True were her suspicions, for when Andovar kicked his mount to action a moment later, it sped off swifter than any living horse could possibly run.
Chapter 7
Flight
THEY THUNDERED OUT of Corning’s eastern gate, a thousand grim-faced riders-nearly half the town’s garrison-with the ranger Belexus at their lead.
“They must keep the road clear if the fleeing people are to have any chance of getting across the river,” Meriwindle remarked to Mayor Tuloos as they watched the cavalry roll away.
“They will,” Tuloos growled. “We must believe in that.” He turned and led Meriwindle back across the town. They had their own business to attend.
Belexus spotted the lone rider, coming hard from the south, speeding like the wind, on a course to intercept his group. He gave over the lead position to the next in line and veered his mount away.
“Yer place is not here,” he said to the lone rider when she reined in beside him.
“But it is,” Rhiannon answered. “Those on the road know well enough the path o’ their flight; they’ll not be needing me.”
Belexus studied the young woman. She carried no weapon, and none would have rested comfortably in her soft hands. But there was something about Rhiannon, some growing power, that the ranger had a feeling might prove critical to the events of this day.
“How can ye help?” he asked.
“I’m no’ for knowing,”’ Rhiannon answered honestly. For all of the powers she had exhibited that day, the witch’s daughter understood them no better than the amazed witnesses. “But if ye fail in yer mission,” Rhiannon went on, “those fleeing’ll not make the river, whether I’m guidin’ them or not. Me place is here.”
Belexus’ first instinct was to send her back; he had promised his father he would watch out for the witch’s daughter. But looking at Rhiannon now, sitting so resolute and grim on her black and white horse, Belexus sensed that she did not need his protection. Indeed, it seemed that her presence would bolster his chances against the talon force.
“Come then, and be quick,” he said to her. She nudged her mount up beside his and bent low to whisper her magical encouragement into his horse’s ear. Then they were off, gaining on their comrades with each powerful stride.
A tear rimmed Mayor Tuloos’ eye as he looked back over his city, deserted except for the remaining garrison and the line of refugees, being guided from the west gate out through the east. But the stout mayor shook the moment of weakness away and turned back to his post on the western gate, reassuring each poor refugee in turn.
“The day will be won!” he told one man. “And fear not, the King of Calva will lend you aid to rebuild your home!” The man nodded and managed a weak smile.
They are all so tired, Tuloos noted. How can they possibly run all the way to the river? He patted the man on the back, hurrying him along.
“Another group!” the lookout called. “And talons at their backs.”
Tuloos rushed up to the parapets to stand beside Meriwindle. A few hundred yards down the road came a band of stragglers, mostly women and children, running for their lives. Behind them, and gaining quickly, charged a band of bloodthirsty talons, weapons clanging.
The few able men among the refugees turned to slow the monsters, brandishing pitchforks, wood axes, even clubs.
“They’ll not make it,” Meriwindle said with a grimace. Even as he spoke, the talons trampled down the meager resistance and bore down on the women and children.
“Mayor!” Meriwindle pleaded, grabbing the man by the collar.
No provisions had been made to split the garrison, and Tuloos had only thirteen hundred men remaining to guard his town. He could ill afford to lose any on the road outside the gates. But, like Meriwindle beside him, the kindly mayor could not ignore the terrified screams.
“Go to them!” he cried.
“To the road!” Meriwindle screamed, leaping down from his perch and rushing to his readied horse. He burst through the gate, sweeping up dozens of volunteers, most riding but others simply running. The noble elf did not look to see who was following; he cared not if he found himself facing the talons alone. In that moment of rage, all that mattered to Meriwindle was halting the talon charge.
But the elf was not alone-far from it-and the soldiers who rode with him were spurred by anger equally great, and they matched the frantic pace. As one they breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the refugees and put themselves between the helpless people and the talons.
One giant of a man, wielding a huge mallet and astride a monstrous horse, rushed past Meriwindle, slowing the lead talons by the mere spectacle of his appearance.
“Jolsen!” Meriwindle called after the smith, but there was no panic in the elf’s voice. Jolsen had lost his wife and all of his family except for the boy, Jolsen, in a talon raid a dozen years before. The huge man had moved to Corning shortly thereafter, and had promised that one day he would avenge those murders.
Though they understood that the main force of Thalasi’s army was far behind them, the talons had known only easy victories these last few days and came in with all confidence.
A single sweep of the huge smith’s mallet felled two of them, and Jolsen, his sinewy muscles bulging, reversed the stroke easily, back and forth, chopping and swatting.
Meriwindle used the confusion to his best advantage. “Charge on!” he cheered his riders, and the sheer weight of their mounted rush crushed through the first ranks of the enemy. Swords rang out above the screams, and many a soldier, talon and human, died in the first seconds of battle.
And an exhausted Jolsen, smiling in the knowledge that he had indeed avenged the deaths of his kin, went down under a flurry of talon blows. Even as the darkness of death closed over his eyes, the great smith managed one final swing, blasting yet another talon from life.
From the wall, Tuloos watched helplessly.
“There!” Rhiannon cried out.
Belexus followed her pointing finger to the north, but nothing was yet visible to the eyes of the ranger on the open plain. He trusted Rhiannon’s instincts, though, and he swerved the cavalry line to follow Rhiannon’s lead. Sure enough, only a minute later the talon cavalry came into view, swinging down around to the south for a straight rush at the road.
Belexus knew at once that he was outnumbered by at least five to one, but at that moment, with the memory of the pitiful line of desolate people making their way to the river so vivid in his mind, the odds didn’t seem to matter. The ranger understood his objective. He wouldn’t engage the talons fully; he couldn’t risk complete defeat. He would meet their lead riders from the side, turn them back to the east, and force them to parallel the road all the way to the river.
Where, Belexus could only hope, reinforcements from the eastern towns would be waiting.
Rhiannon, unarmed, broke off to the side and let the soldiers pass her by. She slowed her horse and tried to tune her senses in to the land around her, hoping that the earth would once again speak to her and give her the power to aid in the cause.
The forces came together in a brutal rush, the heavier horses gaining initial advantage over the smaller swamp lizards. Belexus drove hard into the talon ranks, every sweep of his mighty sword dropping a talon to the ground.
But the advantage was soon gone, for the sheer numbers of the enemy slowed the charge to a near standstill. “East!” Belexus cried, knowing that his brigade could not hope to survive a pitched battle, and he started them on their wild run, talons pacing right beside them and the battle moving on in full flight.
Rhiannon easily kept close to the thrashing throng, trailing the fighters by barely a hundred yards. The ranger’s plan seemed to be working, she noted hopefully. The talon line, intent on the ranger’s troops, followed the flow to the east. And in the continuing battle, where riders of both groups were more intent on merely staying in their saddles than inflicting blows on the enemy, few were slain. Belexus, so skilled with horse and sword, got his share of talons, though, and more than once Rhiannon grimaced as she watched a soldier go down, only to be swallowed up by a sea of the vile monsters.