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The battlefield appeared to be in utter chaos, with the two sides virtually indistinguishable except for the two gaily bannered camps at each far end of the valleys. The cavalry charged in, gloriously, only to charge back out. The purpose of the battle remained unclear to me, whether we meant to advance down the valley or prevent them from doing so. More and more I dreaded what Falcon’s instructions would be. How could I possibly perform a magic that wouldn’t make me into a mass murderer?
When Larch silently handed me a damp cloth, I took it without a word and began wiping my arm and shoulder. It wasn’t perfect, but his concoction removed most of the yellow stuff and all of the smell. He promised to refine the formula at day’s end so that my dress could be cleaned. I wrapped the damp cloth around the sticky section of my hair and held it there, nodding absently to his remarks, as if completely absorbed in the battle instead of nursing my wounded soul.
Larch stood when a raptor winged in our direction, silhouetted against the lengthening light. A hawk or falcon by the size, I thought. The bird swooped in and settled on Larch’s upraised arm, black eyes fixed on me with dark intelligence and a wickedly curved beak. More of a hawk, but colored a more vivid russet than any species I knew. The hawk and Larch bent their heads to each other, almost an affectionate curve.
“Spectacular explosions, blindness, bodies flying through the air,” Larch described slowly. “Something that looks like spirals?”
The hawk peeped softly in agreement.
“That’s it?” I asked. “Let me see.” I tried looking in Larch’s thoughts and hit a big wall.
“I don’t think so, my lady,” Larch said softly.
“Great. I love having my fate resting on not getting clear instructions.”
“Lord Falcon can’t kill you or permanently disfigure you without disrupting Lord Rogue’s claim. My lady’s fate does not ride on this.”
“Believe me, there’s worse things than that,” I returned, fingering my neck. “Can I try directly with the hawk?”
The great bird mantled a bit, but seemed more amenable than Larch, who looked decidedly grumpy. “My lady’s arms would be scored by the talons.”
“You hold him. I’ll come to you.”
I knelt down, coincidentally bringing myself to head height with Larch. From this perspective, I could see that his face, his head loomed out of proportion with the rest of his body. Uneasy, I looked away, focusing on the hawk instead. I dipped into its mind, and instantly dropped into spiraling vertigo, hot flight, tearing blood. Gasping, I yanked myself back out.
Larch watched me with a sardonic look that reminded me of Rogue. But all he said was, “Raptors can be difficult to talk to.”
I stood, as much to remove myself from the view of Larch’s odd proportions as to regain some dignity.
“Okay—let’s do this empirically. What is the unmistakable essence of my instructions?”
Larch blinked his catlike eyes at me solemnly. “Little in life is unmistakable, Lady Sorceress.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Yoda.”
“My lady?”
“Yeah, yeah, always in motion is the future, I get it. What do youthinkI am required to do?”
Larch frowned at the hawk. I reached for Darling while I waited. Maybe I could get him just to ask Puck directly. No answer still. And no way to leave a voice mail, either.
“Big, bright explosions spiraling in the sky that blind the enemy,” Larch finally said.
“What about the side effects of blinding our guys? Or us, up here on the hill for that matter?”
Larch squinted before conceding that wasn’t specified. I found myself picking at the dried dragon goo in my hair. “Does it specify permanent blindness? Or that the blinding must be a direct result of the sky explosions?”
When Larch allowed that neither of these things were specified, I had my plan.
I slipped off my shoes and clambered up to stand on the stool, which was nice and stable. Maybe I had known what I was doing after all when I fused it to the bedrock. The hawk showed no inclination to leave, so it and Larch watched me from below. I needed something more showy, like a wand or a few shouted words, but oh well.
I pictured Fourth of July fireworks, a whole half-hour show’s worth—granted not all of those would spiral, but I did make sure to include those ones that swirl down in fuzzy worms and then break into starbursts. I set that going and was startled by the burst of music that accompanied it. Apparently my mental movie of fireworks shows carried the typical soundtrack of patriotic songs. Done deal now.Talk about not being able to run away from yourself.
While the disembodied voice belted out his thanks to be an American and how at least he knew he was free, the fireworks exploded with gratifying brightness—though it would have been better with full dark. The battle had ground mostly to a halt below, with men either cowering down or staring in wonder and fear, or both. Only a few stolidly still hacked at one another. I implemented Phase II, converting sparks from an expanding starburst into myriad tiny fruit flies, implanted with a desire for salt instead of sugar.
With each explosion, another swarm of dark flies descended on the men, going for any exposed skin, attracted by the sweat on their faces and around the eyes vulnerable from the openings in their helmets. I made sure clouds of the irritating insects headed toward both cadres of colorful nobles, too.
Oops, my bad. Just a happy coincidence that those little flies didn’t like to ascend to heights like ours.
