Where did he get all that power? Falconsbane should have been wounded, should have been at less power than he'd had before, not more.
Unless he was already tapping into the proto-Gate?
Or unless he had ruthlessly sacrificed many of his underlings, building a network of death-energies stronger than anything they had. Or unless he'd found an ally somewhere... ?
Darkwind couldn't shield all of them; the group was just too big. He reinforced where the shield had burned away, and this time she aided him, weaving light and snow-glare into a dazzle, trying to recreate the kind of shielding they had learned to make in the safety of the Vale.
But Falconsbane was keeping them both off-balance, destroying the rhythm of their dance of power with sheer, brute force. He controlled the situation now; it was his land they walked on, and the land held energy away from them. She whimpered in sudden pain as a lick of flame burned through and across her hand, the hand that held Darkwind'sbut she would not let go, not even if she died in the next moment.
Instead, she kneed Gwena closer to Brytha, until their legs were halfcrushed between the two mounts to make the physical gap between them smaller. She closed her eyes and sheltered against Darkwind's back, sweat of fear and exertion running down her back under her coat, feeling him tremble with strain.
Falconsbane did not let up, not even for a heartbeat. Blow after blow rained down on them, driving all sense from her, until the last of the shields eroded, and they clung together, waiting for the strike that would take them both.
Together, at least-she thought faintly.
The blow never came; they opened their eyes, fearing something worse.
Then a scream from above made them jump, and look up.
Like two golden streaks of light, the two gryphons plummeted down from above. They crashed through the thin lace of branches, ending their dive barely above the ground, and pulling up with wingbeats that sent the snow spraying in all directions. Both screamed again, an unmistakable note of taunting in their voices, as they plunged upward through the tree canopy.
"Run!" Darkwind found his voice. "Run! They've made targets out of themselves. If we give him too many to choose from, we may all get away!" Brytha broke from his paralysis and hurled himself down their backtrail.
Gwena followed a moment later, but not directly behind, making herself and Elspeth into yet another target to track on. Above the interlace of bare branches, Hydona and Treyvan had separated as well, skydancing as if they were courting-but far enough apart that Falconsbane would have to make a choice of victims.
Four targets...When the two young fools rode along the edge of his territory, at first Falconsbane could not believe the testimony of his own senses. It must be an illusion, he thought at first. It is meant to distract me. But the closer the pair came, the clearer they were, despite the best attempts of whatever it was-that was trying to cloud his scrying. Between midnight and dawn, he knew that the pair were something more than they seemed.
By false dawn he knew that one of them was the young Outland woman he had wanted so badly to take for his own. By true dawn, he knew that the other was the fool called Darkwind, and that the girl still carried her artifact.
By then, he could not withstand the temptation to attack any longer.
He had not lived this long by neglecting an opportunity when it was given to him. And he would not botch this chance by holding back, or making testing feints.
He gathered all of his power together, prepared his weaponry, and attacked.
Darkwind would die; then the girl and the sword would be his.
There was no point in being prudent or cautious now! Not with this prize in his grasp! He rained blow after blow upon them, heedless of the expenditure of power, heedless of anything about him. Elation held him like a powerful drug, making him laugh aloud with every shred of shielding burned away, giving him an elation he had not felt in decades. He held his arms high and power crackled between his hands, power from his network made of the death-energies of his mages. He was draining that network, but it did not matter, for in moments he would have her, and the Bird-Fool's power as well, and there would be nothing standing in the way of his revenge and his glory.
And then, just before he was to strike the blow that would take them both- Gryphons!
The sight of them in his scrying bowl struck like a physical blow, driving the breath from him.
They dove down out of nowhere, interposing themselves between him and his quarry; taunting him, flaunting themselves at him, flying as if they thought agility alone would protect them.
Gryphons!
He snarled with overwhelming rage. How dared they step between him and his prey?
Anger and hatred filled him, granted him a strength far beyond anything he normally possessed. They thought to confuse him, did they?
They thought he could only strike one of them at a time.
They would learn differently-in the few heartbeats it took for all of them to die!
He gathered his powers-readied the blast to destroy that entire section of his borderlands Nyara took three deep breaths; focused herself.
There is no future. There is no past. There is only now, and the target.
There is no fear. There is only balance. There is only myself and the task.
She slipped through the false wall in the back of the wardrobe and slid soundlessly into the room. Her eyes focused quickly as she swept them from left to right, once, to orient herself.
There. The target. Yes!
She took two steps, raising Need high over her head to give additional momentum to her swing-And brought the mage-blade down squarely on the huge crystal-cluster that Mornelithe Falconsbane had invested and anchored with all of his power-a crystal that cried out to her of death and pain, and even now was glowing with internal fires of red and angry yellow as he drew upon itdrew upon it to destroy her friends.
NO!
Sword crashed down upon crystal-and crystal exploded.
Falconsbane brought his hands up, rage a hot taste of blood in his throat.
Then-What-A fractional instant of something wrong; no more than that. an instant of disorientationsearing pain-pain, engulfing every nerve, every fiberout of the pain, the void, rushing upon him like the open mouth of a giant to devour himand then, oblivion.
Elspeth picked herself up out of the huge drift of snow she had landed in, slowly. One moment they had been running for their lives, and the next-Gwena!
She scrambled to her feet, flailing in the deep snow, trying to get herself turned around.
"It's-all right. I'm fine. Mostly." Elspeth stopped trying to flail her way out of the snow and relaxed.
Thank the gods. Oh, thank the gods. Although Gwena's mind-voice sounded-odd. As if: I feel as if I have a hangover," the Companion replied. "I-think I may be sick." The overtones of nausea that came with the thoughts almost pushed Elspeth into sickness herself.
She got herself back to her feet and turned around, her head pounding, her stomach heaving along with Gwena's. The Companion was on her knees in another snowdrift, sides heaving as her breath hissed between clenched teeth.