“Will you?” The sudden sharp voice made the horses shy, whinnying in fright. “Or will you die?”
With beautifully dramatic timing, a second bolt of lightning split the sky. Deafened by the following crack of thunder, Kevin stared at this sudden apparition in stunned disbelief. There was no doubt at all who it was:
her elegant face was set in its cold, sorcerous lines. Her green gown whipped about her in the ever-rising storm wind that made the locks other long hair writhe like flame.
“Carlotta! B-but how—”
“She is a sorceress,” Naitachal reminded the bardling drily. The Dark Elf’s blue eyes were flickering with their own sorcerous red embers. “I thought we were escaping just a bit too easily.”
“Listen to me,” Lydia murmured. “When I give the signal, kick your horses into a gallop.”
“Don’t be silly,” Naitachal began, but Lydia was already shouting:
“And ... now!”
The startled horses shot forward as one. But before they could reach Carlotta, she shouted out savage Words of Power—and a huge wall of flame roared up. The horses screamed in terror, shying wildly, fighting their riders. Kevin lost a stirrup, nearly smashed his nose against his animal’s neck, hanging on for all he was worth—
“Told you.” Naitachal’s words were chopped off as his horse reared, making him look like a dark legend against the dark sky, his cloak billowing out like bat wings.
“Where’s Carlotta?” Lydia shouted, clinging to her plunging horse like a burr.
“Who knows?” Tich’ki, wings beating frenetically, couldn’t quite climb high enough to see over the magical flame, thermals from the suddenly heated air pushing her away every time she tried. “Somewhere behind all that.”
“Illusion!” the bardling yelled, even though he could feel the fire’s heat and smell its smoke. Struggling with his hysterical horse, “It’s got to be illusion!”
“No illusion.” The Dark Elf finally managed to bring his mount back to all four feet. “She doesn’t care if she bums down the whole forest, as long as she stops us long enough for—Yes, curse her, here they come.”
A new bolt of lightning blazed out over what looked like every one of the count’s men-at-arms, knights and common guards alike. The wall of flame didn’t seem to be giving them pause; not having seen it created, they probably just thought it lightning-strike.
“We can’t fight all of them,” Lydia cried over the crash of thunder. “Naitachal, how far does this fire extend?”
The Dark Elf shrugged angrily. “I don’t know the spell Carlotta used. It could extend for leagues.”
“Then we’ll ride for leagues, dammit!”
The woman kicked her horse into a run, riding parallel to the fire. and the others followed. But a new wall of flame roared up before them, cutting off their escape. Kevin’s horse screamed in panic, and the bardling nearly lost his seat all over again. Struggling to stay in the saddle, he shot an anxious glance up at the cloud-heavy sky. The rain, curse it, where’s the rain? It would put out this fire and give us a fighting chance to get out of this trap before—
“Hey, no!”
His horse had suddenly decided it had quite enough of flames. The animal whirled before Kevin could stop it, and bolted blindly back towards the castle—and the waiting enemy. The bardling frantically sawed at the reins. Wait, wait, he’d heard somewhere that if a horse ran away with you, you were supposed to pull it around in one big circle.
Oh, sure, easily said! But the animal had the bit in its teeth and a neck like iron, and in another moment horse and rider were going to be within bowshot. He was already close enough to see the fiat madness in the soldiers’ eyes, to wonder with a quick thrill of horror how Carlotta had managed to subvert a whole casde. Sorcery? Something as simple as drugs in the communal water supply? Oh, Powers, it didn’t matter now, because this idiot of a horse was going to get him killed!
Kevin was all set to jump from the animal’s back and hope he didn’t break his neck when the drumming of hoofs sounded behind him and a second horse came rushing up beside his. The bardling caught a quick glimpse of an elegant profile, silky golden hair:
Eliathanis!
But then the bardling got a better look at the White Elf’s face, and nearly gasped—Eliathanis’ eyes were blank green flame and his teeth were bared in a fierce, inhuman grin—
He’s gone fey, just like a hero in an old ballad, he’s gone death-mad fey and doesn’t care what happens to him ....
No, no, that was ridiculous, because being fey meant being doomed, and surely Eliathanis wasn’t—none of them were—
The White Elf flattened himself along his horse’s neck, hand snaking out to catch Kevin’s mount by the bridle. Eliathanis sat back in the saddle, forcing both animals out of their frantic run, turning them in a half circle back towards the fire.
He never had that strength before, never!
And the ill-omened word “fey” returned to the bardling’s mind. No! He would not accept that!
Still grinning that strange, fierce, alien grin, Eliathanis released Kevin’s mount with a slap on the side of its neck. Both horses raced as one as the enemy gave chase, and ahead of them, Kevin saw Naitachal’s lips move in what was surely the beginning of a spell. They were almost out of range of the archers, almost—
Without warning, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, directly overhead. As Kevin and Eliathanis rejoined the others, the skies at last opened. A heavy curtain of rain plunged down, and the walls of fire hissed under the impact, sending up vast clouds of steam.
“But there’s still too much flame!” Lydia cried. “Naitachal, can’t you do something?”
The sharpness other voice made the Dark Elf start “I was doing something,” he said, biting off each word. “Till you broke my concentration.” Naitachal glanced back at the dying flames, forward at the charging enemy, and swore in his native tongue. “We need more time—but they’re not going to give us any!” Suddenly his dark, sorcerous sword was in his hand. “Terrible odds, my friends, but they’re not going to get any better, so ...”
“Aren’t they?”
“What—Eliathanis, no!” Kevin gasped. “Oh no, don’t, you can’t!”
With a wild shout in the elven tongue, Eliathanis charged the foe. His hair flamed out behind him, blazing gold against the darkness, his mail and outthrust sword and the hide of his rain-slick horse were molten silver.
And time seemed to stop. There was nothing living save for that one shining rider on a shining horse. So stunned was the enemy that they made no effective move to defend themselves. Eliathanis’ sword was a brand, sweeping through their ranks, and wherever it struck, a soldier fell.
“The fire’s low enough to cross,” Naitachal muttered, hands clenched on the hilt of his sword. “Come back, you idiot. You’ve bought us enough rime. Come back before they realize you’re only flesh-and-blood.”
As if he’d heard, Eliathanis turned and forced his horse back into a gallop. But the horse was weary from fright and effort. It stumbled on the slick grass, caught itself, stumbled again—
“He’s still within bowshot.” Naitachal’s voice was tight with alarm. “He’s not going to make it.”