the undead, and besides, Jet respected his ferocity.
Still, even wounded, the king griffon was so formidable that if Jet didn’t simply strive for the kill, he could still lose the fight and his own life with it. He tried to think of a tactic that would serve his need and resisted the temptation to consult with Aoth. His master was watching the combat unfold through his eyes and would surely help in any way he could. But Jet had resolved that he’d fight this fight alone.
At first, no idea came to him, and as the telthor circled to attack, he resigned himself to ending the stubborn creature’s life. Then, however, a notion popped into his head.
He flew at the oncoming gold, then abruptly lashed his left wing less vigorously than the right, as though the wounds on his back were hindering him. The uneven beats turned his progress into an awkward wobble.
Eager to take advantage of his seeming distress, the gold drove at him even faster. At the last possible instant, Jet swooped beneath his foe’s gaping beak and outstretched talons with what he hoped sounded like a rasp of tortured effort.
He kept right on swooping too, as if he no longer cared about anything but fleeing. The telthor wheeled and plunged after him.
The color of the sky danced from azure to iris and back again. The prickling in the air turned to fiery stinging where it jabbed into Jet’s open wounds. But he didn’t care because, behind him, the gold shrieked in agony when, forgetful of everything but the desire to pursue his adversary, he plunged into Yhelbruna’s zone of forbiddance.
Jet wheeled. The king griffon was doing the same, but more slowly. Bigger than his foe, he had more momentum to contend with, and the ongoing torment inflicted by Yhelbruna’s magic made him flounder.
But he’d still get clear in a few breaths unless Jet prevented it. Lashing his wings as fast as ever in his life, he gained just enough altitude to plunge onto the gold’s back. There, he bit down hard enough to penetrate the feathers on his foe’s neck and draw blood from the hide beneath.
The gold’s wings buffeted Jet’s flanks, and the rest of his body thrashed and flailed. But with hathran magic assailing him, he couldn’t dislodge his adversary.
Jet bit down harder, and then he could taste blood as well as smell it. I’ll take your head if you force me to, he thought. I’m done playing with you.
The gold gave a different cry than before, this one mournful and resigned. It was surrender, but Jet watched him anyway as he let go and sprang away to make it easier for both of them to fly. Normal griffons didn’t lie, but he couldn’t be sure about a telthor.
But evidently neither the Earthmother, the Forest Queen, nor the Moonmaiden had gifted the gold with that particular human propensity because he labored clear of the punishing magic and then swooped earthward as he was supposed to. All the common griffons descended too, to submit to their new chieftain.
Licking blood from the edges of his beak, Jet wondered how he was going to convey the relatively complex commands he’d have to give them in the battle to come. He assured himself he’d manage somehow. For the first time in a while, he felt certain of his ability to accomplish anything he set his mind to.
8
The wild griffons were the first to spot Aoth and Jet winging in from the south. Still seemingly exhilarated by their liberation from the hathrans’ cage, they screeched, swooped, wheeled, and flew along beside them. Aoth wondered if it perplexed them that their new leader carried a human on his back.
Their commotion alerted the folk down on the ground, where the
With a final snap of his wings, Jet set down. As Aoth swung himself off the familiar’s back, Vandar asked, “What did you find out?”
“Quite a bit,” Aoth replied. “The Urlingwood may be the crux of everything, but scouting it from the sky was the simplest chore I’ve done since coming to Rashemen. The enemy wasn’t watching for anyone to come spying from on high.”
“They likely don’t see much reason for vigilance,” Cera said. “As far as they know, Aoth Fezim never returned from the North Country, and they’ve either lured all the hathrans and warriors in Immilmar and Urling away to the south, turned them, killed them, or simply fooled them into believing everything’s all right.”
Aoth smiled. “Good appraisal. We’ll make a sellsword of you yet.” He realized his throat was dry and unclipped the water bottle from his belt. “Mind you, some spy in the capital could have noticed the
“We can if you’ve discovered the information we need,” Yhelbruna said. As usual, her voice was as cold as the wind whistling out of the north, but Aoth had to give her credit. As he understood it, she’d singlehandedly killed the pair of assassins Bez sent after her and didn’t care that, to cope with the present crisis, Old Ones had left their caves without permission and all manner of males were about to invade the sacred forest. Evidently there was more behind her leather mask than condescension.
“I have,” he answered, then took a swig of icy iron water. “We’ll find the bulk of the enemy, including all the ones who really matter, in or near the stand of very old weir trees just west of the center of the wood.”
She nodded. “That comes as no surprise.”
“Well, this last bit of intelligence might, and unfortunately, it’s not good news. In toward the weirs, the forest gets darker, enough so that Jet and I saw vampires and wraiths slinking around in the gloom. We’ll have to contend with them even though we’re going in by day.”
“I brought Amaunator’s light into the deathways,” Cera said. “If need be, I can carry it back into the Urlingwood too.” She smiled at Yhelbruna. “Although I’d welcome help from any hathrans or Old Ones who offer devotions to the Yellow Sun.”
“You’ll have it,” Yhelbruna said. “But Captain Fezim is correct. It is by no means ‘good news’ that the Shadowfell is already overlapping the heart of the forest in such an overt way. It indicates the balance of forces has tilted even farther than I expected.”
Vandar started to raise his hand as though to squeeze Yhelbruna’s shoulder but then appeared to remember that such familiarity, however kindly intended, might be deemed disrespectful. He contented himself with saying, “We’ll go in at first light, and by the end of the day, the durthans, skeleton snakes, patchwork men, and whatever will all be gone. Then you’ll heal the forest, and that will be that.”
“I hope so,” she replied, and Aoth thought he detected a hint of gratitude in her tone. But her voice reverted to ice when she turned her head to speak to the circle at large. “There’s one more thing I need to say. This is a battle for the soul of Rashemen, and we won’t risk annihilating it ourselves in the course of striving to save it. No matter how dire the need may seem, no one will fight using fire magic. Is that understood?”
“I assume that order is directed to me most of all,” Jhesrhi said. “Don’t worry. I know other spells.”
A wisp of steam rose from the puddle of melted snow around her boots.
People sometimes claimed that any man who dared enter the Urlingwood would instantly fall over dead. Vandar had never credited that tale and certainly didn’t now that he and his companions had Yhelbruna’s blessing to purge the forest of evil. Still, he felt a twinge of anxiety as he stalked into the trees and wondered how many of the Old Ones, and of the berserkers he, Yhelbruna, Cera, and Jhesrhi had managed to assemble on the sly, were similarly uneasy.
At any rate, once they were all inside, that tiny worry fell away, leaving him free to fret over more legitimate concerns. At the moment, Aoth was flying above the treetops. So was Bez, not that any Rashemi would take orders from him, regardless. That left Vandar to command the warriors on the ground.
He wondered if he was he up to the task, whether he would lead them all to their deaths as he had his lodge brothers.
