If they don’t kill me first.
But there was no other choice. Hopefully the storm would give the rest of the Phaerie quite enough to think about, without any more of them chasing after her. It was exceptionally dangerous to fly in the midst of a thunderstorm. She had enough at stake to risk it, but she doubted that her pursuers did.
She turned her attention away from Ferimon and his followers and plunged towards the cloud - then suddenly realised, to her dismay, that she was not alone. Darillan’s mare, prettily marked in patches of white and coppery red, was galloping along at her side, showing an impressive turn of speed. Corisand’s heart sank. It was the herd instinct, of course. Naturally the mare - Corisand couldn’t think of her name - wanted to stay with the only other horse nearby, and of course all the other horses would insist on treating the Windeye as lead mare. This idiot animal trusted her to keep it safe, and instead she had led it straight into the worst possible danger. Quickly she grabbed the mare’s loose reins in her teeth and set herself to hang on tightly. At least she might be able to keep the two of them together - but that was all she could do.
If Corisand had known what it would be like inside that malevolent mass of cloud, she would never have entered. She shot straight into the heart of an inferno: a dark, chaotic maelstrom of searing lightning, deafening concussions of thunder, and tearing winds that buffeted and blasted her beyond all hope of control, sending her tumbling and reeling helplessly across the skies. Dimly, beyond the roar and thunder of the storm, she could hear the Huntsman’s mare screaming with terror, but all she could do was keep her teeth clamped around the other horse’s reins, and hope they would hold. She could see nothing but the lightning, which lanced through the clouds on every side, sizzling past them, horribly close. The ozone stink was overwhelming.
Then out of the murk came Ferimon, oblivious to the danger in his fury, bursting through the clouds on his screaming white stallion. Vikal arrowed in on her, and since she was hampered by the other mare, Corisand was forced to let go of her, before attacking in a fury of flashing hooves. One blow struck Vikal on the head, and with a grunt of pain the stallion lurched aside, leaving Ferimon open to her attack. Snaking her head out, Corisand plunged her teeth into his shoulder, trying to jerk him from the saddle as she had done with Darillan. Ferimon, however, was prepared for such a move. Clinging to Vikal’s saddle bow, he locked his legs tightly around the stallion’s ribs. Though he screamed in pain as her teeth grazed his collarbone, he kept his hold, immovable as a rock, even managing to briefly free a hand and strike out at her face with his fist - a hard, painful blow that left her sickened and dizzy with pain.
Corisand, in disengaging, tore a great bleeding chunk of flesh out of his shoulder. She had the satisfaction of hearing another scream, and seeing his face go grey with agony and shock. In disgust she spat out the mouthful of torn muscle, drooling and champing in an attempt to rid herself of the foul taste of blood.
Recovering himself, Vikal charged her from the side, goaded on by his rider, a demon with the fire of madness in his eyes and blood streaming down his shoulder, dripping from his hand. Corisand jerked herself violently aside, using a savage gust of wind to hurl herself away, and felt his teeth meet with a snap barely a breath from her throat. As she spun away she kicked out violently, and felt the satisfying impact of her hind hooves meeting his shoulder before she leapt back to a wary distance.
On the ground, had he been able to close with her, Vikal would have had the advantage, using his greater mass and strength to assert his dominance. Up here, however, they were almost equal, with Corisand’s speed and manoeuvrability giving her the edge. In addition, she had one other advantage: intelligence. She could think and plan, use her brains to outwit her foe.
Which was all very well, until she saw the sword appear in Ferimon’s hand.
Luckily I tore his shoulder - at least he can’t pull a bow.
But he could keep her from coming too close to Vikal, until the other Phaerie finally got over their fear of the storm and came to his aid. The two horses circled, fighting for position in the screaming wind, the stallion wary of Corisand’s snake-fast hooves and teeth, the mare heedful of the long bright blade in the rider’s hand.
A spear of lightning lanced between the combatants, blinding them with its actinic glare. And Corisand, blinking the dazzle from her eyes, spotted the opening she’d been waiting for. Ferimon lurched in the saddle, his sword arm trembling with the strain of holding up the heavy blade.
One hand for the sword, one trying to hold on to the saddle with a wounded shoulder - and he’s weakening from blood loss all the time.
Seizing the moment, Corisand feinted one way, then dodged in the opposite direction, using the force of the gusting wind to drive in, hard and fast, on the side that had no blade. Ferimon was lifted clean out of the saddle and vanished with a howl into the depths below. Vikal, caught off balance, was snatched by the gale and, spinning helplessly away, smashed heavily into a tree and plunged down out of sight below the forest canopy.
Corisand, through her own momentum, was beyond all control and seemed to be about to share his fate. In a flash of terror she saw the tree hurtling towards her.
No time to—
Even as the thought flared in her mind, a weight crashed into her from the side, knocking her out of danger’s path. The tree flashed past in a blur of green, its branches almost close enough to rake out her eyes. Straining every muscle in her body, she managed to right herself and get back under control. And who would have guessed it? Galloping at her side was Darillan’s red and white mare, whose quick action had saved her life. Infinitely grateful and relieved, Corisand took hold of the trailing reins once more, determined to stay with the one who had aided her. The fight was over. Vikal must surely be dead, and she doubted very much that Ferimon could still be alive. Now her only battle was with the storm. Utterly weary, bruised and spent from the conflict, the Windeye had to find a way to get herself and her companion safely to the ground.
Fighting the strength of the storm, she plunged downwards, dragging her companion with her, moving as fast as she could, heedless of the risk of crashing into the trees below. Somehow, despite being hurled about by the violent wind, she managed to keep a generally downward direction, until finally she almost reached treetop level. The storm had blown her so hard from her original course that she had given up all hope of finding Aelwen and Kelon again. Her only concern now was survival.
Just then, to her utter horror, she felt a peculiar ebbing sensation in her body. The flying spell was fading - and fading fast. Cold shock swept over her as she realised what she had done. Tiolani was unconscious or dead. The girl’s powers lacked the force and finesse of Hellorin’s magic and she had never created a safeguard, as her father had put in place, to give the Hunt that extra time to get safely home. Corisand, carelessly, had assumed that the spell would work as it always had. She had been wrong. Dead wrong.
Down. It was the only thought in the Windeye’s mind. I have to get down!