Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [113]
Elisandrya looked about and saw the assembled oracles. A dozen of them stood in a circle, holding hands and lost in concentration, chanting softly and straining with the effort. Their white robes were wet and stained with mud, and they shivered in the cold, but they held their arcane rhythm. A dozen more stood close by, watching the sky warily with solemn attention.
"And Sameska? What of her, Dres?"
Dreslya nodded toward the temple, her face dark and expressionless.
"She hides there with several others. They stayed with her to keep the wards and protections of the temple active. She refuses to protect herself," she looked to Eli, a tone of contempt in her voice as she added, "or is no longer capable."
Elisandrya nodded grimly, understanding, but was pleased that the oracles had joined them in defending the city. She was elated that her sister was among them. She squeezed her hands together, rubbing her left hand that ached from the bow being wrenched from her grasp.
"Here," Dreslya said. Taking a wrapped bundle from her shoulder, she handed it to Elisandrya. "I had a feeling you might need this."
Beneath the layers of wet cloth, Eli discovered the strong, dark shaft of a long bow. Her breath caught in her throat as she beheld the familiar runes etched in the wood alongside depictions of Shaaran steeds racing down its length. Rain chased the symbols and pictures, bringing them to life in her hands. Twelve years had passed since she'd last seen the bow. She recognized it as if it had been only yesterday when she and Dreslya had quietly packed it away.
"Make father proud," Dreslya said to her before joining the oracles in the circle.
Elisandrya held the bow in trembling hands, hesitant at first, but then reached into a leather pouch on her belt for a bowstring. Skillfully, she braced the weapon behind her left knee and strained to bend the shaft, stringing the bow with the deft speed of a trained soldier. She nocked an arrow and splashed through the street to stand with Lesani near the rear of the wall's defenses.
She cast one last look at her sister before danger loomed on black leather wings. The devil's sharp, curving horns swung left and right, batting away hurled spears. It rested menacing red eyes on the tiring Ghedia. Eli saw smoking wounds across its thickly muscled chest and arms. It dived again, roaring in imminent victory over the Shaaryan druids. Elisandrya fired her bow. The arrow's flight was quick and nearly invisible, embedding in the devil's exposed chest.
The malebranche pulled back, furiously flapping and grasping at the arrow's shaft as it howled in pain. A cheer rose up from the hunters at the sight of the wounded beast, but quickly died as three more devils flew overhead, roaring exultantly with the thunder as the pouring rain turned into fire.
* * * * *
Morgynn pushed Khaemil away from the bowl. He winced at her touch, and Quinsareth felt his magical bonds loosen.
With a quick and furious glance from the canomorph, the spell tightened again.
Despite the magic, Quin still found himself able to speak and move his head. The pain Morgynn had induced in him had faded at her release. Her touch would have been enough to kill, he realized. He stretched his jaw, tasting the warmth of blood on his lips.
"There they are," Morgynn said, studying the Savrathans in the scrying bowl. "They defy their own edict now, working against my prophecy."
Morgynn's eyes still swirled with living blood. Her hands gripped the small table, shaking it with fury though her expression and voice never changed, never lapsed into the rage that seemed to flood her senses.
"They can do little harm now, Lady Morgynn," Khaemil ventured. "Foresight cannot help them now."
"True," she snapped. "However, this does not quell their potency against the bathor, does it?"
Her brief control of her anger crumbled. She gripped the wooden bowl and hurled it at Khaemil, splashing him with the crimson waters. Khaemil raised his arms, but otherwise did not