"How much longer do we have to wait?" asked General Biligrim.
Master Elwith glanced at the man out of the corner of his eyes. Though a brilliant strategist and a seasoned warrior, the silvering man kept shifting his feet, never letting them settle. He kept one hand on the pommel of his sword, while his eyes darted about at every rustle or shake of the scraggly gorse growing in patches about them. Every few seconds he would glance toward the sinking sun, his eyes measuring how much daylight remained.
Not scared of the dark, are we general? Master Elwith coughed away his smirk. "Patience, general. The beastie told us she would arrive not long after sunset. We still have a finger's worth of daylight left. We're all anxious to kill a few wighties. Myself included. We just have to wait."
The general nodded, coughing into his fist. His feet did still a little, but Master Elwith could tell from how the middle-aged soldier's lifelight danced about, shot through with infinitesimal flecks of every shade of green imaginable, how the man truly felt. On some level it was a comfort. If even such a veteran like General Biligrim had issues with his nerves before going into a skirmish, Master Elwith could hardly fault himself for any of his own flutterings. Of course, he kept a tight grip on his nerves and lifelight so that neither wavered in the slightest.
Horses nickering drew his and General Biligrim's attention back to the rail-ship. Master Elwith looked at his creation, a self-satisfied smile creeping onto his lips as he inspected its proportions. It was so much more than a ship on wheels that rode along a track. No. It represented the future for the mages.
His foolish predecessors may have backed Master Elwith into the proverbial corner with their poorly conceived Waning, making it harder and harder to induct individuals into the mages' ranks without arousing suspicion. However, he felt confident he had a solution that would allow him to not only maintain his current position but advance it.
Industry. Industry was the answer. If he could produce services and goods that only mages were capable of making and maintaining, integrating them into the very structure of society to the point that first the nobility and then the commoners saw them as essential, he could secure the mages' position and rise for centuries to come.
His rail-ships, or the lines as the common folk called them, was one of many such improvements he planned to introduce to the kingdom.
He hadn't built the rail-ship personally, with his lifelight or hands. Mundane laborers were more suited to such a task, but he had been part of the collective that designed it and oversaw the construction.
The rail-ship, itself, designed to link together in a long chain of berths, was not the true innovation. Any craftsman of even middling ability could assemble one, since unlike a boat it did not have to be watertight. The true "magic" resided in the poles that lined the tracks at regular intervals. With an actual ship, the wind—its speed, direction, and consistency—dictated everything from course to arrival. The mages had eradicated all that pesky inconsistency by simply manufacturing the wind. Mounted in each pole, a stone and apparatus of elegant simplicity generated a constant current of air, allowing each rail-ship to maintain a regular speed.
Master Elwith's eyes brightened, peering down the line in the fading light. This would revolutionize travel, trade, everything. They had already covered a large portion of eastern Haimlant at great expense, but the profits had already begun to trickle in. And they would inevitably increase, since the whole system had to be maintained by mages.
Master Elwith rubbed his hands together. And this is just the beginning.
"Settle them down," called General Biligrim to his men unloading the horses from one of the berths. The iron-shoed hooves clopped loudly against the wooden ramp. Unused to traveling in such a manner and emerging into fading daylight, several of the mounts let out distressed whinnies. A few reared, tossing their manes about in protest.
"Could you please get those animals under control, general?" said Master Elwith. "The last thing we need is an injury."
A flaming streak burned any traces of green out of General Biligrim's lifelight in Master Elwith's mindeye.
The general glanced at Master Elwith, lips pursed, before turning back to his men. "Get those horses under control or, by Manu, I'll Shadow every last one of you!"
The sudden outburst of profanity from their superior had most ducking their heads, going about their tasks with stiff urgency. Master Elwith had to cough away a chuckle.
A silence stretched between them. Master Elwith began to whistle. General Biligrim kicked the toe of his boot into the dirt. Both let their eyes wander upward.
"You don't stay out at night all that often do you, general?" asked Master Elwith, adjusting his gloves tucked into his belt. He had forgone his robes for more practical hunting garb. He didn't much care for his official attire anyways. The amount of material always got caught up with his feet. Still he wore it since it supposedly increased the mystique surrounding the magi. Whatever that meant.
"Almost never," answered the general. His head kept swiveling about, surveying the progress of his men. "This is one of the few times I've ever been out of the capital at night."
"Truly?" asked Master Elwith, genuinely curious.
The general gave a curt nod.
"You've missed much then," Master Elwith said, spotting one of the first stars to appear. "A three-moon night is something that everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime."
"I think I would prefer to live to a ripe old age," said the general, gripping his sword, "than possibly becoming a meal for a nightling."
Master Elwith scoffed. "The odds of a night wight encounter are about as likely as being struck by lightning. Actually, no! You're more likely to run into the lost Warden from bygone days than a blasted wightie."
Right then a pair of soldiers trudged past, carrying a crate between them. They stumbled at Master Elwith's last word, glancing about, as if the very mention of the creatures would conjure them up.
"Careful with that you fools!" snapped Master Elwith. "The contents of that crate is worth more than both your lives combined."
General Biligrim made no comment at Master Elwith's berating his men, just sending them on their way with a tilt of his head.
Master Elwith hadn't really worried about the contents being damaged. He had designed them for soldiers after all. Within the crate and others like it was a new weapon. And like the rail-ship, this new device had the potential to change the very nature of warfare, elevating mundane soldiers to near mage-level capabilities. Much like a crossbow, it fired projectiles, but that was where the similarities ended, for this new weapon never needed reloading. Passively using the wielder's own lifelight to power it, the weapon hurled extremely compressed pockets of air great distances with lethal accuracy. These would need heavy regulations, of course, so as not to destabilize the order of things, but these new air-bows would certainly help in the war against the nightlings.
Master Elwith's face pinched with dissatisfaction. I truly need to come up with a better name.
As Wilo's last golden sliver disappeared behind the horizon, Master Elwith glanced about. The sun's death light clung to the air, Wilo's ichor bleeding the sky with pinks and purples after his body had vanished from view. They were not too far from the capital. No more than twenty leagues distance, the trip not taking more than an hour. Hills rolled out in all directions, some trees dotted here and there, but for the most part gorse and grass dominated the landscape. Being midsummer, the stalks, adust from long, bright days, rustled with a dry cadence. No moisture hung in the air, only an earthy scent of dirt and bits of wilting haulms. A pleasant evening by all accounts.
"Where do you suppose they came from?" asked the general. He accepted the reins to his horse from one of his adjuvants. "The night wights, I mean. We talk about it enough, but does anyone really know?"
"Unfortunately, not," Master Elwith said, taking his own horse's reins as well. "But I'm sure such information would be remarkably useful."
No words came from Biligrim. He simply eyed Master Elwith in a sidelong manner, skepticism making his eyes appear more askance. He hooked his hand in his horse's chin groove running his other up its forehead, casually. However, murky grey splotches bloomed throughout his lifelight.
"You're wise not to blindly trust, general," said Master Elwith, patting down the shoulder of his own mount. "But in this instance, I speak with complete sincerity."
"As opposed to when you're completely insincere or lying?" asked Biligrim. His face betrayed nothing, like a lake without a ripple. Even his lifelight gave away nothing, going eerily still.
Master Elwith was impressed, though he didn't show it. Then again, he shouldn't have been, owing to the fact that General Biligrim had been a soldier for nearly all his life and that level of discipline came with the territory.
"Something like that," Master Elwith replied. "I have my own personal theory as to their origins. But it includes extremely complex magical equations, involving various elements, namely a strange phenomenon concerning Werold's rotation and orbit around Wilo. An explanation too complex and esoteric for a general, such as yourself, to understand on all its vast levels. And I mean that in the kindest way."
"I'm sure you did," a woman's voice said behind them.
They spun to find the creature, Lady Telias, posed demurely against the rail-ship, looking as though she had just stumbled upon their conversation.
************
"But do continue," Charlan added, smiling innocently. "I have studied a good deal about the mechanics of this great world on which we live and though you might not believe it, since I have never seen the sun, I have studied extensively about its fascinating properties."
She practically purred as the both men's lifelight stumbled about, as giddy as the horses whose reins they handled. Master Elwith corralled his first, seizing mental control as his lifelight shifted into a whirlwind of scarlets and ambers. A tiny dark scar floated amid the fiery storm. Charlan squinted ever so slightly in confusion.
A soul wound?
She hadn't expected that. Some wounds were not physical. Some wounds could not be healed by conventional means. Some wounds left a person open to infection.
"Lady Telias," Master Elwith said. He stretched her name tortuously as one would a victim on the rack. "It's so nice to know that you keep your word."
"Always," she said, inclining her head in acknowledgement.
"Where are the others?" General Biligrim asked. He swiveled his head about, searching the deepening dark.
As Lady Telias' eyes fell on him, he faltered in his next words.
"I mean we did agree you would be joined by two others of your group," the general stammered, more to the dirt than to her.
"Yes," she said. She smiled primly, all the while resisting the urge to bare her teeth.
The poor general would probably wet himself, she thought, coughing into her hand to cover her amusement. As funny as the picture was, Charlan would have much preferred to see Master Elwith in such a state. One day though, in the not too distant future she hoped, the man would know fear.
"I still don't understand, Master Elwith," said Charlan, "why only two others of my party could accompany me on this expedition. As I tried to explain to you before, if we have more of my wights with us, we will be more likely to kill all the feral wights we encounter."
"It's quite simple, Lady Telias," Master Elwith said. "I don't trust you. And until I do, I would prefer to have you soundly outnumbered."
"How can a lady argue with such a compliment?" she said, curtsying. "If that's all then, shall we get going. It's best to catch a group of wights just after nightfall."
Charlan watched Elwith's eyes, as he tucked away that newest tidbit. What she said about nightfall was a lie. Almost everything she had told the monarchy and Master Elwith about night wights held little if any truth. No reason to feed the livestock any more information than needful—lies in abundance, of course, but actual truth would only overburden their feeble minds.
"And your companions, my lady?" asked General Biligrim, repeating his inquiry. "Where are they?"
"Erlulf," Charlan called. "Hailun. Join us, please."
Two more wights emerged from the shadows near her. Of course, the he and she-wight were actually Lord Markham and Captain Ansleth cloaked with shadow guises.
General Biligrim flinched. Master Elwith, however, did not. He had probably observed them in his mindeye much to Charlan's disappointment.
"Shall we be going?" asked Charlan. "I thought you would want to press any advantage you might have."
Master Elwith swung up into his saddle, appearing quite at home. "General Biligrim, tell your men to mount up."
The general all but jumped into his saddle, trotting his horse to where his men had gathered, barking out orders as he went.
Master Elwith remained alone with the three wights.
How easy it would be to kill you right now, Mistress thought, picturing her compatriots and her ripping him down from atop his horse to mangle and maim him.
"Tell me, Lady Telias" said Master Elwith, interrupting Mistress Charlan's daydreaming. "Why exactly is it best to confront nightlings just after nightfall?"
Beside her Lord Markham hissed, taking a step forward.
Mistress Charlan, surprised, thrust a hand toward him. "Hold!"
Gathering his reins, Master Elwith snorted. His lifelight ignited with searing hot radiance.
Much to Mistress Charlan's annoyance, Master Elwith did not exhibit many, if any, of the classic foibles commonly found in persons who held positions of power. Arrogant, certainly, but he did not indulge in the vices his position could afford him. No drinking to excess. No double chins. No lascivious tendencies. He lived in such a way that granted him strict command of his lifelight, since one could only harness and use it through dedication and discipline. At that very moment, his lifelight, held firmly in his mental grasp, much like a massive fiery sword, waited to be unleashed.
"I would love to tell you, Master Elwith," Charlan said, her voice tight. "But It includes extremely complex magical equations involving various elements, namely a strange phenomenon concerning Werold's rotation and Her orbit around Wilo. An explanation too complex and esoteric for a mage, such as yourself, to understand on all its vast levels. And I mean that in the kindest way."
Done parroting back his own exaggerated and false words, she simply observed him, silently. You ignorant, arrogant man.
"Lady Telias," Master Elwith said, tugging on his gloves. "I do this only because the royal family wishes to gain an ally in this war. And it is a war. Even though they might not fully realize that fact yet. Whether or not you prove to be friend or foe has yet to be seen. But I warn you should you make one false move, one single act that confirms my suspicions, even in the slightest manner," – he leaned toward her from atop his horse – "I will end you. No matter what the king or queen might do."
Spurring his horse into motion, he abandoned her and her companions to join the general and his troops.
Mistress Charlan clenched her teeth, her jaw muscles spasming from the tension. Her eyes never left Master Elwith's rigid, well-postured back.
"Captain Ansleth, is all prepared?" Charlan asked, her voice sneaking out from between her teeth.
"Yes, Mistress," said the captain, snapping to attention. "All has been prepared as you instructed."
"Go and take point. Make sure we arrive according to schedule."
"At once, mistress." Captain Ansleth marched away in brisk military fashion.
"Lord Markham, are our plans still in place?" asked Charlan, trying to breathe away the last of her frustration.
"Has it ever struck you as odd that we still use our human titles?" asked Lord Markham.
Silence. Mistress Charlan glared sidelong at him. Not the time.
"Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "Andsek will be waiting with the group at the raid. A replacement for him has already been put in place at the capital. No one will know he is no longer there."
"Excellent. At least I'll be able to eliminate one annoyance tonight. The other will have to wait for another time."
The main body of soldiers had fallen into ranks with Captain Ansleth leading on foot. Master Elwith and General Biligrim followed directly behind her, the general's platoon, some fifty soldiers, trotting behind them.
"Could you and your companion bring up the rear, Lady Telias?" Master Elwith asked, calling out over the stamp of hooves. "We wouldn't want to leave you behind."
Horses and men trotted away from the rail-ship, following after the captain, who moved at a pace just above that of the horses with ease.
Mistress Charlan paused for a moment reigning in her rage, a dark fire roiling within her. Master Elwith's smugness, his sense of security, infuriated her. It made her want to rip that feeling of safeness right from off him, as a mother might a blanket from a child she was rousing in the morning. She would tear it from him and let him stagger and moan in the shock of cold reality. And then, at the moment of absolute desolation, she would feast on his lifelight, leaving him to molder, a putrescent reminder of how fragile human life truly was.
"Mistress, shall we?" asked Lord Markham, his arm outstretched.
Charlan stepped into an easy lope in response, overtaking the group with ease.
Brother and sister moons, Mano and Mani lit the night, Wilo's light having completely died, Mano coming from the east and Mani from the west. Manu would not appear tonight, though Charlan could still feel the trickster moon's constant tug on the periphery of the world. Crickets thrummed about them, quieting as the group approached and then resurging as they went.
Finally, they halted. Mistress Charlan and her companions stopped without warning, forcing the troop of soldiers and their leaders to reign in their mounts roughly. The horses nickered in protest.
"Why have you stopped us in the middle of nowhere?" growled Master Elwith, his horse sensing his mood and stepping with frustrated indecision. "I thought you said that the wights would manifest in a cave. I see no caverns anywhere near here, Lady Telias."
"We stopped," Charlan said, "because we need to go more quietly from this point. That is if they haven't already heard you. You're speaking loud enough that I could hear you all the way back in the capital."
Of course, it did not matter how loud he spoke or whether or not they rode their horses to the very mouth of the cave, screaming and clanging their swords the entire way. For days while waiting for King Othrad and Queen Brishwyn's decision about the raids, they had prepared, choosing a suitable location, determining what false information they would feed them, snickering at the ignorance of those they conned. Every wight in the cave knew of their approach.
General Biligrim pulled alongside Master Elwith, looking first to the High Mage for orders then to Mistress Charlan.
"Ask Lady Telias what is to be done," Master Elwith ordered, his voice flat with annoyance. "She's in charge of this leg of the expedition." He handled his reins stiffly, bringing his mount under sharp control.
The general's eyes flicked to Master Elwith, then back to Mistress Charlan, his soldier's training and experience smothering the question burning within him.
"Lady Telias?" asked the general.
"Have your men dismount and tether their horses. Gather near that tree," – her finger indicated a scraggly twig of a tree – "for final instructions. And try and keep your men as quiet as possible."
He moved off, issuing Mistress Charlan's instructions back to his men, his voice dropped low. The orders circulated quickly as men dismounted and tethered their horses to nearby brush with trembling hands. Those same hands grasped at sword hilts hanging at their sides and checked air-bows numerous times.
Master Elwith still perched in his saddle, paying no attention to the jittery men. Mistress Charlan lay directly in the line of his scrutiny. A scrutiny she bore and returned in full. Two predators assessing the other.
"I hope very much Lady Telias," said Master Elwith, "that by the end of this little exercise I will have confirmed one of two things."
"And what would that be?" she asked.
"Whether you're friend or foe."
"What if I am neither?" She broke eye contact to examine her nails.
"What would you be then?"
"An ally," she said, gazing back up at him, her hand dropping to her side.
Master Elwith's lifelight faltered, its usual golden tone shot through with traces of browns. His eyes narrowed. "Explain the difference, if you would be so kind."
"A true friend wants what you want and seeks to help you get it for no other reason than the mutual amiability. An ally works with you, strives with you, even bleeds alongside you, but in the end expects something in return. I'll be your ally, but never your friend."
"I doubt very much, Lady Telias," he said, no longer glaring at her, but rather let his eyes drift over the soldiers' preparation, "that semantics will mean much in the end. This war will enslave us or leave us all dead." His eyes found her again. "And I will not be chattel, to be branded and fed upon at another creature's leisure. Now, can we get on with it."
His rough heels sent Master Elwith's horse in the direction of General Biligrim.
Charlan's eyes tracked his every movement. She would Shadow him one day.
Lord Markham and Captain Ansleth drew up alongside her, their expressions hungry, the Sight of a feast right before them.
"Captain?" Charlan asked.
"Yes, Mistress," Ansleth said.
"Would you be so kind as to issue the final instructions. You have much more experience rallying the troops than I do." Her fingers drummed rhythmically against her legs. A grating voice stopped her fingers mid-drum.
"We wait upon you, Lady Telias," said Master Elwith. "With great anticipation." Sarcasm coated every syllable.
If only there was a reasonable way to make him injure his tongue, thought Charlan.
The three wights stalked forward, cutting a large gap in the men as they went, their formation a chevron with Mistress Charlan at its point. Both Mano and Mani hung overhead. Their combined light struck the wights' brows casting deep shadows over their eyes, making their sockets appear empty. More than a few soldiers shivered, covering their fear by rubbing their arms. Every soldiers' lifelight trembled, a general theme of morose greens and yellows seeping in. When they reached the tree where all had gathered, Charlan and her companions turned to face the group.
"You all know the plan," said Mistress Charlan. "But Hailun will revisit the most important points." She stepped back, parallel to Markham, yielding to Captain Ansleth.
Captain Ansleth stepped forward, her bearing military, her posture commanding. She had been a soldier in her previous life after all.
Those soldiers closest to her shrunk back, trying to put as much distance between them and her as they could. It reminded Charlan of sheep right before the shearing.
"You've all been briefed on this mission before," said Captain Ansleth, "so I'll keep this to a minimum. Remember the best way to kill a night wight is straight through the heart."
Lie.
"They possess abilities far beyond your own. Strength. Speed. Reflexes. But they are not magic or invincible, simply superior humanlike creatures."
Half-truth.
"Our best chance for success, or even survival, is to draw them out and overwhelm them. Your air-bows are more than adequate for the job. As soon as the feral wights exit the cave, do not hesitate to fire. A wight's speed is such that any hesitation will get you killed. This is not about accuracy. This is about brute force and maximum volleys in the air as possible. You will know it when you have killed one. Wights literally disintegrate."
Misdirection.
During her reiteration of the information, Captain Ansleth had not shifted. She stood unnaturally still.
This lack of movement did little to settle the men's nerves. Their lifelights spiked and jumped. Their feet slid about in the dusty soil.
Then Captain Ansleth's feet shifted. She began to pace.
"I am Hailun," she said, her tone shifting, low and urgent. "I have existed longer than you and your grandparents as well as theirs. This will not be easy. But I know the strength that each heart can possess. Though I am not one of you, I will stand with you and together we will quell this threat. We will bring this nightmare to an end."
Mistress Charlan had not expected this, but watching as the soldiers stilled and straightened, standing with a renewed confidence, she allowed it to continue without any interference. Inflated confidence could be very useful later on.
"You may think that because the enemy has superior strength the battle cannot be won. But I say a battle is not won with strength alone. It is won with loyalty, determination, a greater cause. Our enemies have no families to protect, no nation to defend, no love of anything. Simply a fear of a despotic leader."
Despotic leader? Charlan arched an eyebrow. She would have to talk to Ansleth about her rabble rousing after all this.
"Remember your families, remember your country, remember the love of all you hold dear and, in that spirit, we will go on to victory." – her hand clenched into a fist, before she raised it into the air – "Stand together and we cannot fall."
Her words ceased. The men, motionless, drank them in, fortified, forgetting that a night wight now inspired them.
General Biligrim, standing with military precision, his face stripped of fear, set his men into motion. His orders broke the pregnant silence, but not the spirit that pervaded each individual. Salutes were crisp. Movements smooth, relaxed even. Four hundred years certainly had not blunted Captain Ansleth's abilities to inspire the troops.
As the men dispersed, Captain Ansleth rejoined Mistress Charlan and Lord Markham.
"Compelling words, captain," Lord Markham said.
"I once delivered a similar address to my troops before entering a skirmish," said the captain, modestly. "Needless to say, we won. Thrashed the enemy actually."
"Yes, very good, captain," Mistress Charlan said, distracted. "But 'despotic leader?' Don't you think you might have gone a bit far with that." Her words did not contain anger because the captain's loyalty never wavered. Her militaristic sense of fealty had only become more concentrated upon becoming a wight. Charlan simply checked her.
"My apologies, Mistress," Captain Ansleth said. "I got swept up in the moment. I didn't stop to...."
"Captain," said Charlan, cutting the captain off. "We'll talk about your slip later. For now, lead the way."
By this time the soldiers had what they would be needing. All the activity had stirred up the dusty ground, filling the moonbeams with silvery motes, slowed in the timelessness of night. Serene gates before hell's fury.
At General Biligrim's signal the company moved as one, stalking forward, trying to dampen their sounds. To Charlan's ear though, every snapping twig, every overturned rock, every constrained cough sounded just as clearly as though they were still mounted on horses smashing frying pans together. Captain Ansleth wafted forward, leading the company. Her presence left as much evidence of its passing as a breeze. The night air wheezed about them like a dying man's last breath.
The terrain mostly flat, began to slope upward, dotted with volcanic rock that jutted from the earth, great scabs blistering from the ground. What little scrubby trees existed thinned as the ascent began, ringing the growing mass of rough stone, a dead, craggy island.
"Master Elwith," said Charlan over her shoulder. He treaded along just behind her. "Would you be so kind as to tell General Biligrim that we're about to crest the ridge where the cave entrance is?"
"I'm not a messenger boy, Lady Telias," hissed the mage, "to be ordered about. Why don't you run along over there and whisper that sweet nothing into his ear, yourself?"
"And how do you think he would respond to that?" she asked, straining to subdue the urge to rip the man's throat out. "I'm sure he already resents taking orders from a night wight. But thank you for the suggestion to take a new lover. The general seems handsome enough and I must say I've always liked my men weaker than me."
No words filled the gaping mage's mouth. Charlan practically purred with satisfaction from silencing him. A second later, he stomped away, harrumphing.
Moments later, whispers went from soldier to soldier, slowing their already crawling pace to a creep. Upon reaching the peak, every man and woman crouched down, finding what cover they could. Sweat beaded on their forehead, eyes focused downward.
Mistress Charlan moved amongst the soldiers, none of them shrinking away from her as she passed, their fear of her forgotten as a new, unknown one took its place. She crested the ridge and a gaping hole in the earth spread out before her, the broken rocks lining the pit sticking up like teeth as both Mona and Mani's light cast irregular shadows about the depression. The mouth of the cave swallowed up any light, leaving its depths indiscernible. At least to a human's eyes.
Peering down the frontlines, Charlan spotted General Biligrim, his hand raised into the air, visible to all around him. He raised two fingers, rotating his forearm at the elbow.
Not wasting any time, I see, thought Charlan.
Five soldiers, the second squad, moved forward. Knuckles white on their air-bows. Feet carefully picking their way down the side, each footing uneven and precarious. Every eye was on them.
Near Charlan, the soldiers huffed heavily. Fingers engaged and disengaged the safety mechanisms on air-bows. Leather gloves creaked as hands squeezed sword hilts.
Almost none of them breathed.
A blur of motion hurled out of the cave's mouth.
The five-man squad froze. Two wights shrieked from the earth's depths. Arcing through the air, the duo aimed at the cowering squad. Air-bows were held forgotten in the soldier's hands. One of the wights, a black-clad male, streaked toward a soldier. The man cowered down, trying to bring his weapon up.
A blur from off the rim barely intercepted the plummeting he-wight. Captain Ansleth snarled as she snatched him from the air. She spun and threw him back toward the main body of soldiers, flailing.
"Fire!" she bellowed.
As though snapped out of a trance, every soldier on the crest drew a bead on the flapping wight, unleashing a hail of airy projectiles, exiting their weapons with a slight pop. The wight's frame jolted where the compressed air peppered him. Wisps of smoke wafted from his wounds. He flashed out of existence.
How very dramatic, thought Charlan, nearly snorting.
A cheer went up among the men. A scream from the second squad silenced it.
The other wight, a tall female, had landed, cutting down three of the squad with little effort. The two remaining members fired their weapons striking the she-wight in the soldier and leg. She shook them off with a growl. Charging the nearest soldier, she struck out snapping his neck with a single blow. Spinning, the she-wight dashed back toward the last member of the squad. The woman stumbled back, tripping, crying out as she fell. Lashing out, the she-wight's fingers came within a hair's breadth of the soldier's face before she was ripped backward. Captain Ansleth, hands clamped onto her captive's clothes, flung the she-wight into the air toward the waiting squads. Another barrage misted the creature as well.
The night fell silent.
"Are you all right, soldier?" Captain Ansleth, offering a hand to shaking woman.
"I...I think so," the soldier said, accepting the proffered hand without hesitation. "Thank you."
Mistress Charlan cocked a brow at the exchange. Trust she could use.
"That didn't seem too difficult, Lady Telias," Master Elwith called from his position down the line. "You made this seem as though we would be lucky to come out of this alive."
Charlan's eyes shut as if pained. "Why do you always have to say the stupidest things? Are you trying to test fate?"
The cave shrieked as six more wights streaked into the moonlight.
"Fire at will!" Captain Ansleth yelled, tossing the soldier over her shoulder, springing back up the slope to rejoin the main body.
The soldiers, already battle-primed from the first round, did not hesitate to bring their air-bows to bare. Shots burst from their weapons, peppering the path of the wights racing toward them. Rock chips cracked from the boulders, flying in sporadic directions.
One of the night wights, a sharp featured female, bore the brunt of several squad's fire, misting away within seconds. The other squads divided between the other five had less success. Their targets moved with such speed and changed their direction so rapidly that only a few lucky soldiers managed to land a hit. Those token wounds did little to slow them down.
A swarthy male, leaping the last few yards up the slope, landed amidst a squad. He unleashed a flurry of blows, killing three, before Lord Markham wrestled him to the ground. Seemingly winning control Lord Markham pitched the he-wight skyward. The soldiers nearest him shot their weapons in a frenzy. In a puff of smoke, the he-wight vanished.
The remaining five wights nearly crested the rise, when a massive wall of flames sprang up in front of them, forcing them to stagger back. In Mistress Charlan's mindeye, Master Elwith blazed, his lifelight roaring like the fire he now created. He let it die immediately, staggering a bit. Creating and controlling something as wild as fire was very difficult, as Charlan well knew.
Charlan frowned. I thought you were here only to observe.
One particularly bold she-wight, recovering the quickest, sprang at the now dazed mage. Charlan sprang forward, knocking the high mage to the ground, her fist collecting satisfyingly with his jaw. The incoming she-wight slammed into Charlan, bearing them both to the ground. Charlan grunted as their limbs tangled together and they went tumbling over the top of each other. Charlan ended up on her back but with her feet planted in the wight's stomach. She kicked out, propelling her opponent into the air. Gone in a waft of smoke.
The other four Wights, recovering from the fire, charged toward the soldiers. Lord Markham and Captain Ansleth tore down at them. Charlan, regaining her feet, followed.
As they clashed, one of the four wights leapt away, choosing to engage the soldiers. Men and women went flying from the she-wights blows. The sickening crunch and snap of bones accompanied screams. Killing three, she wounded several others before seemingly succumbing to enfilade and misted away.
Charlan and her companions fought on with the remaining trio. To human eyes it would seem fast and chaotic, but to the participating wights it was a well-choreographed dance. They spun and hit. Kicked and blocked. Flipped and twisted. At mind numbing speeds.
Lord Markham, gaining the upper hand, heaved his opponent skyward. Blinked out in a barrage of fire. Captain Ansleth ended her bout moments later in the same manner.
Mistress Charlan fought on. Andsek followed the choreography to perfection. Charlan, however, deviated, kicking his feet from under him. She towed him up by an arm. Lord Markham, suddenly there, grabbed his other. They began to pull.
One problem finally gone, she thought. "Good-bye, Andsek," she whispered, meeting his gaze.
His eyes widened with understanding.
They tore him in two.
Charlan let her son's remains slip from her fingers. His torn form trickled an oily smoke, unraveling his corpse slowly, gaining speed every second until nothing remained.
An unexpected tremor went through Charlan. She shook it away. This is what she had wanted.
Turning back toward the ridge, Charlan was confronted by silent, still soldiers. Most had stunned expressions. Others grim satisfaction.
Her eyes met General Biligrim's. He threw her a smart salute. A good sign from such a seasoned warrior. Next, she found Master Elwith. His eyes, ever studying, ever calculating, measured her up and down.
He gave her a curt nod. She reciprocated.
As one, the soldiers saluted Charlan and her companions. Captain Ansleth threw her fist into the air. A wild cheer rose up from all there.
Charlan threw her fist into the air as well, drawing another louder call. Yes, much has been won this night.
*DON'T FORGET TO VOTE*