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sheets of flame.
drawn from Seitforest, and bound by sorcery to a nexus of biddable force.
Glare burnished the ground like beaten metal for yards in each direction, and
the trees on either side of the trail rippled with heat waves.
As Anskiere and Taen drew rein, their trailing escort at last caught up.
'Kor!' The sergeant in command covered fear with nervous speech. 'Pity the
river's too deep for fording. On the other side that fire could spare some
lives.'
Busy murmuring encouragements to his mount, the Stormwarden flicked
sweat-soaked reins. When his animal ceased trying to sidle and bolt, he said,
'That's exactly what Jaric intends.' He added a bitten syllable. The staff
over his head flared purple. An eerie note of power thrummed on the air,
followed by a crack like breaking crockery. Every soldier from Corlin cried
out as the mighty span of the Redwater glazed over and froze.
'Ride!' shouted the Stormwarden. He kicked his mount to a gallop and reined
headlong down the bank. The animal landed on current chilled hard as black
glass. Ice chips scattered from its hooves as it slid and careened to keep
balance.
Better accustomed to goats than horses, Taen grasped mane in both hands and
clung as her bay scrambled after. The animal stumbled. Banged face first into
its neck, she cursed, and clutched, and somehow kept her seat. Her mount
skated wildly beneath her. It regained stride, only to slip again down the
hardened falls of a rapids. Taen dropped the reins and grabbed saddle leather.
The thrust of the horse's shoulders pinched her knuckles. Then the beast was
across, and galloping up the embankment to the roadway on the far side.
Bruised in places she winced to contemplate, Taen fumbled after her reins. She
dared a breathless look back. Jaric followed with a frown intent as his
father's, his sword point streaming like a fire beacon.
The riders sent as escort still milled in confusion on the far bank. Neither
sorcerers nor enchantress paid them further heed. Thankful for the lapse, two
score stalwart men at arms abandoned duty and permitted their mounts to bolt
in panic toward Corlin.
A mile farther on, the Stormwarden slowed to allow the horses to breathe.
Hooves clanged on the wheel-scarred slate of the roadway; that and the gusty
roar of flame effectively foiled speech. Taen snatched the interval to gauge
the battle's progress.
The outlook proved discouraging. Corlin's troops were hardpressed, with the
Duke forced to issue another command to withdraw. Dismayed by this
development, Stormwarden and Firelord wheeled their mounts from the roadway.
They continued at a gallop across tilled fields and pastures, until the stone
walls of a sheep fold obstructed the way. Anskiere launched his horse in
stride and leapt over. But Jaric had not been raised a prince with the finest
of blooded horses at his disposal; he summoned Earthmastery and dissolved the
barrier into a spattering rain of sparks. Taen followed him through the gap
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grateful because her knees galled her. The bay dropped back to a walk.
The defending ranks of Corlin's army were now overwhelmingly close, and losing
ground steadily. Just beyond the next rise, shouts and the clangour of weapons
tangled with the screams of maimed soldiers. A horn winded close by. The wail
of a whistle arrow signalled the recall, answered by the thunder of a cavalry
charge to give faltering knots of foot soldiers a second's space to regroup.
'If they get pinned against the river, they're lost,' Jaric shouted.
Anskiere gestured in bleak agreement. He reached the crest of the hill, drew
rein, and faced forward, stunned speechless by the vista that met his eyes.
Taen and Jaric stopped their mounts at his side, equally appalled. The sight
below affronted human dignity. Fires burned, red and raw as wounds across the
valley. Outlined in hellish light, two armies struggled, one composed of
staunch but frightened men, and the other of bones of the dead, laced
clatteringly together by dried strings of tendon. Men, women, even children
had not been spared service to Shadowfane's minion. They fought through no
will of their own, skeletons animated to grisly purpose. Gut and soft tissues
had long since been chewed away by scavengers. The shrivelled gristle of the
faces exposed jawbones and teeth, and eye sockets scraped clean by beetles;
but the bony hands of thousands swung weapons.
Their blows wrought tireless slaughter upon the living. Taen saw a handsome
young swordsman get his skull half cloven by an axe. Blood fountained as he
stumbled; yet he collapsed no farther than his knees. In horror, the
Dreamweaver watched him rise, turn, and slash, killing the shield mate who
fought at his side. The soldier died with a look of agonized surprise.
Men slain on the field only augmented the ranks of Maelgrim's atrocities. Taen
dismounted. Devastated that such malice should be engineered by one she had
known as her brother, she stumbled against Jaric's knee.
Ivainson leaned over his horse's withers and offered comfort. The heat of his
fires enfolded her. Taen clung as if she might faint, but no space remained
for weakness. As Anskiere called an impatient query, Jaric reluctantly touched
her hair. 'Little witch?'
Taen straightened with a nod that was dogged bravado; inside, she wanted badly
to weep. But her talents could not be spared. Without words, she handed the
reins of her gelding to Jaric. Then she settled in the damp grass and gathered
her awareness into trance, to assess the strength of the
Dark-dreamer whose influence they must overcome, or else surrender the kingdom
of Hal-lowild to Lord Scait and Shadowfane.
The battlefield looked different to the inward eye. In dream-sense, the spirit
glow of living flesh outshone the flash of swords and steel-headed lances. At
the far flank of the fighting, the flare and sparkle of spells showed where
the Duke of Corlin's conjurer bolstered the offensive with wizardry.
But if the army of defenders was visible as light, the enemy they engaged and
died to obstruct was darkness, black and featureless as chaos before creation.
The shadow that animated the dead arose out of Morbrith. Like tide it swirled
and pressed south, tireless enough to engulf the domains of Corlin and
Dunmoreland in turn. Cautiously Taen extended her awareness. She probed the
edges of the Dark-dreamer's powers, and encountered the singing of Gierj.
Far above the limits of normal hearing, the note that enabled the demons to
meld and generate energy dashed against her Dreamweaver's probe. Resonance
pierced Taen's defences, tore gaps in her concentration wide enough to defeat
her.
She slammed back with a cry of pain. Her trance broke, awareness wrenched
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