out above the screams, and many a soldier, talon and human, died in the first seconds of battle.
And an exhausted Jolsen, smiling in the knowledge that he had indeed avenged the deaths of his kin, went down under a flurry of talon blows. Even as the darkness of death closed over his eyes, the great smith managed one final swing, blasting yet another talon from life.
From the wall, Tuloos watched helplessly.
“There!” Rhiannon cried out.
Belexus followed her pointing finger to the north, but nothing was yet visible to the eyes of the ranger on the open plain. He trusted Rhiannon’s instincts, though, and he swerved the cavalry line to follow Rhiannon’s lead. Sure enough, only a minute later the talon cavalry came into view, swinging down around to the south for a straight rush at the road.
Belexus knew at once that he was outnumbered by at least five to one, but at that moment, with the memory of the pitiful line of desolate people making their way to the river so vivid in his mind, the odds didn’t seem to matter. The ranger understood his objective. He wouldn’t engage the talons fully; he couldn’t risk complete defeat. He would meet their lead riders from the side, turn them back to the east, and force them to parallel the road all the way to the river.
Where, Belexus could only hope, reinforcements from the eastern towns would be waiting.
Rhiannon, unarmed, broke off to the side and let the soldiers pass her by. She slowed her horse and tried to tune her senses in to the land around her, hoping that the earth would once again speak to her and give her the power to aid in the cause.
The forces came together in a brutal rush, the heavier horses gaining initial advantage over the smaller swamp lizards. Belexus drove hard into the talon ranks, every sweep of his mighty sword dropping a talon to the ground.
But the advantage was soon gone, for the sheer numbers of the enemy slowed the charge to a near standstill. “East!” Belexus cried, knowing that his brigade could not hope to survive a pitched battle, and he started them on their wild run, talons pacing right beside them and the battle moving on in full flight.
Rhiannon easily kept close to the thrashing throng, trailing the fighters by barely a hundred yards. The ranger’s plan seemed to be working, she noted hopefully. The talon line, intent on the ranger’s troops, followed the flow to the east. And in the continuing battle, where riders of both groups were more intent on merely staying in their saddles than inflicting blows on the enemy, few were slain. Belexus, so skilled with horse and sword, got his share of talons, though, and more than once Rhiannon grimaced as shewatched a soldier go down, only to be swallowed up by a sea of the vile monsters.
But then the trailing edge of the talon line, in a rare display of insight, apparently began to understand the ploy. Remembering the commands of their warlock leader—that the road was their primary goal—more than half the force cut back behind the riders, once again aiming for the south.
Only Rhiannon stood to stop them.
Meriwindle could not guess how much of the blood that covered his body was his own. He was still in the saddle, one of the few who could make that claim. But three talons had fallen for every soldier, and, more importantly, the charge had been halted, and the elf looked back now at Corning to see the last of the refugees being ushered through the gates.
But any smile that might have crossed Meriwindle’s face was short-lived, for in the other direction, down the western road, now came the main force of Thalasi’s army.
“To the town!” Meriwindle cried, and those soldiers who could manage to break away turned back for home. Meriwindle scooped up two of the men, their horses torn apart from under them, and carried them along on the retreat.
“By the Colonnae,” Mayor Tuloos muttered from his spot on the wall, for beyond the fighting, all the western field
And an exhausted Jolsen, smiling in the knowledge that he had indeed avenged the deaths of his kin, went down under a flurry of talon blows. Even as the darkness of death closed over his eyes, the great smith managed one final swing, blasting yet another talon from life.
From the wall, Tuloos watched helplessly.
“There!” Rhiannon cried out.
Belexus followed her pointing finger to the north, but nothing was yet visible to the eyes of the ranger on the open plain. He trusted Rhiannon’s instincts, though, and he swerved the cavalry line to follow Rhiannon’s lead. Sure enough, only a minute later the talon cavalry came into view, swinging down around to the south for a straight rush at the road.
Belexus knew at once that he was outnumbered by at least five to one, but at that moment, with the memory of the pitiful line of desolate people making their way to the river so vivid in his mind, the odds didn’t seem to matter. The ranger understood his objective. He wouldn’t engage the talons fully; he couldn’t risk complete defeat. He would meet their lead riders from the side, turn them back to the east, and force them to parallel the road all the way to the river.
Where, Belexus could only hope, reinforcements from the eastern towns would be waiting.
Rhiannon, unarmed, broke off to the side and let the soldiers pass her by. She slowed her horse and tried to tune her senses in to the land around her, hoping that the earth would once again speak to her and give her the power to aid in the cause.
The forces came together in a brutal rush, the heavier horses gaining initial advantage over the smaller swamp lizards. Belexus drove hard into the talon ranks, every sweep of his mighty sword dropping a talon to the ground.
But the advantage was soon gone, for the sheer numbers of the enemy slowed the charge to a near standstill. “East!” Belexus cried, knowing that his brigade could not hope to survive a pitched battle, and he started them on their wild run, talons pacing right beside them and the battle moving on in full flight.
Rhiannon easily kept close to the thrashing throng, trailing the fighters by barely a hundred yards. The ranger’s plan seemed to be working, she noted hopefully. The talon line, intent on the ranger’s troops, followed the flow to the east. And in the continuing battle, where riders of both groups were more intent on merely staying in their saddles than inflicting blows on the enemy, few were slain. Belexus, so skilled with horse and sword, got his share of talons, though, and more than once Rhiannon grimaced as shewatched a soldier go down, only to be swallowed up by a sea of the vile monsters.
But then the trailing edge of the talon line, in a rare display of insight, apparently began to understand the ploy. Remembering the commands of their warlock leader—that the road was their primary goal—more than half the force cut back behind the riders, once again aiming for the south.
Only Rhiannon stood to stop them.
Meriwindle could not guess how much of the blood that covered his body was his own. He was still in the saddle, one of the few who could make that claim. But three talons had fallen for every soldier, and, more importantly, the charge had been halted, and the elf looked back now at Corning to see the last of the refugees being ushered through the gates.
But any smile that might have crossed Meriwindle’s face was short-lived, for in the other direction, down the western road, now came the main force of Thalasi’s army.
“To the town!” Meriwindle cried, and those soldiers who could manage to break away turned back for home. Meriwindle scooped up two of the men, their horses torn apart from under them, and carried them along on the retreat.
“By the Colonnae,” Mayor Tuloos muttered from his spot on the wall, for beyond the fighting, all the western field
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