out of bowshot. I don't want any stray arrows putting you out of action.
Maerad nodded, as if Indik—who was out of sight—could see her, and gathering her wits, moved back from the battlements. Without losing awareness of her present surroundings, she delicately felt her way back into the net of magery that she had woven with the weatherworkers. She knew the Landrost was in there somewhere, and she could feel his presence more accurately if she let her mind touch his strands, as if he were a spider in the center of his web and she a fly on its outer edges, sensing his presence by subtle vibrations.
From her post, Maerad could see the outer wall better. Although at first it had seemed chaotic with activity, now she saw there was an order in it. She had little experience of fortifications, but even she could see that compared with Norloch, Innail had minimal defenses. A high stone wall, reinforced with wards woven into the stone to keep out creatures of the Dark, seemed the thinnest tissue against the forces she had seen swirling below.
Even as she thought this, the clouds before her seemed to explode, and Maerad reeled and almost fell. Before she even knew what was happening, she had automatically drawn her sword, shaking her head to rid herself of a dizziness. It was as if something had struck her head, although nothing had come near her. The air seemed to be full of black, wet, leathery wings. Wers, she thought, in some cold part of her. They've broken through the wards ...
The wers landed swiftly, their claws raking the stone and striking sparks, and began to transform almost immediately into man shapes: tall figures with shoulders of brutal strength and black broadswords. Maerad heard, as if from a great distance, Indik shouting orders, and the screaming of the children, and already the clash of weapons. Almost without thinking, she lifted her arms and said the word for White Fire, noroch, and a silver ball shot from her fingertips and caught the nearest wer on its shoulder, as it raised its arm to strike at a Bard. The flame stuck and burned, flaming through its hair, and the wer screeched. The sound went through Maerad's head like a knife. As it writhed on the ground, flames blackening and withering its body, the White Flame leaped to another wer close by, and Maerad saw more wers behind. She stretched out her hand to send more White Fire: but it was already over, and all the wers were dead, either hacked by the Bards and soldiers or burned by the White Flame.
The orderliness of the outer wall was now splintered into chaos. Maerad saw that one of the children had been killed, and averted her eyes; another body lay limp close by. She rushed over to see if she could help, her heart in her mouth, and turned the body over; it was a Bard she didn't know, and she still breathed. A bruise was already turning purple over her temple.
"Quick! Over here!" cried a voice at her shoulder, and Maerad turned in surprise. It was Camphis, who laid a hand on the Bard's face, over the bruise, and briefly glowed with magery. Yes, he would be a healer, Maerad thought, drawing back so she wouldn't be in the way. Indik had already arranged Bards in a fighting line, which was just as well, as the attack was almost immediately followed by another. Camphis stayed with the injured Bard until men arrived with a stretcher to carry her away, protecting her even as a wer rose on its haunches and struck out at him with its savage claws. He shore off its head with his sword, and the thing collapsed heavily to the ground. Smoking blood spurted across the stones and over Maerad's feet.
Maerad had no time to feel disgust: she sent out White Flame, hitting every wer she could see, wondering why other Bards were not following her example. All of them except
Cadvan, she saw, were fighting with weapons, not magery. In a very short time—or perhaps the time only seemed short—the wers were again all destroyed. The ground was littered with their foul
Maerad nodded, as if Indik—who was out of sight—could see her, and gathering her wits, moved back from the battlements. Without losing awareness of her present surroundings, she delicately felt her way back into the net of magery that she had woven with the weatherworkers. She knew the Landrost was in there somewhere, and she could feel his presence more accurately if she let her mind touch his strands, as if he were a spider in the center of his web and she a fly on its outer edges, sensing his presence by subtle vibrations.
From her post, Maerad could see the outer wall better. Although at first it had seemed chaotic with activity, now she saw there was an order in it. She had little experience of fortifications, but even she could see that compared with Norloch, Innail had minimal defenses. A high stone wall, reinforced with wards woven into the stone to keep out creatures of the Dark, seemed the thinnest tissue against the forces she had seen swirling below.
Even as she thought this, the clouds before her seemed to explode, and Maerad reeled and almost fell. Before she even knew what was happening, she had automatically drawn her sword, shaking her head to rid herself of a dizziness. It was as if something had struck her head, although nothing had come near her. The air seemed to be full of black, wet, leathery wings. Wers, she thought, in some cold part of her. They've broken through the wards ...
The wers landed swiftly, their claws raking the stone and striking sparks, and began to transform almost immediately into man shapes: tall figures with shoulders of brutal strength and black broadswords. Maerad heard, as if from a great distance, Indik shouting orders, and the screaming of the children, and already the clash of weapons. Almost without thinking, she lifted her arms and said the word for White Fire, noroch, and a silver ball shot from her fingertips and caught the nearest wer on its shoulder, as it raised its arm to strike at a Bard. The flame stuck and burned, flaming through its hair, and the wer screeched. The sound went through Maerad's head like a knife. As it writhed on the ground, flames blackening and withering its body, the White Flame leaped to another wer close by, and Maerad saw more wers behind. She stretched out her hand to send more White Fire: but it was already over, and all the wers were dead, either hacked by the Bards and soldiers or burned by the White Flame.
The orderliness of the outer wall was now splintered into chaos. Maerad saw that one of the children had been killed, and averted her eyes; another body lay limp close by. She rushed over to see if she could help, her heart in her mouth, and turned the body over; it was a Bard she didn't know, and she still breathed. A bruise was already turning purple over her temple.
"Quick! Over here!" cried a voice at her shoulder, and Maerad turned in surprise. It was Camphis, who laid a hand on the Bard's face, over the bruise, and briefly glowed with magery. Yes, he would be a healer, Maerad thought, drawing back so she wouldn't be in the way. Indik had already arranged Bards in a fighting line, which was just as well, as the attack was almost immediately followed by another. Camphis stayed with the injured Bard until men arrived with a stretcher to carry her away, protecting her even as a wer rose on its haunches and struck out at him with its savage claws. He shore off its head with his sword, and the thing collapsed heavily to the ground. Smoking blood spurted across the stones and over Maerad's feet.
Maerad had no time to feel disgust: she sent out White Flame, hitting every wer she could see, wondering why other Bards were not following her example. All of them except
Cadvan, she saw, were fighting with weapons, not magery. In a very short time—or perhaps the time only seemed short—the wers were again all destroyed. The ground was littered with their foul
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