“Ride quickly!” said Ekkehard, behind them. “We’ll get away.”
Sanglant drew his sword, because he could not stand his ground without his sword in his hand, even knowing the sword was useless.
“Back up,” said Liath to him. “I need a clear shot.”
She drew but held it, lips parted, gaze drawn as tight as the bowstring. Her braid hung down her back. Her chin was lifted and her shoulders in perfect alignment. The mellow light gave her skin a rich gleam. Her eyes flared with blue. She was as beautiful as any creature he had ever seen, bright, poised, and deadly. No wonder he loved her so much.
The galla shuddered as they came out from under the trees, as if the pale light of this cloudy day hurt their essence. Light hurt them, because they were creatures formed out of shards of darkness. They were pillars of black smoke, roiling, faceless but not voiceless. He heard them speak.
“Sanglant. Liathano. Liathano.” And, more faintly, “Liathano.” One for him, but three for her. Why not twenty? Why not a hundred? He was sweating; he was cold.
They glided forward over the ground.
“Nay!” shouted Fulk. “Stay back! Stay back!” He sounded likely to weep, but he had seen galla before. No human weapon could defeat them.
Liath loosed her first arrow.
The leading galla vanished with a ringing wail, and a sizzle, and a snap. The smoky pillar simply flicked out of existence. He no longer heard his own name, only hers.
“Get away from me,” she said to him as she pulled a second griffin feather from her quiver. He sheathed his sword and rode to her to pull a feather out of the quiver. The hard vanes cut right through his leather gloves and into the skin below, but the pain seemed trivial compared to the threat.
“Damn it.” Her face was slick. A sick pallor made her skin gray, but her hands were steady. “Move off. I need a clean shot.”
He reined Fest aside and saw how close those other two creatures had come, as if the death of the first one had caused them to leap forward without hesitation. Were they intelligent, or only mindless servants? She shot. A second winked away.
The wind gusted out of the east, and the third galla veered west as though blown off course by that wind. Liath set one more arrow to the string. He heard Ekkehard’s troop clattering away up the road, the cowards. She swore as the arrow slipped crookedly in her bloody hands.
There came, from behind, a sudden horrible shriek of pain and fear and a cacophony of terrified screams. He shifted, and what he saw made his breath catch. Ekkehard’s troop had fallen back from the western path crying and wailing, scrambling to get out of the way of the fourth galla which emerged unexpectedly from the western trees. Theucinda’s horse bolted, so panicked by the demon sailing across the clearing that it headed straight for the galla coming out of the woods.
Too far to shoot.
Liath had seen. She fixed her gaze on Theucinda. The girl tugged hopelessly at the horse’s reins. Ekkehard screamed.
Fire exploded up from the grass, running in a line that quickly separated Theucinda from the galla. The horse veered sharply away from the blaze, stumbling. She tumbled down, landing hard, shouting out in pain. The horse galloped out of the way. The galla passed through the fire behind her, untouched by the flames, and kept on coming, leaving Theucinda unharmed.
“You take that one,” said Sanglant, “and for me, the other.”
Without waiting to hear Liath’s reply, he drove Fest forward toward the third galla, which had by now tracked back to approach them. An overpowering stench of iron and blood swamped him as he neared the galla. He could hear nothing but that clamorous ringing and Liath’s name, tolling on and on. It seemed at this angle to reach as tall as the trees, a vast horrible black tower. Singing death. Singing give me release. He tugged Fest to the right and leaned left with the griffin feather extended, and slashed right through it.
Fest charged toward the trees with nervous energy. He fought the gelding back around to see the fourth galla disappear between one gasp and the next. Smoke poured into the sky as the fire spread. Men shouted in confusion, but he heard, faintly, Fulk’s commands as he rounded them up. Sanglant could not catch his breath. He rested in the saddle for the longest time as his troops herded Ekkehard’s party into line and retrieved Theucinda’s skittish mount. The girl limped but seemed otherwise unhurt. One of Fulk’s soldiers had been dumped and had broken an arm. All told, they had come off lightly.
Liath rode up beside him. She wiped sweat off her forehead and afterward clasped his wrist with her unbloodied hand. “You’re clammy.” Her voice shook, but she held steady.
