The cursed towers 219
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After that the army of forest faeries had turned and marched for Blessem, pleased at the idea of seeing
more fighting after their quiet winter. Lilanthe had not been so pleased, though she thought often of Dide
in the ensuing two weeks, oscillating between pleasure and anxiety at the idea of seeing him again.
The pack of wolves howled the scent of blood and Lilanthe's pace unconsciously quickened. Soon
afterward they heard the clash of arms and all the forest faeries raised their weapons and rushed forward.
They came across a thin road winding through the forest. Bodies of horses and men lay all along its route,
some still crying out in pain. Small groups of men were fighting desperately through the trees, those in
gray jerkins greatly outnumbered by their armor-clad attackers.
The stench of blood was thick in the air and the satyri-corns screeched in excitement. Lilanthe called to
them to restrain their blood-lust. "Kill only those in white cloaks," she cried, but the horned women were
already running, shrieking in frenzied anticipation.
Afraid of what they might do, Lilanthe called again in distress and suddenly the seelie lifted his golden
head and called out a long ululation. The satyricorns turned their heads and howled in protest, but they
did not spear the wounded men with their sharp horns or fight over the bodies of the dead, as Lilanthe
had feared. Instead they ran on, surprising a group of Bright Soldiers who were walking along the road,
killing any that lay injured. With cries of ecstasy, the satyricorns stabbed and thrust with their horns and
laid about them with their clubs until all the Bright Soldiers were dead, then they ran on into the thick
undergrowth in search of more.
The faeries of the forest surged after them, surprising the Tirsoilleirean soldiers fighting all through the
trees. Some were pulled down by wolves or clubbed to death by corrigans. A screech of gravenings
swooped down, their filthy hair trailing, disease-carrying claws raking at their eyes. Slinky and silent as
giant cats, the shadow-hounds poured through the trees, tearing out the throats of the enemy. Another
band of Bright Soldiers were seized in the great arms of tree-changers and their backs broken.
Lilanthe and Niall hurried to offer what aid they could to the injured men, many of whom had not even
had a chance to unsheathe their swords.
"Where is the Righ?" Niall asked anxiously.
One man pointed up the road, saying hoarsely, "His Highness rode at the front o' the cavalcade. I canna
think he could still be alive. I canna see how any could be, so sudden and fierce was the attack." His
head fell back on the cloak Niall had pillowed beneath him.
The big man rose, saying reassuringly, "Our attack is fiercer yet, I promise ye. Rest awhile and we'll be
back to succor ye when we can."
Lilanthe bid the nisses to carry water to the wounded soldiers and the little faeries went flying off down to
the stream, carrying tiny cups made of leaves back to the road. All brimming over with water, each cup
was only a sip for the thirst-tortured wounded, but so swift were the nisses and so many that soon their
parched throats were soothed.
Meanwhile Lilanthe and Niall ran on up the road, leaping over the bodies of the fallen. Amongst the trees
they saw Dide and Gwilym fighting back to back, a wall of dead Tirsoilleirean building up around them.
The jongleur's knives were whirling through the air as if they had minds of their own, darting and flashing
like hummingbirds. Dide was badly hurt, one leg hanging uselessly, one eye obscured with blood flowing
from a wound to his head. He was only able to keep upright with the help of the one-legged warlock,
who had his club propped under his armpit. Blue light flashed out from Gwilym's fingers, disintegrating
one soldier after another. Still the Bright Soldiers fought on, two replacing each one that fell. An archer
