The silvery vision-ghosts moved among the dead and dying without fear of the feeding coldwarg. Allies, then, and too heavily cowled for Kellen to be sure of what they might be. Perhaps even men.
The vision faded, and Kellen blinked, seeing only the battlefield once more.
“What did you see?” Shalkan asked quietly.
“The battle,” Kellen said simply. “Calmeren was right. Those bat-things— Deathwings—carried the children off… somewhere.”
“But where?” Jermayan’s voice was tight with frustration.
“I don’t know,” Kellen said, feeling a moment of utter despair. To come so far, and to fall just short of success…
“I can find them,” Vestakia said.
She’d come up behind him while Kellen was watching the past unfold. She’d pushed the hood of her cloak back, and Kellen could see that her face was set with a mixture of horror and determination. If her skin hadn’t been the color of ripe cherries, Kellen would have bet she would have been pale. As it was, she looked as if she might be sick at any moment, and not just from the ugliness of the sight before her. Shalkan said the killing ground reeked of Taint as much as the stench Kellen’s physical senses could perceive, and Vestakia’s gift and curse was that she was peculiarly able to perceive Demonic Taint. And more than any other creature of the Light, she found it debilitating, sickening, perhaps even painful. Kellen didn’t know for certain; she had never elaborated, and he could only guess.
Shalkan took a step sideways to press his shoulder against her hip.
“They were taken by Demons—or for Demons,” Vestakia said in a small, determined voice. “They were taken by things like
Jermayan regarded Vestakia with warm approval.
By now the others had gathered around as well.
“There’s something more you need to know,” Kellen said. “When I saw the battle”—he shrugged, not sure how else to say it—“there were others, helping the coldwarg and the Deathwings. Not giants, and not Endarkened. Figures in cloaks, man-sized. I don’t think I could have seen them clearly even if I’d been there in the flesh. But that means we have another enemy to worry about.”
“Not Elves!” Trotaliath exclaimed. “Elves would never betray their own to the Enemy!”
“Men. Yet it would be desirable to know how Men could come so far into our lands without our knowing,” Debarniekel said, eyeing Kellen with disfavor.
“As well wonder how came the frost-giants, or the ice-trolls, or any of our misfortunes,” Jermayan said grimly. “And we do not know yet that they were Men, Debarniekel.”
“I guess we’ll find out when we catch them,” Kellen said. He knew from what Vestakia had told him that Demons could change their shape, and appear in almost any form, but he couldn’t imagine why they’d bother to disguise themselves to come here. They couldn’t have expected to be seen, after all.
And hadn’t the whole point been to have the caravan disappear without a trace? A few more sennights— another big blizzard or two—and there wouldn’t have been any traces at all left for them to find. Only the charred remains of the wagons, if that. The Deathwing would have been completely rotted away.
“Come on,” he said, turning and walking back toward the waiting mounts. “Vestakia, what do you need us to do?”
It felt odd to be taking charge and giving orders like this—especially since he was pretty sure he was the youngest one here, Vestakia included—but Idalia had been right. This was his rescue party. He was the leader, and even while it felt odd, it felt right.
The wind rose while they walked, and the air cleared. All of them breathed easier.
Vestakia had obviously been thinking as they moved.
“I think we need to get away from here, to where I can’t feel that… thing. Kellen, you said you ‘saw’ the battle. Which way did the creatures fly?”
Kellen thought for a moment, then pointed into the sky. “But you know that doesn’t mean anything,” he added conscientiously. “Once they were in the air, they might have circled around, gone in any direction.”
