place. Triss climbed into the basket set in front. Erring Rift
gave a low whistle, and one by one the Rocs rose skyward,
claws fastened to straps that held the baskets at four comers,
lifting them gently, carefully away from the earth, carrying
them up through the trees and into the darkened skies.
Wind rushed in cool waves across Wren Elessedil’s face as
Spirit cleared the trees and swept east toward the plains. The
fires of the Federation army became visible almost immedi-
ately, and their sweep seemed even larger from here. Erring
Rift took the lead aboard his Roc Grayl, turning the formation
south along the line of the forests and as far away from the
light as he could manage. They flew silently down the tree
line, watching the fires widen and then shrink again as they
passed beyond their glow and back into the darkness. When
they were far enough down. Rift led them back again toward
the light, swinging wide onto the plains so that they would
come up from the center rear.
Wren clung to Tiger Ty with one hand to steady herself and
to maintain contact. The Wing Rider was solid and steady in
his seat, hunched over as he flew, face turned away. Neither of
them spoke.
When they were as close as they could safely manage with-
out being seen, the Rocs settled earthward. The baskets were
lowered, and the straps released. The Home Guard scattered
The Talismans of Shannara 201
from the carriers and disappeared into the night. The Rocs rose
again. Wren still riding behind Tiger Ty, and swept wide in an
arc that carried them out and away. A few minutes for Triss to
dispose of the sentries, and then it would be time.
The Rocs swung back again, leveled out, and headed di-
rectly into the Federation camp, picking up speed as they went.
This was the most dangerous part—so dangerous that Tiger Ty
was forbidden to do more than to carry the Queen of the Elves
as an observer. Whatever else might happen, she was to come
away safe. They sped toward the Federation encampment, flat-
tening out some fifty feet above the ground as they passed
over the first of the fires.
Then down they went, dark arrows out of the night, all but
Spirit. Eleven strong, the Rocs hurtled into the Federation
camp, streaking toward the watch fires. At the last instant they
were spotted, and howls of surprise rose from the men be-
low. The warnings came too late. Wings extended, the Rocs
skimmed the watch fires, choosing those that were close to
dying, and snatched up bunches of the burning embers with
their hardened claws. Why bring fire for the burning when
there was fire already at hand? Erring Rift had argued. Away
flew the Rocs, wheeling right and left toward the siege ma-
chines. The Federation soldiers were turning out of their blan-
kets and bedding in swarms, trying to decipher from the
jumble of words being shouted at them by those already awake
what was happening. By now the Rocs had reached the siege
machines and supply wagons. Burning brands tumbled from
their claws onto the dry, seasoned wood. The wind fanned the
embers in falling, and the wood burst instantly into flames.
Some of the brands were dropped onto dusty canvas tarpaulins,
some onto the shingle-roofed cabins atop the giant scaling tow-
ers, some into the vats of pitch that served to coat the missiles
of the catapults.
Fire roared into the air from a dozen quarters, licking hun-
grily. Shouts turned to screams of fury and cries for water, but
the flames were everywhere at once. The Rocs swept down on
those who tried to smother the flames early, driving them away.
Then the Home Guard attacked from out of the night, long-
bows sending a hail of arrows into the milling Federation sol-
diers, dropping them as they struggled for their weapons,
202 The Talismans of Shannara
killing them before they knew what was happening. Swords-
men appeared, materializing all along the encampment’s edges,
cutting loose war horses and pack animals and driving them
into the night, spilling sacks of grain and overturning water