White Road

thing. I say we go find them.”
    Alec hobbled Patch and took up his bow. “Come on.”
    “Wait, I hear a horseman,” said Skywake.
    A moment later Rhal burst from the trees, an arrow bobbing from his horse’s shoulder.
    “The camp’s under attack,” he shouted. “I was on my way back for you all and suddenly someone was shooting at me!”
    Just then they heard a distant droning.
    “What is that?” Skywake exclaimed.
    “Oo’lus. Lots of them,” Alec began, then another piercing, unmistakable sound joined it. “And that’s Sebrahn. Come on!”
    “Don’t run off alone,” Rhal called after him. “Your man will never forgive me if I let you get yourself killed.”
    “Then you better hurry up!” Alec called back, sword in his right hand and his bow in the left.
    Running in the lead, Alec was the first to see the body of a dark-haired man lying facedown in the road, two arrows in his back. The clothing wasn’t Seregil’s, but Alec still had to stop and roll him over, just to be certain. It was Kalien.
    “We’re deer in a meadow here,” he told the others as they caught up. “Get into the trees. Rhal, you take that side of the road, I’ll go left.”
    Five of the sailors followed Alec as he plunged through the shadowy wood. In a matter of minutes a small dark form leapt out at him with a long knife. Alec struck him down before he was in reach, and the one right behind him. There were more and suddenly he and his men were in the middle of a melee. From the shouts and ringing of steel nearby, Rhal had met with the same welcome.
    They dispatched the men with knives, only to find themselves targeted by unseen archers. One of the sailors—it was too dark under the trees to be certain which one—was struck in the arm, and another fell.
    “Keep going!” Alec shouted. They could hear more shouting from the direction of the waterfall, and now he could smell wood smoke.
    Illior must have been still pleased with him; Alec reached the edge of the clearing without losing anyone else. A few trees on the far edge of the clearing were in flames, making it easier to see in the gathering gloom.
    The droning started again, and Sebrahn’s answering song rose to mingle with it. Alec gritted his teeth against the sound, watching a violent wind whip up near the waterfall.
    Rieser and some of the Ebrados were just in front of him, hunkered down behind the overturned cart. A few others were in the woods, shooting at the enemy on the high ground above the falls. Micum and Seregil were in the act of chasing after Sebrahn, who stood in the open, singing.
    There were a lot of men up there, and some of them had oo’lus, but they had gone silent when Sebrahn began to sing. “We’re here!” Alec shouted to Seregil, then sheathed his bloody sword and raised his bow, aiming for the witches.
    He struck two of the five in quick succession before the others ducked from sight, then turned his attention to the armed men streaming down through the trees in their direction.
    “Over here!” Alec called over to the others as he took aim at the Retha’noi.
    “How many?” asked Micum.
    “Two score or more, but that’s what I see.”
    There were short arrows scattered everywhere, and the cart looked like a tailor’s pin pillow, but the archers had stopped. They were probably among those coming down after them.
    Then the remaining witches began to play again and Sebrahn answered them with a new, even more earsplitting note.
    Alec staggered toward him, then fell to his knees as the combined sound of Sebrahn and the horns threatened to overwhelm his senses.
    They are going to kill us all
, thought Alec. His head felt like it was going to explode and his vision went red. The mingled sounds of the oo’lus and Sebrahn’s song were unbearable, and a sudden wind knocked him flat on his back, making it impossible to get to Sebrahn, who was exposed now, standing beside the cart, pale hair whipping wildly around his head.
    Just when he thought he would die or go mad, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of wings. Looking up, he saw owls—hundreds of them—some swirling overhead while others dove toward the Retha’noi.
    Sebrahn is calling them! His “owl dragons.” Illior’s sign. If only there were real dragons in this part of the world!
    But the huge flock descending on the men on the heights might equal a dragon; the oo’lu song faltered and stopped and there were cries of pain and dismay from the forest to their left,