Flight of Vengeance (Witch World: The Turning) Read online

  All along the walls from floor to high ceiling were shelves, row upon row of them, filled with books and scrolls, some brightly bound in relatively new leather, others showing the ravages of the years.

  The man shook his head in dismay. This was only one room, and it was intended more for human use than for storage. How much material, how much knowledge, was actually in Lormt's keeping? Seeing this, he could well understand Ouen's statement that his people had not even catalogued all they possessed, especially of the records uncovered in the aftermath of the Turning. The work of preservation alone must occupy a huge percentage of all the scholars’ time, those who were able to make a significant contribution to the community's efforts. Not everyone here could do that. Age had incapacitated the minds and energies of a number of the very old to a greater or lesser extent. Though they were shown kindness and respect and most were given light tasks to help maintain their own feeling of worth, they would in actuality be of very little service to their fellows.

  Because this was a public hall and one that saw reasonably frequent use, it was free of dust and of the other tokens of time and neglect so frequently encountered in other parts of the complex.

  The healer had already placed a number of volumes on the table beside which she was standing when he arrived. Paper and writing materials had also been supplied for his use should he have need of them.

  Her hands swept over the table. “Apart from those scrolls I gave you yesterday, which are recently made copies, the works you will be studying from now on must remain here. Some of these books are so old and fragile that we dare not remove them, not even ourselves.”

  “That is understood.”

  “This is all actual Falconer material. We have little else like it, and when you have exhausted it, you will have to go back to seeking through other works for the occasional pieces of information they might contain.” She studied him closely. “You are not alone in requiring access to some of this. Once the Lady Una is enough recovered that she no longer requires constant care, Pyra will need to use it as well. We want no trouble because of that.”

  “There will be none,” the mercenary answered stiffly.

  He started to turn away from her, but curiosity pricked him, and he continued to face her. “What is her interest,” he asked, “and how is it that you have charge of Falconer records? I should have thought that the history of a warlike race would come more naturally into Duratan's province or that of some other like him.”

  Aden smiled. “The scribe of your people who wrote and left us the bulk of what you have here was a healer. I found the trove years ago and have studied it extensively. I have also sought for more like it, unfortunately without success, because it contains much heal-lore that we had not known before.”

  Her eyes were grave as they raised to his. “What I learned from that long-vanished man enabled me to restart my brother's lungs when I saved him out of a trap of the Dark this last spring, and I knew how to retire his heart as well had that been necessary.”

  Seeing his quick interest, she described for him the rescue and the means by which she had given Jerro back his life.

  Tarlach was silent for several seconds. “It is to our shame,” he said at the end of that time, “but we have forgotten this ourselves. Before I begin on my own work, would you instruct me in how to do it? Every year, perhaps nigh unto every month, lives would be snatched from the Grim Commandant's grasp if we again possessed this skill.”

  She looked at him, amazed by his ready deference to her knowledge. Even here among her own people where her skills were well known and appreciated, she did not always receive it to this degree and could not expect to do so until many more years had added the weight of time's authority to that part of her calling. Her role as a scholar, of course, would never receive much real respect beyond Lormt's walls.

  “I will teach you, and gladly, Bird Warrior, but let us wait until I summon Jerro to serve as our supposed patient. The process is hard on the ribs, and I cherish my old associates too much to inflict that abuse on their fragile bones.”

  Time passed slowly but not unpleasantly in Lormt. Once Una's recovery began, it progressed steadily and even rapidly considering the severity of her injuries, but it was a weary long while before she was able to rise from her bed and longer still before she could venture at last beyond the thick walls of the repository.

  Winter was well established by then, but its touch was as yet light, and even the older, frailer inhabitants were rarely confined to their sleeping and work rooms by reason of the weather.

  As soon as he received confirmation from the healers that the Daleswoman could ride, Tarlach suggested to her that they explore the countryside around. They would have little opportunity for that once the winter closed in for a fact, and in truth, they both needed a break from dim halls and dusty books.

  They needed a break from disappointment as well. Their hosts had been all too accurate in stating that Lormt contained little on his race, and the greater part of that as yet discovered concerned the healing arts. Their time had been well spent in the study of that, for there were other techniques and potion formulations his kind had forgotten over the years and Una's had never known besides that for the restarting of lungs and heart, although none were as potentially significant, and these both made sure they recorded in mind and on paper.

  The Daleswoman had worked closely with him from the first, from her bed and later in the hall beside him, and had proven very apt at ferreting out odd pieces of information from seemingly unlikely nests, but still they had uncovered very little and only a small part of that of any use to his purpose. Apparently, he thought time and time again with ever-growing despondency, the tale that a great deal of old material recorded before and during their bondage to Jonkara had been deposited in the then-young storehouse of knowledge was no more than that.

  He had believed it, for his race had held to the truth of their past very closely, not yielding to the impulse to make legend of it to any extent. They had always been historians, had always recorded the events and beliefs important to them, even those they had been forced to reject and now rejected by choice. However, some of what they had carried north with them had been judged too dangerous to the life their forebears had deemed it necessary to adopt, too likely to awaken the hunger for the older, warmer way, and so the decision was made to abandon it here, in the place dedicated to the preservation of knowledge, particularly of the war between the Light and the Dark just then ebbing, rather than merely to destroy it, a deed repugnant to a people who had both loved truth and were more than passing proud of what they had been despite the disaster which had stricken them.

  Una had readily agreed to the proposed excursion, and so they had ridden forth early the following morning. There was a sharp bite to the air, but it was bracing, rather than unpleasant for those who were well dressed and active, and their hearts soared in response to its freshness, as did those of bird and cat, who were delighted anyway in this change in what was to them a very dull and confined routine.

  The Captain watched his companion, his expression tender and full of happiness. She looked herself at last, he thought, with her own true color back in her face and her eyes alive with their old, bright light, and he’ knew that she was truly well again even as Aden and Pyra had told him.

  He smiled to himself. It was not only their words· but even more so those they did not say which proclaimed that. There had been no command not to overtry themselves, no list of symptoms for which they should watch. No instructions whatsoever had been issued save the stipulation, an unnecessary one when dealing with a mountaineer like himself, that they not ride so far that they could not return quickly should the weather suddenly turn, and a sharper warning that they must under no circumstances enter any of the caves, deep or shallow, pocking the rugged country around.

  The man's gray eyes narrowed and darkened. Aden had been very definite about that and had backed her order with a chilling explanation.


  Danger haunted the underground ways around Lormt at this time of year, an old, old peril that had blighted these highlands almost since they had first been settled in the dim far past, so long ago that no one now knew the story of its beginning.

  A being ranged those lightless places, apparently only in winter, a woman-child, tiny by all report and exquisitely pretty, but death itself to any unfortunate chancing upon her. The Ghost Child, as the apparition had been known for as long as her grim history had been recounted, would fix her blank, seemingly sightless eyes upon any visitor she encountered in her caves and seek to throw her small arms around him. When she succeeded, she would cling tightly to him for a moment before vanishing as the sound of a child's sobbing filled the air around them. Within the hour after her touch had been received, the flesh would begin to drop from her victim, rotting off his bones as would that of a corpse long dead.

  This was no legend told to raise a safe shiver in those gathered around a cheery hearth. Aden had tended such a case three years previously, a stranger who had tried to weather a suddenly arising storm in a cave and who had found living death in place of shelter.

  He had been far gone when discovered but had still retained the power of speech and sufficient reason to recount his story. All she had been able to do for him was to give him a draught which had sent him to sleep until he had passed out of the life that had become nightmare only, and the memory of him was still a darkness and a lash upon many of her own nights.

  Tarlach shuddered in his heart but then put thought of the deadly child from him. This was a danger they need not meet, and he would not permit it to cloud the day either for himself or for his companions.

  There were other perils of which they had to be mindful, and both humans were armed, although they had not ridden forth seeking or expecting trouble. Wild beasts and wild men ranged these mountains and, it was reputed, other things as well, things wakened or set on the move by the war reviving all over this ancient, many-scarred world between the forces of the Light and those of the Shadow and the true Dark.

  The sword at the woman's side did not rest there for display. Her father had initially had her instructed in its use, and in the time they had been together, Tarlach himself had taught her further, taught her that and other methods of combat. She had proven an apt pupil, and. he had ever been known as an excellent if demanding teacher, and, Una of Seakeep was now a comrade whose backing no sane man would scorn—a fighter whose enmity no,one knowing her would willingly court.

  Content though he was in the day and in the Holdlady's company, a heaviness settled on the Falconer's spirit as they drew farther from Lormt.

  The world about them was far from dead. It was better than eight years now since the mountains had been Turned, and life was resilient.

  Even in that first year, that first season, a few tiny green things must have pushed their way out of isolated patches of soil to begin the recolonization of the riven country, a process hastened in places like this where small farms existed and the farmers had been able to save not only themselves but the seed, or to acquire the seed necessary to set their fields anew. By this time, even trees had returned. They were little trees, young trees, not the towering climax forests that had stood there before the Witch-born disaster, but they provided shelter to the creatures who were naturally native to such country. Even with winter upon the land, it was a scene, if not of completion, at least of hope and renewal.

  He recognized that in his heart and mind but was not comforted. Grief filled him, as it had not for a long time now, and he recalled vividly all that had once been, the wild magnificence of the Eyrie. …

  Storm Challenger's call snapped Tarlach's attention back to their present situation. There was anger in it and the warning that danger might be near. The falcon took wing but soon returned and called again, this time in summons.

  The man urged Lady Gay forward, drawing sword as he did so. Una, who also had the ability to share thought with the war bird, pressed after him with equal caution.

  They crested a low rise and saw there what the falcon's sharper senses had already detected, three dead animals and a dead man.

  Tarlach dismounted beside the nearest of the slain beasts.

  She was a little red cow typical of the stock kept by the local farmers, and she had been dead for perhaps twenty-four hours. Her throat had been ripped out.

  They moved downslope. The other two cows had been served in the same manner. It was impossible to determine the precise way in which the herdsman had met his end. One of the animals had been well devoured, but the attackers had fed first upon the human. The throat and organs of the abdominal cavity were gone, and most of the flesh had been stripped from the chest and thighs.

  “By the Amber Lady!”

  He turned swiftly to find Una staring down at the ravaged corpse. His free arm circled her shoulders, and he gently moved her away from it.

  “You should have stayed back, Lady,” he told her softly. “This is hard viewing even for the like of me.”

  “I … am a healer,” she responded tightly through set lips. “I had to confirm that there was no life.”

  The woman gripped herself. “What could have done this, Tarlach? Wolves?”

  “I do not know.” He stooped down. “This is poor ground for spoor.”

  He examined the site in several places before joining her again.

  “It might have been wolves,” he told his companion doubtfully, “but I have never seen tracks that size. There was a horse here, too, but he appears to have escaped.

  Storm Challenger's battle scream tore the air even as a sudden shift in the wind carried to them a stench so, vile as to set both humans gagging, the stink that betrayed the presence of the Dark or its allies.

  The pair ran for their mounts, but as they did, they heard a low, soul-freezing howl on the slope above, them. It was echoed immediately by others, many others, sounding on every side between them and the horses.

  This was not the familiar cry of hunting wolves, riot even renegades of their kind. It was something less, more resembling the bay of a hound, yet not that either. It was, rather, a wail, insidiously terrifying in its absolute cruelty and in the eerie inconsistency of its formation.

  The woman tried to fight her panic. She knew that this was a call seldom heard by one of her species, a call that few if any unfortunate enough to hear it survived to describe.’

  Flight was impossible! The howls had not lied in placing the things far nearer than the horses. They were clearly visible now, about two dozen of them, big creatures, taller and heavier both than any lord's mastiff, and powerfully built. They were four-footed with large, long-muzzled heads sporting three short horns on their foreheads. The eyes were red, not from reflected light but in and of themselves. Very short hair, a mixture of browns and black, covered them.

  One of the creatures sprang at Tarlach, confident of an early victory, and for an instant the mercenary feared his blade would have no effect upon it, but its dying wail dispelled that doubt.

  Its loss would make little difference in the end. They were surrounded, cut off from their mounts, which the attackers ignored in favor of this obviously preferred prey.

  “My back!” he shouted as the next beast reached him, needlessly, for Una of Seakeep was already there. None of the creatures would take him by that route while she still held her feet.

  His opponent died, and he heard a suddenly stifled whine behind him to announce the Holdruler's first kill.

  Another jumped at him, a big bitch that seemed to dare his stroke as she bared fangs that were like small daggers to tear out his throat. Tarlach caught her in the stomach, ripping her open.

  He leaped aside as he struck but could not move quickly enough to entirely avoid the heavy body still driving forward under the force of its spring.

  One more of the things threw itself at him, triumph in its snarl. He recovered himself and brought up his defenses to meet its attack.

  The sprin
g which had saved Tarlach from being thrown down; had carried him a little, too far, from Una. Terror gripped her as one of the beasts shot past her to go for his back, but her sword moved almost of its own accord to slice it across the neck.

  In that instant, she herself was jumped. The big animal did not bring its powerful jaws to bear but rather lowered its head, turning the spear-sharp horns on her.

  The woman dropped down, under the thing. She stabbed upward, driving her blade into the lean belly.

  She could not rise! They would not give her time. Una rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the slavering jaws seeking to savage her shoulder, but she knew the dog-thing would have her on its next drive.

  So it would, but the humans did not wage this battle alone. Seakeep's horses were the finest on either continent, and these two had known months of Falconer training. Iron-shod hooves crashed down upon the beast's back as it came in for the kill, snapping its spine as if it had been a twig. In the moment that Eagle's Brother struck, a small creature leaped from the stallion's back to the head of the beast nearest Una and clung there with claws that raked again and again across the exposed scarlet eyes until nothing remained of them or of the flesh around them but bloody shreds of nearly unidentifiable tissue.

  Lady Gay fought, too, with teeth and with hooves, literally striking a bitch off the Falconer while her teeth ripped into the neck of another.

  Storm Challenger quickly took out two of the attackers, but his second victim caught him with its central horn as its blinded head flailed back in its agony. His flesh was not pierced, but he was thrown far, well beyond the place where the battle raged, and struck the ground hard. When he tried to rise again, one of his wings would no longer bear him up.

  Even with their allies’ help, Tarlach knew they were fighting their last engagement. Too many of the things remained, and their losses seemed only to fire their determination to make this kill. Only minutes remained before one of them was taken down. Once that happened, the other would quickly follow. …