Oriantha came to a stop, peering ahead. “There are lights less than a mile off. A cluster of them. Maybe we’ve found the help we need.”
And she picked up the pace.
Thirty-two
Railing Ohmsford hooded the parse tubes sufficiently to slow the Quickening to a crawl as they came out of the darkness into the first light of the new day just north of the entrance to the Valley of Rhenn. Below and as far south as they could see, hordes of creatures were massed across the open grasslands, pressing toward the pass that led into the valley. The size of the Straken Lord’s army seemed limitless—a vast sprawling migration that darkened the plains like a tidal wave threatening to inundate the entire Westland.
Everyone aboard—save Railing and Mirai standing in the pilot box, and the Ilse Witch crouched by the foremast—gathered at the ship’s railing and stared down at the invading army, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Austrum and his Rovers, Skint, Challa Nand, and even Woostra—but no one was saying anything. There were no words for something like this.
Mirai, standing close to Railing, whispered, “Shades! How can there be so many?”
He didn’t know. Those hundreds of creatures he had fought against in the Fangs seemed like a mere handful compared with the seething maelstrom roiling below them. What chance did the Elves have of turning back so large a force?
For that matter, what chance did Grianne Ohmsford have, Ilse Witch or not? She was still only one, and they were millions.
“Railing, look!” Mirai said suddenly.
To the east, still far distant, a fleet of airships was approaching. Railing snatched the spyglass from its rack and trained it on the newcomers. There were a handful of fighting vessels, but mostly hundreds of skiffs pulling flatbeds crammed with soldiers.
“Dwarves,” he told Mirai. “Come to aid the Elves. But there aren’t nearly enough of them—and they’re mostly foot soldiers, not fliers. If they land those barges, they will be destroyed before they can even get off the ground again.”
“I’d guess they can see that for themselves. But what else can they do? They’ve come all this way; you don’t expect them to turn around and go back again, do you?”
He didn’t know what he expected. A miracle, he supposed. Dwarves or no, the army of the Straken Lord was too massive to be stopped. The Elves might hold the passes through the Valley of Rhenn for a while, but in the end they would fall and Arborlon and the entire Westland would fall with them.
The creatures below them were milling about but not yet advancing, just growling and shrieking, making aggressive gestures and sudden rushes that ended after only a few yards. They were working themselves up, readying for the coming battle. Railing brought the spyglass up again and swept the rim of the mountain walls warding the valley. He saw Elven Hunters everywhere, but no sign of Seersha or Crace Coram. He wondered if perhaps they were responsible for the Dwarves’ appearance and were aboard the skiffs, but that didn’t seem right.
“What are we going to do?” Mirai demanded. “We can’t just watch this happen. We have to do something!”
As she said it, a handful of winged creatures—Harpies and huge vampire bats—lifted off the ground and came at them. They were agile and swift as they closed on the Quickening. The men at the railing backed away, realizing the danger. Weapons appeared. A couple of the Rovers rushed to the rail slings and swung them about protectively.
But before the winged attackers could reach the airship, the witch wraith rose from her crouch and walked to the railing, ragged clothing flying in the wind, dark visage gone almost black. For just a second it seemed to Railing, watching from the pilot box, as if she weren’t there at all. As if all that inhabited the inside of her tattered clothing was a shadow.
The Harpies and bats must have seen something of it, too, and they didn’t like it one bit. As if formed of a single creature, they broke off their attack and swung away abruptly, gathering speed as they went.
The witch wraith turned to him. “Fly to the mouth of the pass!”
He did so without hesitating. Whatever was going to happen now was not something he cared to interfere with. They were here at the witch’s behest; she must have known she would find the Straken Lord’s army attacking the Westland or she wouldn’t have bothered. How she had known he had no idea. But now that they were here, it stood to reason that she intended to face her nemesis—perhaps to do what she had been asked, or perhaps to do something else altogether.
The witch stood where she was, staring down at the army beneath them as they neared the pass. She didn’t speak or move; she gave no indication of what she was thinking. They might have been invisible for all the interest she evidenced. Railing thought it better that way. The less attention she paid to them, the better.
They were closing on the pass when the dragon flew out of the east.