The crimson witch

dirt as possible.
        “Some of the wine-” the dragon suggested.
        But before he could finish, the flapping of wings stirred them to look at the sky. Six of the leathery predators were sweeping over the trees. They hardly moved their wings at all, but seemed mostly to glide on the air currents, flapping only to gain height once they had swirled too low. They glided toward Jake and Kaliglia. Shrill cries of hatred scored the air as they saw the body of their fallen comrade, cries as bitter and chill as a sharp January wind carrying whispers of ice and sleet and snow.
        Jake fumbled in his knapsack and brought out the long-bladed knife that Kell had given him. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship, the blade and handle all of one piece of metal, the handle beset with pieces of semiprecious stones in a double ring around the base of the hilt. But he was not thinking of the beauty at the moment, not with ugliness circling so close overhead. He tested the blade against his thumb, found that it was very sharp indeed. He pushed to his feet and addressed Kaliglia, keeping his eyes on the winged demons above. “I'll stand with my back to you. They can only come at me from one direction then.”
        “Good,” the dragon said, nodding his mammoth head, swaying his serpentine neck to follow the flight of the manbats.
        Then the first of the soldier bats dropped, whining in at him like a bullet, fluffing its wings at the last second to slow its wicked descent. Moving as quickly as his strained muscles would allow, Jake fell into a crouch, holding the knife between his knees with both hands, the blade directed outward. When the manbat was almost on him, he swept the blade upwards in an arc, ending with it held back over his head. It sliced through the manbat's chest, spilling its blood and guts across his feet. The thing gave a feeble chitter and collapsed on him, limp. He shoved it backward, kicked it out of the way with his foot, and turned to watch the remaining five as they circled above, black-black eyes glittering insanely like pools of night let loose here in the morning sunshine.
        “Good,” Kaliglia said, urging him on. The biggest was too large for this sort of close-quarters fighting and could serve only as a wall of protection for his comrade.
        A second manbat dropped, more careful than the first. It landed a dozen feet in front of him and stood hissing at him, flapping its wings furiously without lifting from the ground, obviously trying to throw fear into him-more fear than already bubbled wildly through his veins.
        As it stood facing him, he was able to note, for the first time, that about its right leg was a small, black band emblazoned with a brilliant orange crescent- most likely the colors and symbol of the House of Lelar. If one of King Lelar's manbats was an oddity this far from the castle, then what could it mean to find seven of them-and perhaps more as yet unseen-so close to the ravine? But that was not a question to worry over now. Now he must only watch the manbat in hopes of determining when it would-Leap!
        He raised an arm, smashing against its outflung claws and legs, throwing it backwards. The impact would have knocked him from his feet, too, had he not the solid flank of the dragon to rest upon. The manbat tumbled away, scrambled to its feet again, hissing at him, eyes blazing dark flames. Saliva dripped over its glittering yellow teeth.
        He fingered his knife, held it before him and waved it at the manbat. The beast only hissed contemptuously and danced lightly on its clawed feet, waiting for an opening.
        There was a sudden flapping from above as another bat dived.
        He brought the knife up as before, splitting the diving manbat's stomach and knocking it aside. But in the short time his attention had been diverted to meet that more immediate danger, the first manbat had crossed the space between them and was on him, screaming its triumph to the circling congregation overhead who echoed it back, sharing their comrade's joy at victory.
        The demon had overestimated its leap, however, and though striking him with one foot, overshot and smashed the left foot into the flank of the dragon. The blow had been hard, for the manbat had crippled itself, also snapping off two of the four claws on the foot and bending the entire chief joint into a crazy angle. While it was bringing the good claw around for a try at his