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Sunshine blazed on the cottage, glinting in the two unshuttered windows and the dormers tucked into the steep roof. Even with the sun’s glint, they saw that no one moved inside. No crocheted curtain twitched in a non-existent breeze. Desora’s heart climbed to her throat. That shriek—it hadn’t been muffled. Did that mean Granny Riding and her apprentice were outside somewhere?
The monster was here, that she definitely knew. Old roses clambered up a trellis beside the open door. Lavender grew into the rosemary bushes on either side of the front step. Blue sky overhead, a gentle breeze: all looked peaceful, even the bees droning from flower to flower to collect pollen and nectar.
Yet the monster was here, hidden from them. It had to be on the back side of the cottage. She started to ride around the cottage, but Brax’s big warhorse blocked her. He bent and grabbed the gelding’s bridle. “Wait,” he mouthed. Maybe he spoke. The roar of worry deafened her.
“The monster—.” Then she heard it, thumping behind the cottage. “Brax, let me—.”
She didn’t finish her plaint. A crash of splintering wood deafened them.
The cottage collapsed in a cacophony of broken walls. The roof descended whole, sliding on the fallen walls which bent under its weight then broke more. The shingled roof sank then lost structure, falling apart in pieces, the dormers tilting forward, the sloped plains falling inward, the pitch breaking into three, the back falling onto the front. Last of all, the chimney tumbled inward, a few stones, then more, then the whole of it bent inward and crashed down.
The cottage’s destruction revealed the monster. Grey on grey on grey, it stood where the back wall had been. Fists raised, it pummeled the broken wood, which sank down more.
Standing well back from the monster were Granny Riding and her apprentice Teyja. Tears streaked the girl’s face. Granny had that hollow-eyed look of disaster, but her chin jutted out, determined to fight. She had an arm around Teyja, who clung to the old woman. They didn’t look hurt. No blood. Nothing broken that they clutched. No wounds that Desora could see.
The cottage rubble shifted and creeched. The monster seized a broken roof beam. It wiggled and wriggled to work it free of the debris. Then it spied them. For a heartbeat, two, three, the yellow-green eyes fastened upon them. Then it roared, the triangular mouth opening back on each side. Its square eyes gleamed with that sorcered myst that veiled it when it soared above the ground. It roared again.
It worked the beam free. It lifted the splintered and cracked beam, but the wood broke apart in its square hands. The monster roared again. Arms reached into the debris, extended to reach further. It lifted a chunky piece of the chimney, several rocks still joined by the mortar. It flung the piece at them.
They jerked their horses away, splitting to each side. The piece missed them. It landed with a thud. Dust swirled.
When the dust settled, the monster stomped away from the cottage. It gave them its armored back. As they watched, the ensorcelled myst formed around it—and it lifted into the air and soared away.
As soon as Brax released the gelding’s bridle, Desora urged the horse to Granny and Teyja. “Are you hurt?”
“What is that thing?”
“It scared me,” the girl sobbed. Granny hugged her closer.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. We heard it coming and came outside to look. Why did it destroy my cottage? Where did it come from?”
Desora didn’t know easy answers to either question. “It killed the shepherd boy.”
“What if it c-comes b-back?” Teyja cried.
“You’ve been fighting that thing? Whatever is it? That’s where you’ve been these past days?” Granny’s gaze shifted. Desora glanced back and saw the men lined up behind her. Their horses pranced, restless.
The monster would reach the village before them, but if they hurried, it wouldn’t wreak too much damage before they engaged with it.
“We have to stop it. It’s heading for Mulgrum. Granny, do you have any power at all?”
“A little Air, useless for healing.”
“The girl?”
“No! I’m afraid. It will kill me!”
“Hush, Teyja. The girl has nothing. A gift for healing, that’s all.”
Desora kicked a foot free of the stirrup and held out her hand. “A little Air may be what we need. Come on.”
Granny took a step, but Teyja still clung and refused to move. “Don’t leave me!”
“You’ll be safe. That creature is gone.”
“Wyre may be coming,” Desora warned.
Granny looked up. The monster had hollowed her aged face, but the approaching wyre shocked her. “Wyre?”
“A sorcerer and his shifter pack follow us.”
A ranger kicked forward his horse and held out his hand. “Ride with me, girl.”
Teyja released Granny and dashed to the ranger. Dunstan lifted her and settled her behind him.
As soon as Granny mounted behind Desora, Brax and Challoch spurred their horses. The gelding fell into rearguard behind the rangers.
“Where are the rest?” the old woman asked. “I remember a score of men.”
Desora counted each man who had gone, the first rangers that she hadn’t really met, Klemt and another ranger at Horst’s forest palace, the ones killed by the ogre that they fought with Horst’s riders, Mannon and the ones who died at the Wind Arch. Their fallen lay all across the Wilding. “Dead.”
“Have you been fighting this thing alone?”
“The monster, aye. We killed two more that would have entered through a portal. A portal opened by a sorcerer. Lord Horst and his riders pursue him.”
“Lord Horst? You called upon a Kyrgy for help?”
“And he gave help, willingly. He didn’t hesitate to fight this monster.” She neglected to add that Horst had been defending his forest palace and buildings. “He’s ridden with us for several days. Many of his riders were killed. We even had to fight an ogre. When the sorcerer split apart from the monster, we split as well, Horst for the sorcerer, us for the monster.”
Granny didn’t ask more questions.
They heard Teyja talking to Dunstan. Riding with the ranger, she’d recovered from her fear.
Ivhart rode closest to them, occasionally slowing as if to check on them.
Serre and Ferrac rode with arrows nocked.
Ahead, both Brax and Challoch had out their swords.
They rode past the farthest fields, separated by wind breaks. They reached the wheat fields, greeny-gold and waving gently in the breeze.
The sun beat down, hotter and hotter. A bead of perspiration dripped out of Desora’s scalp.
They rode past the bulls’ pasture, calmly grazing without cows to roil their anger.
The next field had striped green gourds growing from strings crossing along raised braces. The big-leaved plants were dusty green, in need of rain. The little gourds peeked out of the leaves, promising a good harvest.
Then birds rose out of the field. A score, black-bodied until the sun revealed their ruddy brown feathers.
The kites.
“Goddess,” Granny breathed. “I’ve never seen so many at once.”
Three and three and three, from one of the flocks that hadn’t attacked them. Had the birds waited for them? Or had they waited for the first to pass? Had the other flock gone on to the village—or had it flown on to Bermarck, as she had expected?
“Use Air,” Desora advised. “I’m not stopping.”
The rangers had slowed, forcing her to do so. Brax and Challoch rode on without any change to their speed. Had they not seen the kites?
The two older rangers glanced back and motioned with their bows. Desora shook her head and pointed ahead, to the village. They resumed their speed.
Dunstan had slowed and was answering Teyja’s question. Ivhart had drawn his horse to a walk. He struggled to nock arrow to his bowstring.
“Use Air!” she screamed at Granny.
The woman jerked. Then her hand flung out, toward the kites.
Desora didn’t see the gust. She felt power and saw its effect. The gust struck the kites. The birds bowled backward, like a pente ball struck hard by another’s ball. A few fell to the ground. Others remained airborne, flapping mightily to keep from tumbling from the sky.
“Again.”
Granny obeyed.
A few birds escaped the second gust, but others fell down, one pente ball striking many.
When they regained flight, several lifted and headed away, to the Wilding.
“What—? Which should—?”
“Ignore those. The ones who remain are still ensorcelled.”
Granny stiffened, then more Air struck the birds. More flew. The gust struck a barn at the edge of the field. Shingles lifted off the roof, flapped in the breeze. Granny twisted her hand. The shingles spun then flew to the three remaining birds. The birds never saw them. The sheared wood hit them. Shingles and birds toppled to the ground. The birds didn’t move.
“Well done!” Desora shouted.
The gelding caught up to Ivhart’s horse. The young ranger had turned back to look down the road.
“What are you doing?” she called. “We need you at the village.”
“Lord Horst is coming.”
Ahead, Dunstan had slowed, matching her reduced past. Ivhart was behind now. Brax and the others were almost out of sight.
Desora slowed her horse and turned back to Ivhart. Horst coming. He needed to arrive soon. While the Dark Fae’s riders were as decimated as the rangers, they were still extra swords for the battle against the monster. Horst’s fire spheres had had as much effect as her green potential sphere, with their binding vines. “Lord Horst will follow us to the village. We have to go. The monster will attack. The villagers cannot fight it.”
“Lord Horst,” he said again.
“Ivhart, we don’t have time for this. Lord Horst will come to the village.”
“He never leaves the Wilding.”
How did he speak with such certitude? “He may not have left in the past, but he leaves the Wilding today. You sensed him coming.”
“He lost so many riders.”
Desora scowled. Why was he bringing this up now? “Do you pity him?”
“He needs riders.”
Those short sentences—is he entranced? When had Horst entranced him? When he healed Ivhart’s broken arm? But that was two days ago. Wasn’t it?
She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I am losing track of the days, so much has happened.”
A flash of fear sparked over her. Am I losing memories? But no, she remembered everything that had happened, every person and creature that she’d encountered, every word of her dialogue with the sprite queen, every moment of the battle against the ogre, even striking her stave against the ground to open up an acid pot to kill it. The trolls. All the attacks by gobbers. Horst at his palace and on the trail. The men and women bound to the Kyrgy lord, even the ones who had died. The Wind Arch and the two monsters that she had killed when she destroyed the rock formation.
Granny clutched her shoulder. “Desora, are you injured?”
“No, I am not.” Not once, in all those battles. “Ivhart, we must go to Mulgrum. We cannot tarry here. The monster is ahead of us. You are not bound to Lord Horst. You are a ranger, bound to Maorn Harte of Bermarck. Come on.”
The young man’s gaze slowly turned to her. His eyes were dark. Desora thought she remembered their lightness, gleaming brightly when he said one of his idiocies. “We cannot leave. He is coming. They are coming.”
“Let us pass, then,” for the road here was only a cart wide. In a few fields it would be wide enough for a wagon and a cart to pass abreast, but not here.
“They are coming. They are here.” He pointed.
Frustrated, Desora still looked.
Four wolves trotted on the road.
Not wolves. Wolfen. Wyre. Four of them.
“We have to leave,” Granny whispered, as if the wyre could not see them on the road. The wyre would begin running as soon as Desora attempted to flee.
She hadn’t fled in five years. She didn’t remember if she had retreated from battle before that blast of her own power wiped her memory and broke her connection to wizardry. She didn’t care about the past. She wasn’t going to retreat now.
Four wyre had stood at the Wind Arch. They backed the sorcerer, lending their innate magic to the man. Such a linkage was forbidden in wizardry—but wyre slaves could not protest any use a sorcerer made of them. Using that linkage, the sorcerer opened a portal to admit two more monsters to this world.
Now they came. Prime. A strong female. Two more males.
In wolf form they were strongest.
She’d never fought wyre before. At Iscleft Citadel, she had concentrated on the sorcerers who controlled them. Others had kept the wyre off the wizards while they worked their spells.
Wizardry was useless against the wyre. When Frost Clime increased the numbers of the wyre in their battles against the wizards and Fae, the Wizard Enclave had allied with the Rhoghieri as a counter-balance. The Rho could defeat wyre, for they wielded elemental power. Elemental power did not slide off a wyre.
Elemental power could damage wyre. It destroyed them.
And Desora was no longer a wizard.
I am a wielder of elemental power. Of Earth.
And Granny used Air.
She almost smiled.
