “Well, Danalustrous and Brassenthwaite defend their own.”

As soon as she was in the hallway, she started running, following the scurry of servants, the sounds of combat. Casserah was right. No foreign force could have gotten this close to the Hall without Malcolm being aware of it. Whoever these invaders were, they had come cloaked in Danalustrous colors. How many troops could such malcontents have raised? Enough to overrun Malcolm’s personal guard?

She burst through the front door and came upon a melee. It was almost impossible to tell who was fighting on what side, since the majority of the combatants were wearing red. But the invaders were on horseback and the defenders mostly on foot, a bad matchup for the Hall. There were terrible sounds of shouting men, screaming horses, clashing blades. She could see Tayse off to her right, unexpectedly mounted-he must have wrenched a horse from one of the assailants. He laid about him with a furious and brutal efficiency, cutting a swath through the oncoming soldiers. A phalanx of soldiers in blue and red waded behind him, emboldened by his charge, dispatching enemies with a righteous fervor.

But there. Near the garden. A line of invaders was weaving through the ornamental hedges, creeping toward the manor as if to slip in the back way and wreak havoc in the halls. Two civil guardsmen spotted them and let out yells as they ran to engage them, but there were already twenty enemies almost at the house.

Senneth flung a hand out, and the whole maze of hedges burst into flames. Two invaders cried out in pain, saw their trousers catch fire, and dropped to the ground. A dozen of their companions broke free of the sizzling shrubbery and headed toward the house at a dead run. Another eight or ten backed up, away from the flames, away from the battle, and watched indecisively.

Senneth snapped her wrist. The first of the oncoming soldiers ignited and screamed in agony. She splayed her hand again and two more men started blazing. Again. Again. Mad with pain and terror, the enemy fighters shrieked and flung themselves to the ground, rolling on the brown grass. The soldiers who had held back now turned on their heels and sped away.

Senneth felt the heat licking through her veins; her eyes were misted with a fine red. She might have been on fire herself, or perhaps it was just fury that consumed her. She swung her attention back to the main fray and ran forward to cast herself into the middle of it, heedless of swinging blades and trampling horses. Who was loyal, who traitorous? When she was sure, she placed her torrid hand on a soldier’s arm, on his back, and heard him scream as his clothes caught fire. Ten men burned as she darted through the grunting, battling squads. Twenty. Thirty.

But more were coming. How many more? How far away were they? She snatched a blade up from a fallen combatant, and hewed her way through the mass of men. Her blue dress was covered in dirt, spattered with blood, ripped at the knees, and, gods , was it inconvenient. She hacked and kicked and burned her way through the crowd and finally was clear of the first ring of attackers.

She stood on the outer lawns of Danan Hall, breathing hard, staring around her, wondering where the next assault might come from.

A hawk plummeted from above, talons outstretched. As soon as he touched down, he took Donnal’s shape. His feet were bare and covered with blood.

“How many?” she demanded. “How far away?”

“Maybe a thousand advancing from south and west,” he said, pointing. “The marlord’s reserve soldiers are on the run from the north. But the enemy will arrive first.”

“How many in the marlord’s troops?”

“Easily two thousand. There’s another several thousand that can be summoned, but they’re housed on property a day’s ride from here.”

“How quickly will reinforcements arrive?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“And the advancing troops?”

But she could hear them herself, the thunder of hooves, the shouts of men. “Now,” Donnal whispered just as the first men broke across the horizon line and charged straight for the embattled Hall.

Senneth spun around, flung her arms wide before her, and called up a monstrous wall of flame. It was taller than an oak tree and raced a mile from either side of her; she felt her own skin blister from its roaring heat. At least fifty men cantered through it, unable to pull up their horses in time. They were shrieking in pain, and their mounts snorted and reared and threw them to the ground. Through the wicked crackle of the flames she could hear shouts and cries on the other side, questions flung out, orders issued, orders remanded. One or two more soldiers braved the barrier and came through, livid with fire.

Senneth spread her fingers as wide as they would go, extended her arms before her, and pushed . The whole long wall of fire crept slowly away from her, leaving a charred band of black in the grass. More cries and yelping on the other side as the attackers realized the conflagration was advancing. She heard a confusion of horse hooves retreating, more shouts, more cursing.

She took a long breath, gathered her strength, and pushed again.

Step by blazing step, she forced the opposing forces backward, till she was crunching through a broad swath of cinders as she crossed her own original line. Donnal gathered himself back into a bird shape and darted away to reconnoiter, returning a few minutes later to report.