The party collectively stopped, Mialee far ahead, Devis behind, and the others watching them, the tall man, and the wolves. The wolves howled mournfully and whimpered.
"Favrid," Mialee said breathlessly. "I'm here. We're coming to help."
"My child, I'm injured," the voice intoned paternally, but with a hint of urgency.
Mialee again broke into a run toward the figure, stumbled, recovered. "He needs help!" Mialee yelled over her shoulder.
Devis and the others dashed to follow.
"Mialee, I don't think-" Devis shouted, but broke off to bat at a snapping snout near his heel. A knot gripped his belly. Something about this smelled bad, and it wasn't just zombie wolves and crocodile guts.
14
Mialee could not believe her good luck. Her heart leaped in her chest. The last few days had lasted for decades. Now, after all her searching, the miles and miles of terrified running, she was about to reunite with her old teacher and find sanctuary. The old man would have little trouble dealing with the monsters yapping at their heels. Devis may not have been able to see the old elf clearly at a distance, but Mialee could make out every line and garish color as soon as the blue flash of teleportation had subsided around the distant figure.
She heard a caw above and wondered why Darji wasn't on Favrid's shoulder already. The bird would certainly confirm what Mialee already felt in her heart. Her old teacher, whom she now realized she had missed terribly, was alive, and hurt.
The wizard heard the snarling wolves and the pounding of booted feet as her enemies and allies alike tried to keep up. The trail ahead broke into a clearing where Favrid stood, with a wall of thick trees beyond. Gentle sounds slid through her mind like the memory of a dream.
"Mialee," the warm, familiar voice drifted to her ears, "hurry, Mialee."
The voice pulled her insistently away from her companions. The elf woman ignored the pain in her legs and increased her lead ahead of Diir, Devis, Zalyn, and Hound-Eye.
She was so close. Favrid still faced away from Mialee, but she would have recognized the garish robes and aged hunch anywhere. Long, white strands of thinning hair flowed down the old elf's back. Favrid had lost the hair on top of his head at the tender age of 80, but insisted on trimming the wispy locks that remained only under extreme duress.
The silver, pointed helm was unfamiliar to her and looked somewhat out of place, but she could only imagine the dangers Favrid had faced since he'd sent Darji to find her. The helm looked well used and bore many dents and nicks, no doubt souvenirs of Favrid's miraculous escape.
Darji. Where was she?
She knows I am here, a gentle voice whispered in Mialee's skull.
Of course. The little bird must already feel Favrid. Even now the raven must be communicating with him from some lofty vantage point overhead. The old wizard had not yet turned to face her because he was concentrating on the contact. It had to be Favrid. The powerful wizard would protect them and destroy the foul predators that threatened to devour her. As she drew close to her former master, her heart swelled with certainty and warmth. She reached an open hand out and placed it on Favrid's shoulder.
Beneath Mialee's fingertips, Favrid's robes disintegrated, becoming torn, ragged purple tatters. Patches of leathery gray skin showed through the tattered clothing. Sliver-white strands of soft, elven hair twisted into coiled black wire. Mialee felt pain and put a finger to her temple. Her friends pounded down the road behind, suddenly screaming. Devis shouted something she didn't understand. Favrid's head and shoulders swiveled as the old man turned to face the elf woman at last.
Red, pinpoint eyes flashed in black sockets. The wight's hand shot out and grasped Mialee around the throat. His grinning, toothy rictus leaked black blood as the creature hissed fetid air into Mialee's face.
"Mialee," the creature rasped as its lips twisted into a leer, and the wizard girl saw a black tongue that looked like a slug roll sickeningly in the wight's mouth. The creature's bony skull cocked to the right. It raised one wrinkled eyebrow as it added with false pathos, "Hurry."
This, Mialee thought with sudden clarity, was not Favrid. The gnarled fist around her neck squeezed tighter. Mialee felt her toes leave the ground as the wight lifted her to look her in the eye.
Mialee couldn't breathe and her head was filling with fog. The smell of the thing was overwhelming. Had she not been wearing the athel wood collar, she would have been dead already, and even the resilient wood could not protect her for long. Her arms flailed at her waist for a knife or a wand, Zalyn's trail rations, anything she could use as a weapon against the wight. Her hands, numb and tingling, could not grasp anything.
"Drop the girl and back away!" a welcome voice boomed theatrically behind Mialee.
She was in no position to see, but she heard two crossbows lock as the bard and Zalyn slid bolts into place. She heard Diir's short sword clear its scabbard and Hound-Eye's arrow slip from its quiver into the short bow.
Mialee's vision was turning red, and a sound like ocean surf became a dull roar in her ears. From the corner of her eye, she saw lupine shadows circling them like sharks. How polite of them, she mused deliriously.
The wight holding Mialee snapped his head back and cackled into the sky. "I don't think so," the wight hissed.
"All right," Devis's voice echoed distantly, bravely, she thought deliriously, "but we asked nicely."
The twang of bowstrings pierced the ocean roar in Mialee's ears. She forced her sleepy eyes to open and saw that her attacker now boasted an arrow in its chest and a crossbow bolt in either shoulder. The monster didn't flinch, but plucked the arrow from its chest while keeping Mialee in the air with the other hand. She kicked weakly at the creature, which held up the arrow and examined it.
"Halflings," the creature snarled at the arrow in its claws. "Tasty, tasty halflings."
The wight dropped the arrow and opened its jaws to the sky. It snarled, barked, and howled like a mad wolf, and the circling predators yelped in reply.
The last voice Mialee heard was Devis's.
"Does anyone have another plan?" the half-elf asked.
Then she was flying through the air, something hard struck her skull, icy pain sliced her neck, and she died.
15
Devis, his lute forgotten and his crossbow on the trail behind, swung his sword blade madly into the snarling wolves. The wolves kept him from reaching her, and now the thing had her by the throat. Devis furiously hacked at ruined muzzles and torn hides, fighting his way through the pack with a fury he hadn't known dwelled inside him. He drove his sword through a hairy skull, heard a whimper, and charged to the helpless elf woman's aid.
He was still several agonizing feet away when the wight tossed Mialee aside with a casual flick of its bony hand. Devis froze. He had been so close.
The elf woman smashed headfirst against the base of a huge, old tree and Devis heard the sickening snap of vertebrae. She did not move and didn't seem to be breathing. Her limbs splayed awkwardly, her head twisted at an angle that no living person could accommodate without excruciating pain. Glassy eyes stared into the trees above, unblinking, unmoving.
Mialee was dead.
Blind fury surged through Devis's body.
Mialee was dead.
He screamed and charged the wight. Only rage guided his sword. He would cut this monster into a thousand pieces, burn the body, and drop the foul ashes into the dead crater of Morsilath itself. The silver blade sliced the air.
Mialee was dead.
A black staff appeared from nowhere in the wight's hands. The bard's sword hit the ebony wood and bounced back. Devis bellowed and maneuvered to strike again. The wight twirled the staff in both hands like a fighting monk.