SOMEONE DIED HERE.
The thought slid through Kate’s mind unbidden, and for a moment she wasn’t even sure where it had come from. Ahead the hard-packed road looked undisturbed, tranquil almost. No dust from hooves or wagon wheels clouded the air. To either side of the road, the grass grew long and wild, strewn with everweeps. It was beautiful, a welcome sight after her long argument with the ferrymen of the Redrush. They’d delayed her for hours on her return journey from Andreas, enough that she would have no choice but to stay in the abandoned Relay tower tonight.
So where did that thought come from?
The smell on the air—but not one she could detect. Rather it was Darby smelling it, reacting enough that Kate sensed it with her magic without meaning to. She reached toward the horse with her power and soon saw a distorted image of a nightdrake. To his equine mind, the dragonish creature was more monstrous than in real life. He made it the size of a wagon, with fangs as long as daggers, claws like scimitars.
Kate frowned, trying to process the image. It made no sense. The sun shone too brightly for a nightdrake to survive it, dusk an hour away at least, and there were no shadows for them to hide beneath. There must’ve been an attack last night, Kate reasoned. She sent reassurance through the link, convincing the horse there was no threat.
Kate urged Darby onward, and soon they crested the hill. In the valley below, the ruin of a caravan lay sprawled across the road. Overturned wagons, the long, rounded bodies of dead horses, and the thinner, frailer bodies of dead men were easily distinguishable even from a distance. Those poor people and horses, she thought, mouth hanging open in dismay.
She steered Darby away from it, meaning to bypass the scene altogether and head on to the Relay tower. This was not her business or responsibility. The reek of death was strong enough now that she could smell it, too; Darby pranced beneath her, anxious to move away. Kate was just about to let him have his head when movement drew her eye to a flag fluttering atop the only remaining upright wagon. The sight of the familiar white horses in a rearing pose on a dark-blue background made her stomach clench. The royal sigil of Norgard . . . House Tormane . . .
Corwin.
She wheeled the horse about and pressed her heels to his sides, sending him forward. Darby protested, each step short and choppy, until Kate took hold of his mind and bent his will. There is no danger, she insisted. The drakes can’t survive the sun. Only, even as she pressed this truth onto Darby, doubt rose inside her. Something wasn’t right. The caravan hadn’t been encamped when the attack happened, and the destruction felt fresh, as if it had occurred only hours before instead of last night. And why did the drakes leave so much meat behind? They never did that, but as she drew nearer, she saw that one of the men was still alive.
He lay flat on his back in the middle of the wreckage, not far from the upright wagon, and was struggling against the weight of some creature lying on top of him. At first Kate thought it was a nightdrake—it had the right shape—but the color was wrong, black instead of pale gray.
As Kate scanned the area, steering Darby forward with her legs, she saw several of these black creatures and no recognizable nightdrakes at all. A surge of alarm went through her, heightening all her senses.
She turned her gaze back to the man struggling to free himself. Her breath caught as she realized it was Corwin. Smears of blood and dirt marred his face, but still she recognized him. In a sudden panic, she heeled Darby forward. Corwin’s eyes turned to the sound of pounding hooves, and she saw the delirium on his face. He’d been wounded, that was certain, but she couldn’t tell how badly.
How am I going to get him out from under that thing? The strange creature was close to horse size and probably twice as heavy. At least it was dead, the tip of a sword protruding from the juncture where its neck met its shoulder.
Corwin peered up at her. “Kate,” he said in a voice weak as a kitten’s mewling.
She started to dismount, but stopped as movement off to her right caught her eye. She turned to see a black beast, about a hundred yards away, charging toward her at full speed. In an instant she knew it was a drake, despite the color. Its movement was unmistakable, powerful like a charging bull, but also sinuous like a cat. Even more unmistakable was the sound that issued out of its opened, snarling mouth. Impossibly, the daylight did not affect it, as if those black scales were sun-block armor shielding the nightdrake beneath.
Nightdrakes who do not fear the sun.
Daydrakes.
A shudder passed through Kate’s body even as panic seized Darby’s mind. The horse reared back on its haunches, ready to spin and flee. Kate wrestled for control, forcing Darby to remain still. Then she dropped the reins and grabbed her bow off the saddle. Reaching for an enchanted arrow from the quiver on her back, she quickly nocked it, the magical tip dazzling her eyes.
She inhaled deep, willing her nerves to calm, her focus to center. Then she exhaled and released the bowstring. There was a sharp twang as the arrow launched forward, the tail wavering for a second before straightening out. Her aim was a little off, as it always was on the first shot. Still, the arrow struck the daydrake in the shoulder, the enchanted tip penetrating the hardened scales and sinking deep. At least these new beasts weren’t immune to magic, as they appeared to be to the sun.
But the daydrake didn’t even break stride. She pulled another arrow from the quiver, nocked it, and released. Again, her aim was off, but it didn’t miss—this one sinking into the beast’s chest a few inches below its long neck. Still the daydrake didn’t slow.
Darby pranced sideways, but Kate stayed centered in the saddle, her legs working as anchors. Breathe, focus, aim. Instinct and training took over. She pulled the third arrow free and launched it. This time it found its mark in the creature’s jugular. The daydrake’s nostrils flared and its wail turned from threat to pain. She loosed the fourth arrow, striking the neck again. The creature continued its charge—pain now becoming rage.
The fifth arrow struck the same, a third shaft protruding from its neck. One arrow left. The creature was slowing, but it wouldn’t fall in time. Not without a killing blow. It was close enough now that she could smell the scorched stench of the air around it.
She pulled the last enchanted arrow from the quiver and nocked it. Inhaling, she centered her aim over the arrow, willing the shot to be true. Darby’s panic pressed against Kate’s control. Distantly she heard Corwin calling for her to flee. If she failed to kill this creature now, they would both die.
She pulled the bowstring as taut as her reach would allow. Then she let it go. The arrow flew hard and true, sinking six inches deep into the daydrake’s eye socket. The creature loped forward two more strides, then stumbled, going down on its knees. The hind legs rose up over its head and it flipped, landing in a broken heap less than a yard from Darby.
The horse snorted and began to back away. Kate let him, her breath coming in frantic gasps now that the threat was over.
She’d done it, survived her first nightdrake attack. And during the day. She—
The thought stopped dead in her mind as the sound of more wailing reached her ears. Kate jerked her head to the right to see three more daydrakes bearing down on her.
Three drakes, and she was out of enchanted arrows.