Angelslayer: The Winnowing War (81 page)

Antenor was consumed in panic; his face was flushed. He had seen fire before, but this was more than fire. It had life. It had turned when they turned, and he had seen fingers of flame leap from the top of the stables for the trees as they galloped into the forest—it was like a spirit of fire with eyes to follow them.

Antenor glanced to Adrea. He knew she was wise and kind, but he had never seen this part of her. She was fearless. She held the reins tight in both hands, guiding the chariot as it turned a bend in the road. It tipped to one wheel, then dropped back, but Adrea seemed unaffected, nor did she look back to the fire that seemed to be leaping from tree to tree behind them, almost like a creature following.

It had been sunset, but as they rode into the forest, it was dark, with only the firelight to guide them. A dark had settled down out of the sky and pocketed in the trees, leaving them almost black. The fire's flicker, following as fast as their horses could press, left everything wet and slippery looking. Antenor glanced skyward, feeling a sudden chill. Something had passed overhead. He hadn't really seen it, but he heard it—a swift wing beat, not a bird, not anything he had ever seen, it was leathery and heavy sounding.

Lucian kept his heels tight against the flanks as the big horse drove forward. Its eyes were on Adrea, as though the horse understood the danger. They were riding through a thickening cowl of gray smoke, and Lucian knew the fire was not natural. It was possibly Uttuku, for it leapt, flying through the trees with a sound like dragons following. Lucian was sweating in the heat. He heard a wing beat. Lucian gripped the worn, dark wood haft of his grandfather's axe for strength. Suddenly there was a powerful wing beat. Something had soared out of the sky and alighted on the side of the car, right next to Adrea.

Antenor was closest and when he saw the creature, he thought of nothing else but Adrea and the child. He twisted hard on the reins, driving his horse into the side of the chariot. A creature with clawed feet clung to the bronze rail of the car. It moved swiftly, at times blurring out of focus. Before he could react, it turned its eyes upon him and reached out with a fantastically long, powerful arm, shredding the neck of Antenor's horse. The horse reared back, and if Antenor had not been trained by his father to be the best of horsemen, he would have fallen, but he only slipped, clinging to the saddle, trying to pull himself back up and bring the horse in line at the same time.

Lucian thundered past. Antenor caught only a glimpse of his brother, long hair streaming wild as he leaned into Thunderbolt's gallop, his axe lifted, ready. He looked so much older, nothing at all like a boy, and he was screaming a war cry through clenched teeth.

As Lucian closed on the chariot, he grew furious. Whatever had dropped from the sky now jumped into the car beside Adrea, and before Lucian could reach them, the manlike creature had seized Adrea by her neck. She screamed, attacking with her nails, but his face was bony armor. Though he was smaller than Adrea, he easily lifted her, and with a grunt, flung her over the side of the car. She vanished with a shriek.

Lucian felt himself screaming, but he could not stop for her, could not turn; he galloped past after the chariot. The creature had taken the reins of the horses, and was now whipping them, urging speed. Lucian saw Seraphon, bundled and tied in the front of the chariot.

From the corner of his eyes, Lucian saw riders—nearly a score of them—coming from the trees. He knew there were others; the two that had gone for the cabin were just to slow them. Here, in the fire's fog, was where the riders intended to trap them. The riders parted, half of them turning for the spot where Adrea had been thrown. The others swung toward Lucian and the chariot, coming at an angle downward through the trees.

Lucian was at the chariot's side, not close enough to see the creature's face as it turned, glancing over its shoulder at him—but ignoring him as though he were just a boy, no threat posed. Lucian pulled himself to crouch in the saddle, and then hurled over the railing. His axe was heavy, swift. It missed the creature's back, as he had wanted, but did thud through the bone of the creature's shoulder. Losing an arm seemed to have little effect. He had wrapped the reins about the railing and now turned to deal with Lucian, reaching forward with his single arm to slam Lucian against the side of the car. He was amazingly strong. A dark wood-like hand shot out and clamped hold of Lucian's neck. Lucian could feel the fingers forcing their way through the skin. This close, the creature's eyes looked as though they were backlit by small fires. It was growling.

Lucian snarled, brought his axe in a low arc, and hard as the wooden armor was, he sheared though the creature's gut. Then he split open its head and hurled the body out of the chariot.

Antenor had managed to climb back into the saddle, and now he pulled his horse up sharp. It reared, screamed. It didn't want to turn—the flames were curling right for them—but Adrea was back there, and he was going for her. He galloped hard, then circled her body. She looked so broken, lying facedown. He turned, searching. He had lost sight of Lucian, and the smoke that stung in his lungs was growing thicker each moment. As he watched, it closed in about him like a hand, and soon even the trees just beyond were hidden, and it seemed, though the fire was burning all about them, that it had pulled back, leaving only the smoke. This much smoke should be choking him. He should not be able to breathe, but this was different. It was not so much smoke as it was darkness—a living kind of darkness that closed about them, even cutting off sound.

“Adrea!” he whispered, but she didn't move. He wondered a moment if she were still alive.

Riders were coming. He could not see them, the dark prevented that, but he could hear them—a drum of horse hooves.

“Adrea!” he cried, but she did not respond. Her hair was flayed out across the ground. Her wrist was turned about so one palm was upward. “Elyon, give me strength,” he whispered, pulling his bow from off his back and dropped beside her body, crouching, quickly bringing the arrow's gut taut with an arrow. He sensed the beat of hooves, and then fired. A horse burst from the dark, but he had taken mark—it was riderless. He quickly pulled a second arrow taut. He could hear others closing. Antenor fired, but the bolt went over the rider's shoulder. Antenor ripped his sword from its sheath, preparing himself. The rider had slowed, was circling them. It was not human; it bore great wings of leather and its skull was a skeletal mask of hardened black wood that curled in a mock cheek guard and arched at the temples in spines. Its body was covered in muscular-shaped blackened armor, a kind of hardened wood.

The minion swung one leg over and dropped from the horse.

Antenor screamed as came at him, but it ended quickly. The creature's backhand blow hit so hard, Antenor heard the crack of his own neck snapping and his legs went out from under him.

The creature now stood over Adrea. It lowered itself to one knee. It tipped its head, studying her. With a clawed finger, it prodded her bared shoulder. It turned her, rolling her onto her back. It leaned close, studying her face. Its eyes were a mesh of dark webbing, but somewhere behind them burned a low light. It gently swept a curl of red hair from Adrea's cheek. It had no mouth, but phantasm lips moved, and a shadowy tongue flickered just beneath the transparent leather skin.

“Do you know what I love about war?” it whispered. Adrea's eyes were closed—she could have been dead, but she was still breathing, a light, fluttery breath, barely clinging to life. The creature leaned closer. “Plunder and rape. But most of all … rape.”

Rhywder and the maniple of Ishmians had ridden hard the entire day, resting little. He had seen the fires from the distance, and he knew the Unchurians had reached Galaglea, for she was burning. The city left a stain against the setting sun and a pall of black smoke. He had spent time there, Galaglea; the people there, so many, the legion of Galagleans who must have fallen, it left a pain in him. But Rhywder was coming for two, the girl and her child, and that is where he kept his mind focused. They had ridden even harder, and now they should have been to the east and north—which, from the information he had gathered, should have been near Marcian's land. Ahead of them, across a clearing of dull green meadow grass, was a thick forest, and it, as well, was afire, flames curling mighty fingers into the sky, and the roar was furious. The road they were following snaked right into it.