The Long War 03 - The Red Prince by A. J. Smith

unafraid in front of the Dark Young. His confidence began to flow into them. Even as grotesque sounds echoed around the forests, the assembled warriors were not afraid.
    He placed a black wart arrow to his bowstring and smiled at the other defenders of the Fell.
    ‘We kill them. They send more and we kill them, too. We kill every beast they send against us. We are Tyr and we will fight.’
    The words travelled in a low echo through the trees. Each Tyr rose, abandoning cover and forming a line of archers, each with a flaming black wart arrow nocked and ready. Faces of anger and courage appeared either side of the Shape Taker. For perhaps the first time, there was no fear,. He knew it wouldn’t last, but for now his strength was enough.
    The two Dark Young moved over the dead Karesians and towards the line. The torpid remnants of their fellow blocked the way, but they twisted and contorted their bodies past the obstacle, reaching towards the forest-dwellers.
    ‘Bring them down!’ Nanon shouted.
    A synchronized sound of bowstrings flexing drowned out the beasts’ guttural cries, before fire engulfed the Dark Young. Each arrow struck and exploded, causing globes of sudden flame to ignite and pulsate against the writhing black creatures. Both rose to their full height, their maddening cries flowing into shrill howls of pain.
    ‘Again,’ shouted Dyus, already nocking another black wart arrow.
    The second barrage dropped the huge beasts to the ground as fire quickly spread across their cracked flesh. They kept moving, but slowly became little more than smouldering, blackened parts, twitching on the grass. He wouldn’t call it a vulnerability, but Jaa had made sure that fire was more dangerous to the Dark Young than any blade.
    ‘Let your mistress send more,’ muttered Nanon. ‘She won’t be breathing much longer.’
    He gritted his teeth and began to calm his mind. Explaining to Dyus that he’d have to leave would be difficult, but meeting Dalian and Rham Jas in Ro Weir and killing the enchantress was as important as defending the Fell, though he feared that his strength would be missed on the line.
    * * *
    Saara the Mistress of Pain was tired. She had not slept properly in a month, since Lillian had died in Ro Arnon. She might have recovered, but then Shilpa had died in Ro Haran and sleep left her entirely. Her head was a whirlwind of names and faces, many she didn’t recognize. Her phantom thralls, as she’d begun to see them, occupied most of her attention. Four of her sisters were dead and those they had enchanted were now a constant burden to her.
    She knew Rham Jas Rami was in Haran, but was powerless to act against him. She believed everything that she could do to protect herself was being done, but still she was on edge. Elihas of Du Ban was acting as her personal bodyguard, her flock grew stronger each day, her Hounds were everywhere, and her sister, Sasha the Illusionist, had managed to buy the Kirin’s daughter. Was it enough? Had she thought of every eventuality? Saara hated the fact that she couldn’t be sure.
    She was sitting in Duke Lyam’s office, attempting to distract herself from her phantom thralls. She’d seen an endless line of wind claws and Ro officials, testing her patience by asking petty questions about the security of Weir and delivering reports from other cities. Elihas had dealt with the men of Ro, but the Karesians didn’t respond well to the Black cleric and required Saara’s attention.
    Her next appointment was with Sir Hallam Pevain. The mercenary knight had recently risen from his sickbed after having had his throat opened by Utha the Ghost. By all accounts, the wound had soured his disposition even more, making a vile man even viler. He remained rather useful, however.
    The door opened and three men entered. The wind claws flanking the door recognized Pevain and allowed them entrance. One of the others was Parag, an unpleasant mercenary and Pevain’s second. Saara did not know