“Very well,” the Forest Lord answered offhandedly. “I daresay it would do no harm.”
Time passed, and the moon dipped down toward the horizon. Even at this distance, they could hear the screams from the beleaguered city. Maya turned to D’arvan. “I’m not so sure this was a good idea after all,” she said quietly. “It’s awful to have to stay here and listen to those poor folk ...”
“Look! Maya—look at that!”
The Death-Wraith were leaving Nexis. The great black swarm of them, like a whirlwind of autumn leaves, rose above the city and darkened the setting moon.—The swarm amassed itself into a tight knot above the Academy, and darted away at a tremendous speed toward the south.
“Seven bloody demons!” Maya breathed. “Do you think that was all of them? And where could they be going?”
“Yes, I think it was all of them,” D’arvan said. “They looked so purposeful.... Somehow I get the feeling we won’t be seeing them back in Nexis.. ..”
“It looked as though they only stopped to feed,” Hellorin put in.
That’s what I thought,” D’arvan mused. “And they’ve gone south. . . . You know what I think? I think they’ve gone in search of Aurian.”
“If that’s true, then may the Gods help her when those creatures find her,” said Maya somberly.
Hebba awakened to find the window open and a dark figure at the bottom of her bed. Before she could scream, the black silhouette swooped down on her.
“Shut up! Don’t scream!” A hand clamped itself firmly over her mouth, and her assailant began to talk very rapidly in a tense, hissing whisper. “It’s me, Parric, The Wraiths are back—we’re in dreadful danger. Don’t make a sound.—Pick up those blankets and come down with me to the cellar right now. Try to stay calm, for both our sakes. I’m going to take my hand away now—all right?”
Hebba nodded. As Parric took his hand away she took a deep breath to scream—and instantly the hand clamped back down again, tighter than before.
“Look here, you brainless old biddy—I’m not doing this for the good of my health. I’d have been long gone by now, had it not been for climbing all the way up here to save your neck. If you scream this time, I’ll be gone before you can take another breath—and you can fight off the Wraiths as best you can.”
This time, when the little man removed his hand, Hebba clenched her teeth tight to bottle up the scream that she could feel building inside her. With shaking hands she gathered up the blankets in a trailing bundle and followed Parric downstairs. He had his sword in his hand, but frankly, she didn’t think there was much point. She had seen the Wraiths at their deadly work the last time they had hit Nexis, and frankly, there was little good that swords—or anything else for that matter—could do against such creatures.
It was a nightmare getting down the steep, uneven cellar steps without a light, but Hebba knew better than to strike any kind of spark. Parric pulled the trapdoor shut behind them, and bolted it from the inside. “They may not think to look here,” he whispered. “They’ll have plenty of other prey outside.”
Hebba shuddered.
“Do you think I could have one of those blankets?” the Cavalrymaster asked plaintively. “We may as well make ourselves comfortable—it looks as though we’re going to be here all night.”
“Quick,” D’arvan cried, urging his Xandim steed into the air. “Ride now, while the Nihilim are still departing! Forward!” Following his gesture and his example, the ranks of the Phaerie surged upward, streaming out behind him like a glittering comet tail. Massing in the air, they went hurtling down toward the city.
Hellorin caught up, and drew his mount abreast of the Mage. “What in perdition do you think you’re doing?” he shouted. “I know I said that this is your campaign, but shouldn’t we wait until the Nihilim have gone?”
D’arvan shook his head. “They won’t be interested in us. Whatever they want, it’s in the south. If we’re quick, though, the Nexians will think we’ve driven them away!”
The Mage looked across at Maya. With her long black hair escaping its braid and streaming out behind her, and her eyes sparkling from the exhilaration of this wild ride, she looked like one of the battle-maids out of ancient legend.—When he caught her eye, however, her doubt was plain. “It’ll be all right, love,” he called to her. “We’ll make this as easy as we can, and in the end the Nexians will come to see that it’s better us than ...” He gave his father a sidelong glance.
“I suppose so,” Maya replied. “Well, if I’m to be the most hated woman in Nexis, I don’t see any sense in putting it off.”
“You won’t be,” D’arvan tried to reassure her. Then, they were above the city, and his words were drowned in the silvery clamor of Phaerie horns.
Even from the depths of the cellar, Parric could hear the pandemonium and panic in the streets outside. He shuddered, trying not to imagine what was going on out there. Hebba gave a wavering cry and hid her head beneath the blankets, trying not to hear. For some time, the Cavalrymaster listened, bleak-faced, to the jarring, whining buzz that the Nihilim emitted as they struck; to the sounds of running feet, and the dreadful screams of those who had not run fast enough. Then the harrowing noises stopped completely—and that, in its own way, was worse. What was happening up there? Was it safe to come out? Or had the Death-Wraiths slaughtered everyone on the streets, and were they now waiting to pick off the survivors one by one, as they emerged from hiding? Perhaps it would be safer to wait a while....
Then Parric heard another sound—the high, clear, vibrant notes of Phaerie horns, drawing rapidly closer. Parric’s curses were loud and inventive enough to bring Hebba out from under her blankets, bristling with indignation. In all the excitement and tragedies since he’d returned to Wyvernesse, he had forgotten D’arvan’s threat to attack the city. The Mage had not forgotten though—why, the bastard was already here!
“Stay here,” Parric ordered the astonished Hebba. “When I’m gone, bolt the trapdoor behind me again—and don’t open it for anyone unless you’re sure you know them and you’d trust them with your virtue, your money, and your life.”
And then he was gone, dashing up the cellar steps and leaving Hebba—luckily, speechless for once with indignation—behind him.
Lord Pendral was shaken from his wine-sodden slumbers by a timid servant.
“Lord, Lord, wake up! The Death-Wraiths are back!”
“What? How?” Pendral scrambled over the top of the skinny young girl, her breasts scarcely budding, who shared his bed that night. His feet had never touched the floor so fast in years. Roughly, he pushed the servant aside. “Get out of my way, you. I’ve got to hide!” He threw a furred cloak over his bedgown, and whisked, with a speed that belied his ponderous bulk, into his strongroom. The door of thick wood reinforced with iron bars slammed shut behind him. The servant and the girl were left looking at each other as there came a series of snicks, clicks, and squeaks from behind the door—the sound of keys turning in locks and bolts shooting into their sockets.
Suddenly the braying of horns swirled out across the night sky. The servant started, and rushed to peer out of the window, his hand pressed to his mouth in horror. The waif was scrambling into her clothes as fast as she could, her face astonishingly calm. The servant guessed that, having put up with Pendral’s more perverted entertainments for a night, the Phaerie would hold little fear for her. He looked at the thick, locked door of Pendral’s strongroom—he won’t be able to hear a thing in there, he thought—and then looked back at the girl. “Think we should tell him?”
She pulled a thin blouse across the bruises that covered her breasts and throat. “Nah.” For a moment, she looked as if she was about to spit. “Let the bastard find out for himself.”