Free The Gift by Alison Croggon Page A

guardhouse. At once she felt cold, although she still had her back to the fire. It was as if she had stepped outside, although she could see nothing but the opposite wall. But she heard the slow flapping of wings, wings of creatures that she could not imagine, wings without feathers, taloned and heavy, and heard hisses, as of cold breaths drawn in and out of cold, leathery bellows.
    “Wings,” she whispered. “But giant wings. It’s not bats, or it’s bats as big as wolves.”
    “Yes. They are close. The barrier will not hold them. I cannot make it high enough.”
    “But I can’t see anything, Cadvan, I can’t see
anything.
” Maerad turned to him, her eyes wide. “They’re so big, I can hear how big they are. What are we . . .”
    “Silence!” Cadvan turned with the fury of a snake. “I can’t be patting your hand like that of a terrified child. If we are to get through this night with our hides in one piece, you must remember who you are. You are one of the Gift. Grow up, or we will die here.”
    Maerad swallowed. Cadvan was preoccupied again, taking no notice of her, listening and watching, his sword in readiness. She took a deep breath and pushed back the terror that had started to take hold of her mind, winding its way through her muscles, insidious and cold, like a poison mist. Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to relax. She held her pitiful dagger in her hand. It seemed so small. She wished she had a sword and knew how to use it. Perhaps then she might feel more like a warrior. She sent out her mind again, not knowing what else to do, and heard the winged creatures, farther away now, higher up. They were flying to the top of the barrier. What was the barrier made of? She didn’t know, but they were going to fly over it and down on top of them. She knew that now. Instinctively she stood up, and saw that Cadvan was also standing, staring above them, up the walls where the fire flickered into shadow and then blackness. She moved closer to the fire. Cadvan threw another few logs on, building it up so the flames leaped high. It was unbearably hot. She looked above her, straining her eyes, her nerves stretched to breaking point.
    At last she heard something, but so slight she hardly knew if it was the wind. Cadvan’s breath hissed through his teeth. Then, so fast she almost didn’t see it, a huge shape came plummeting down on them from above. It veered briefly into the fire and shrieked, flapping back. Cadvan leaped forward and hewed its neck with his sword, jumping back as it crashed down, spouting black gouts of blood.
    Maerad saw with surprise that it wasn’t as big as she had thought: the body was about the size of a goat. But she had no time to look at it, for now the air was full of claws and wings and hissing. One came straight for her; she saw its eyes burning red in the fire. Her dagger was useless, and with a sudden inspiration she dropped it and dragged a burning branch from the fire. She thrust it at the creature, which wheeled away and crashed into the wall. It fell to the ground, its neck broken.
    Immediately another came for her, landing on the ground and rearing up to slash her with its claws. She swung the branch around, and her shoulder jarred as she hit it hard. The creature hissed with fury as the flames licked it, and its long neck snaked toward her. Maerad hit it again, and the branch broke. She leaped sideways, grasping another branch, and the wer struck her a glancing blow to the head with its claws. She didn’t feel any pain; her fear was suddenly overcome by a surge of anger. She held the brand in both hands and swung it randomly; the room was so small it was impossible not to hit something. She was aware of Cadvan to her right, slashing and hewing, beset by three of them, and then another three, while others hovered overhead. Maerad kept lashing out, remembering to go for the eyes, and the creatures swung away from the flame, concentrating their attack on