Most of their works had fallen with them. Always the eladrin preferred temporary structures. The lodge at Crane Point was less a building than a stable for the horses, and an open field where enslaved Ffolk and Northlanders, bred for docility, would build and then dismantle the high pavilions while their masters drank and gathered and played music by the shore, admiring the flights of rainbow crane around the base of Corwell s Steeple, all that remained of the old citadel.
Hush, my lady. Don t cry. Don t be afraid. Your horse is wounded and cannot run. Climb up behind me.
I m not crying. Flower needs a rest, that s all.
In every battle there are strange pockets of quiet and nothingness. Valeanne and Amaranth had fallen into one of them by the small, black, lapping water of the lake. Above them played the dragonfire, and arcs of soundless lightning from the east. Shamasar had kept the drow at bay while Lady Amaranth dismounted. Staring with fright, lame and hurt from the drow arrows, the pony spread his front legs and refused to budge, while Amaranth held his cheek.
The pony lowered his head. Soon he would settle and lie down while the numbing poison did its work. There was a cold wind off the water, which Valeanne knew was not quite natural to the time or place, and carried with it the faint whiff of carrion. She knew the drow priestess she had killed was not the only one among these dark elves, and the wind would soon catch them in a black, cold net of fog. Already, smokelike clouds drifted above them as Valeanne brought her horse around.
Why did they hurt Flower? asked Amaranth, as if all this strength and fury had been unleashed to kill a single pony. Valeanne turned in the saddle to study the summit of the steeple at Crane Point, looking for the fire there it was, the signal. It gleamed through the black clouds that spread like a miasma over the water, a product of drow conjuring.
There s the hippogriff, rumbled one of the remaining dragonborn, a female. Madam, we must go.
But I won t leave Flower, protested Amaranth as Valeanne spurred close, stretching out her hand.
Lady, we spoke of this. This is not safe for you. Mistress Tiana has arranged a sanctuary on Snowdown at the court of Erliza Daressin, just for half a month, until this has blown over.
She was lying, and the child saw it in her face. Amaranth locked her arms around the pony s neck and would not budge. But then there was no more time for gentleness and persuasion, because the battle had claimed them once again. It swirled up from behind them, where the fey had overwhelmed the guards. A company of drow, armed with spears and shields, came up the slope, with worse creatures on their flank. Captain Shamasar was there, and he cantered back slowly, then turned his mount to face them once again a half-dozen enormous spiders, as big as horses. But from each of their bloated thoraxes protruded the body of a drow, her chest and arms and head, a grotesque spider-centaur. Two of them crouched low, and as Valeanne watched they launched themselves through the air, each fanning the air with two short fireblades.
Burning arrows struck around them. Madam insisted the nearer dragonborn. She walked her mount away from them, down toward the lakeshore.
But Amaranth wouldn t turn her head to look. I hate you. I won t go.
Shamasar cut one of the driders from the air. But the other was on top of him, and by the light of its burning sword Valeanne could see the stumps of the arrows that protruded from the captain s armor. Sighing, she raised her crossbow and shot Flower through the brain, six inches beyond the child s hands the beast was perishing in any case. With its last strength it reared away, breaking Amaranth s hold, while at the same time Valeanne reached and grabbed the girl by the arm, pulling her up across the horse s neck while she bit and fought. Valeanne dropped the crossbow and spurred forward with the two remaining guards. A second drider was down. But now the rest of the dark elves had reached Captain Shamasar and pulled him from his mount. Valeanne bent over her saddlebow. She clasped her hand over the child s mouth.
Some day you will understand, Valeanne murmured into her ear. I ll save your life if it kills me I gave my promise to your mother. You disgusting little pig-shit bastard daughter of a fool, are you still too young to see the difference between good and wrong?
Sometimes, though, the difference is unclear. Amaranth bit down on her finger, and even through the glove Valeanne could feel the little teeth. They were galloping along the lakeshore, the dragonborn up ahead. Valeanne watched the dragonborn raise her head and call out to the hippogriff in a word of flame that burst open the night, a gout of fire from her scaly jaws.
There was a stone platform at the steeple s top, a hundred feet above the lake. In times past there d been a temple there, an altar to the moon. That s where the hippogriffs waited to take them to Snowdown and safety that much was true. The plan had been so simple. Out of season, there was no one here.
Coming back had been the lie, as the girl must have understood. They d been betrayed. The plan had been to take a cup of mulled wine at the guardhouse then ride out to Crane Point to see the pair of wild griffons nesting in the steeple at the promontory s tip, a sight not seen here in a generation. In the evening the hippogriffs would come. But now they had to catch them on the run. If their plans were known, then there d be soldiers at Crane Point. Sure enough, a flare went up from the lakeshore a mile and a half ahead, illuminating the high stone ruin of the steeple, the broken arches and the gaping perch about halfway up, where the hippogriffs wild cousins had made their giant nest. Above them at the platform of the moon, the winged mounts took to the air, trying to escape the sudden light and the bombardment that would follow it, a missile of green fire and a crack of thunder too late. One of the noble beasts erupted into flame, its feathered wings alight, and Valeanne could hear it screaming as it fell into the lake, obscured at the final instant in a cloud of steam.
The dragonborn repeated her signal then galloped on ahead. She would fight her way onto the promontory, a last, futile ride. Valeanne pulled up sharply by the water s edge. The second one loomed over her. Madam, he said, We can do nothing more. I can buy you five minutes, not more than that. He raised one claw to the ridge between his eyes, then drew his sword and rode back slowly the way they d come.
Thank you, murmured Valeanne. It didn t matter now. The flare had faded over the lake, and she sat waiting on her horse, the child blessedly still.
My lady, said Valeanne, as a second flare rose over the lake. I m sorry. I have failed you.
But as she watched, two enormous shadows rose from the nest on their high perch. Angered, perhaps, by the attack on their smaller, domesticated cousin, or else furious at what they might interpret as a threat to their own offspring, too weak yet to fly, they took to the air. Evading the new bombardment, they wheeled once around the steeple and then dived, stooping above Crane Point, each of their outstretched talons the length of a man.
I m glad I could see that, said Valeanne. She let the girl down to the sand and then dismounted stiffly. She d spent a long day in the saddle. The girl was docile now, looking up in wonder as the darkness closed in again, her eyes full of tears, her red hair wild. On her neck, above her collarbone, Valeanne could see the rose tattoo.
As the second hippogriff came in and landed on the sand, the girl smiled and clapped her hands. Valeanne tried to soothe her mare as it shied away, patting her once on the rump and letting her go. Then she reached up to touch her shoulder, where a drow arrow had grazed her, deflected by her leather armor. It had scarcely broken the skin. But it was enough. Her arm felt stiff and cold.