The captains grumbled under their breath, but none dared to openly oppose the Black Warlock.
“Regroup the troops!” Thalasi snapped at them. “Send swift riders to halt those in the front until the rest of the force can catch up to them.
“And spur the back ranks on more quickly. The humans are taking flight now; we must beat them to Corning.”
“Walking soldiers tired,” one of the swamp talon commanders complained. “Cannot run as swift as lizards.”
“Then encourage them,” Thalasi sneered. The big talon didn’t understand. “Whip them! Drive them on! I assure you that the fate they face”-he clenched a fist in the air suddenly, and the complaining talon leader rose off the ground as though a powerful invisible hand had grabbed its throat-“the fate you face will be infinitely more painful than the lash of a whip.”
Thalasi had made his point.
The army regrouped in full just beyond the limits of the empty fifth village, the spot Thalasi had originally planned as their second encampment. But the Black Warlock had to make up for lost time now, and he would hear nothing of rest. Now riding his litter at the head of the army, he drove his forces through the night, overtaking many of the fleeing refugees. Still more of the retreating folk had made it to the sixth village in line, but those who stopped there for but short rest were caught and slaughtered. Like the five villages west of it, the sixth village was literally flattened.
The talons would find little rest until the western fields were secured. Risking the use of minor spells, Thalasi sent magical messages to his northern cavalry and southern mountain brigade, urging them on to greater speeds. The timetables had been turned up now. Thalasi wanted Corning in three days.
Belexus, Andovar, and Rhiannon tarried at Rivertown and the Four Bridges longer than they had planned, but it was a vacation, after all, and the trio refused to be rushed, however slow their progress thus far had been. They finally set out toward Corning on the morning after the sixth Calvan village, unknown to them, had been sacked. They trotted their rested steeds easily down the western road, in no hurry, and saw their destination just after dawn two days later.
A column of black smoke rose in the west, and the large town, second only to Pallendara in the whole of Aielle, seemed all a-bustle. Guards nervously stalked the high wall that surrounded the town, always pointing back to the west, while inside rose cries of distress and calls of alarm.
Recognizing the uncharacteristic tumult-though none of them had actually seen Corning before-the three northerners galloped down the last expanse of field and up to the city’s eastern gate.
“Halt and be known!” a guard demanded, and a dozen bows pointed down from the high wall at the trio.
“I am Belexus of Avalon,” the ranger called out. “Come to see yer fair city on holiday. But me eyes be tellin’ me that I might find no leisure here this day.”
The guard turned away to confer with another, apparently not recognizing the name. The second had a better understanding of the world beyond Corning and the western fields.
“Avalon?” he called down to Belexus. “Rangers?”
“Ayuh,” Andovar replied. “That we be. And methinks ye might be using our help.”
“If you are as fine with your blades as your reputation speaks,” the second guard said, “then indeed we might.” The gates swung open and the three were led in.
The sights within Corning were far from what they had anticipated when they began their journey from Avalon. Peace had reigned in this town for fifty or more years, and even way back then, the only battles had been hit-and-run attacks by groups of rogue talons. With the growth of population since the rightful king had regained the throne, and the founding of many more outlying communities to the north and the west, Corning had become too sheltered for rogue bands of talons to even attempt an attack.
Now, though, it appeared that the peace was no more. Lines of pitiful refugees streamed in through the western gate carrying no more possessions than the clothes on their backs. And beyond that gate, out on the western plain, pillars of black smoke belched into the blue sky, and cries of terror cut above the general rumbling of wagons and horses.
Belexus and Andovar rushed across to the western gate, while Rhiannon dropped from her mount to aid a child running about frantically in search of his mother.
“Talons.” Andovar spoke the obvious.
“It is indeed,” came a reply from the side. The rangers turned to see a plump man, very official-looking, rushing toward them, an elf at his side.
“Our greetings, rangers,” the plump man said. “You have arrived not a moment too soon! I am Tuloos, Mayor of Corning, and this is-”
“Meriwindle,” Belexus said.
“Well met, son of Bellerian,” replied the elf. “And to you, Andovar.”
“And to yerself,” said Andovar. “Hoping, we were, to be finding the likes o’ yerself on our holiday in yer town.”
Meriwindle cast an ominous glance down the western road. “Not such a holiday by what my eyes are telling me.”
“Many talons?” asked Andovar.
“A great force!” answered the mayor. “Perhaps as many as four thousand by the estimate of those fleeing Doogenville.”
Belexus and Andovar exchanged looks of concern. Talons had never been known to organize into such large bands against the civilized lands, other than the one time Thalasi had led them in the Battle of the Four Bridges.
“But they’ve had their fun,” Tuloos went on, tucking his thumbs under his belt. “They will find a garrison awaiting them at Caer Minerva, and beyond that, though I hardly believe it to be necessary, we will muster the gathered strength of all the western fields right here within Corning’s high wall.”
“And now we have two rangers to help us organize the defense,” Meriwindle added. “Glad I am to have the likes of Belexus and Andovar standing beside me in defense of my home.”
“Yer words are kind,” said Belexus. “But me hopes are that we’ll need not be raising those blades.”
“We should out for Caer Minerva,” Andovar suggested, looking forlornly down to the west at the continuing stream of pitiful refugees.
Rhiannon caught up to them then, walking through the huddled and confused crowd.
“By me eyes,” she declared. “Ne’er have I seen such sufferin’.”
“And ye’ll find more when we see the wounded,” Belexus assured her. He turned to Meriwindle and the mayor, their eyes wide at the sight of Rhiannon, to introduce the young woman. But before he could even begin, Rhiannon stepped out of and to the side of the western gate. Belexus shrugged an apology and led the others out after her.
Rhiannon moved to the empty grass beyond the confusion of the road. She paused for a long moment, looking to the west, then fell to the ground, putting her ear to the grass.
“We have no time-” the mayor began.
Belexus cut him off, believing that Rhiannon’s actions, however confusing they might appear, were somehow important.
“But talons approach!” the mayor demanded, and he turned back to the gates. “Four thousand, perhaps.”
“More than that,” Rhiannon assured him, lifting her head from the grass.
“What?” barked Tuloos. “How could you know?” Rhiannon shrugged, not really understanding the answer. Something had compelled her to this spot, as though the ground itself had called out to her. And when she put her ear close to hear its words, it had told her the truth of the size of the approaching army.
“You could not know, of course,” the mayor went on. “Come, Meriwindle,” he said, a bit perturbed. “We have many preparations-”
“Five times that number,” Rhiannon said, more to Belexus and Andovar than to the mayor. “And from a long wood beyond the mountains, more’re coming to join the force.”
“That would be Windy Willows,” Meriwindle put in, amazed and not yet knowing whether to believe the young woman or not. He turned to Belexus. “But how could she-”
“She could not!” the mayor insisted.