At my words a collective groan went up from the throats of the witches hidden in the forest.
‘What about the winged witch at your side?’ the kretch snarled, drawing another blade. ‘Is she a coward too? She has killed many of us, snatching them from the air, taking advantage of her wings. But dare she face me in combat?’
At my side Wynde growled angrily and fluttered her wings.
‘Don’t listen,’ I counselled softly. ‘We should save our strength for the right moment.’
‘Those words should not go unanswered,’ the lamia hissed.
‘That’s what they are – just words,’ I said softly. ‘Don’t listen. That creature is just trying to provoke us into making a rash attack. “Cowardice” and “courage” are just labels – words invented by foolish men to bolster their egos and denigrate their enemies. In battle we should be cold, clinical and disciplined. That is the way of an assassin and it is what I counsel for you. When the time is right, we will kill the kretch. You will drink its blood and I will take its thumb-bones to wear around my neck.’
‘Please, Grimalkin, let me have one of its bones,’ Thorne begged.
‘We will see, child,’ I said, smiling grimly. ‘You will receive what you deserve.’
‘You whisper amongst yourselves like weaklings!’ the kretch called up, pointing its blades towards us. ‘You are just frail women who do not deserve the name “witch”.’
‘I will kill the creature for you, Grimalkin!’ Wynde hissed.
‘Do not risk it,’ I warned again. ‘It is very fast and strong, and its claws contain a deadly poison. Moreover, its bones are as tough as armour. The head is well-protected.’
But then, before I could speak again, Wynde launched herself from the battlements and began to circle the clearing with strong, steady beats of her wings. When she approached the spot where the mage was standing, she banked and swooped towards him, talons outstretched. I thought he would use his mysterious bone weapon against her, but instead he simply stepped back into the trees, and Wynde turned and started to gain height, ready to attack the kretch. I realized that she had simply wanted to drive Bowker out of the clearing so that she could deal with the creature without interference.
The kretch waited, staring up at the lamia, blades ready to meet her. By now Wynde was very high, appearing no larger than a fingernail. Suddenly she dropped like a stone, straight towards her enemy, and everything happened very fast: I saw the blades flash, the lamia strike with her talons, fur and feathers flying everywhere. Then Wynde’s wings were unfurled and she was gliding away, gaining height once again.
There were two livid scratches on the kretch’s forehead, above its eyes. The lamia had drawn blood, but I knew that the skull beneath the fur was tough. I remembered how it had deflected my throwing knife. I had hurled it accurately and with enough force to penetrate a human skull and bury itself up to the hilt in the brain. The kretch’s thick bone had repelled it as easily as would a newly forged helmet, fresh from the anvil of an expert smith. The creature also had rapid powers of recovery. Wynde would have to kill it, then cut it into pieces – and perhaps eat its heart immediately to stop it regenerating.
I glanced up at the lamia as she dived towards the kretch again. She had lost a few wing feathers in that first attack but I knew that her lower body was well protected by scales. In the battle on Pendle my own blades had been powerless, yet my skill as a forger of weapons could only be surpassed by one of the Old Gods, such as Hephaestus. The kretch’s weapons would be unable to cut Wynde’s belly. It would have to go for something more vulnerable, like the throat. But such a target would be hard to reach, and the creature would have to take risks and increase its own vulnerability.
This time Wynde’s attack was slower and she came at the kretch from an angle that was far less steep; maybe something near to forty-five degrees. I saw immediately that she was going for its belly. It saw that too, and dropped to all fours and twisted away. It didn’t escape completely because the lamia raked its flank with her talons, gouging five long, livid wounds. But still, they were not serious, and the creature stood up again and waited, blades at the ready. As yet no serious damage had been suffered by either combatant.
I was filled with anxiety for Wynde. What she was attempting was filled with great risk. I wished I could join the fight, but it would take me too long to descend the walls, and only death waited down there. My duty was to keep the Fiend’s head safe, not sacrifice myself needlessly.
The lamia’s next attack was almost identical to the previous one. That was a mistake because the kretch was ready. This time it dropped onto all fours once more, but as Wynde struck at it with her talons, it rose up and lunged at her throat with its left blade.
Wynde seemed to hesitate, as if uncertain what to do. Then she gave a shudder and took off again. But there was something ponderous about her ascent.
‘She’s hurt!’ Thorne exclaimed. ‘She’s badly cut.’
Thorne was right. I could see blood dripping from the lamia and spotting the grass. I thought she might retreat back to the battlements. But, like Thorne, Wynde was a taker of risks and she attacked again immediately.
This time she went for the kill. Rather than striking quickly, then flying away to safety, she collided with the kretch with great force, then slashed and tore at it with her talons, fighting at close quarters. She was grasping the creature’s shoulder with her right hand, holding it close while she struck at it again and again with the other. But it was striking back, and I could see its blades gleaming in the moonlight, both red with blood as it thrust them into her body. Blood-spattered feathers fell around them and I groaned inside, aware that the lamia was getting the worst of it.
Why didn’t she release her hold on her enemy and escape while she still had the strength? Better to retreat and survive to fight another day. Some defeats are temporary. The final victory is all that counts.
And then the bearded mage, Bowker, was running out of the trees towards the combatants, and from a distance of about six paces he pointed his rodent-skull weapon at the lamia: I saw the air shimmer, Wynde shuddered.
Now it was too late for her to fly to safety. The kretch dragged her down onto the grass beside it; one of her wings was bent at an unnatural angle and I knew that, even had she wished to take off, flight was now beyond her. She fought on for a while and it seemed that the kretch was temporarily baffled and feared the teeth and claws of the lamia.