Aamon …
Arrows struck all around. Steel points sparked off of the black rock. Shafts shattered into splinters. Others ricocheted away.
As the volley ended, Nyx was released. To her right, two of the Kethra’kai women rolled to their sides, both their backs feathered with bolts. Between them, Xan lay on her back. The two women had done their best to shield the elder with their bodies, but an arrow had made it through their sacrifice.
A bolt pierced Xan’s throat. Blood bubbled from her lips and throat, forever silencing her song. Still, she breathed. Rhaif rushed over to her side. Shiya’s bronze form had done a far superior job of sheltering Rhaif and Frell. Still, the alchymist’s face bled from a glancing strike.
Nyx turned to her own shield.
Aamon panted behind her. Arrows impaled his chest, shoulders, and flank. Darkness soaked through his fur and slowly dripped under him. She despaired for him, but he stood firm and kept watch all around.
Across the plaza, a deafening series of booms drew her attention outward. She turned in a stunned circle. Bombs rained from ships overhead, blasting at each gate. The forest hordes screamed and bellowed within the firestorm below.
Nyx covered her ears, wanting to close her eyes.
She sank to her knees next to Aamon, into a pool of his blood.
Everywhere she looked was only death.
* * *
RHAIF KNELT ON the cold stone and held Xan in his arms. The last two Kethra’kai guarded over them.
“Just hold on,” he whispered to Xan.
She stared up at him with eyes of emerald and azure, all of Cloudreach in her gaze. Blood seeped from her lips, which impossibly smiled at him. He saw no pain as the arrow throbbed in rhythm with her heart.
She reached a trembling arm and palmed his cheek. His mother’s lullaby again rose inside him, but he knew this song was not his alone, not just a mother to a child. It was a grandmother consoling a granddaughter, a father teaching a son. It was a thousand generations of one comforting another. Even now, Xan sought to do the same for him, to offer him solace, to let him know that one end was not the end of all.
He remembered his horror at Shiya’s plan. She wanted to destroy the Crown and kill untold millions, all so this spark might survive and carry on, from one generation to the next.
In this moment, he almost understood it.
Rhaif leaned down and pressed his forehead to her cheek. “Xan … you will never be forgotten.”
She managed a whisper that reached him. “My granddaughter … lives in you … through you. As do I … as do all the Kethra’kai. Do not forget that.”
He managed a small smile.
Even now, she still sought to teach him.
The lullaby inside him rose louder, ringing with notes both happy and sad—then it slowly faded. Her palm slipped from his cheek. He straightened to see Xan’s body slump into peace.
Hands drew him away. Another shifted the body.
The last two Kethra’kai had their own good-byes to make. Rhaif let them, standing back. They took his place, kneeling, singing over her body, keeping vigil.
Rhaif stared at the legions closing upon them from all directions. Knights and Mongers, archers and pikemen. The rain of fire continued to flow down from the ships. Smoke rolled everywhere. The jungle cried out in agony.
Ahead of him, Shiya blazed before all of it, a fiery bronze torch against the darkness.
He headed toward her beacon.
Frell stood a short distance away, balanced between Shiya and a small girl on her knees next to a blood-soaked champion. The alchymist seemed lost, his face smeared with crimson.
Shiya lifted her arm, ready to summon fire to her.
Then a small arrow-shaped ship—a scout-ketch—sped past overhead. Something tumbled from its underside. Then another and another. All falling toward Shiya.
No …
He ran for her, a shout of warning on his lips.
Then the small casks of alchymical fire burst around Shiya, blasting her forward. Frell caught an edge of it, too, and was thrown to the side. A hot wall struck Rhaif and tossed him backward, lifting him off his feet. He hit and rolled, tumbling through smoke and air too fiery to breathe.
Finally, he stopped and stared toward where Shiya had been standing.
Only flames remained.
* * *
SPRAWLED ACROSS STONE, Nyx fought to an elbow, then a knee. She rolled around and stared all about her. The world was smoke, lit by pools of flames. Still, the fires weren’t enough to pierce the thick pall. Her lungs burned. Her eyes watered. Fiery embers spun in whirls and gusts.
She searched around, partly deafened by the blasts.
Then something nudged her from behind. She startled away, only to have a cold nose touch her palm. She turned as Aamon sidled next to her, panting, nearly gasping now. He came next to her, offering his shoulder. She leaned on him. He swung his head and bumped her thighs, then faced forward, as if to say: This way …
He guided her through the smoke, skirting the fires, sticking to the thicker pall to keep them hidden for as long as possible. But it could not shelter them forever.
As they continued, the smoke cleared around them. The air felt frigid after so much heat. She shivered, so did Aamon, but not from the chill. He clearly weakened with each step, but kept on, obeying his grizzled brother’s last command.
Protect.
With this thought, she sensed something sweeping through the air, coming closer, as if drawn to her. It felt like a storm building over the horizon. She hoped it was the Sparrowhawk—but she sensed a danger in that storm, one of grim power, trained on her.
She stared up.
What is coming?
* * *
WRYTH CIRCLED IN a sailraft above the fiery carnage across the black plaza of Dalal??a. He still clutched Skerren’s orb, but he no longer needed its guidance.
He had watched a scout-ketch unload a fiery storm atop the bronze figure. She had been blasted far, torn from her allies. Smoke now covered the view. He waited for it to dissipate. Despite his desire for the artifact, he didn’t fault that barrage upon her. He had watched her commanding this henge, drawing lightning to her like an iron rod, and tossing it back upon her enemies.
He had never imagined such a fearsome weapon.
His lust for her grew—along with his caution. Upon Wryth’s order, the sailraft’s drover kept his boat high and away. They were all fearful of one of those bolts striking the craft.
Through the raft’s tiny windows, he searched the fire and smoke below.
Movement drew his eye, to a path stirring through the pall, like a finger across black water. The smoke parted enough to reveal a blazing bronze figure, looking no worse, at least from this height. From the darkness at her feet, she pulled forth two dazed figures, two men. They all looked around, lost and wrecked in those smoky seas. But they searched for something—or someone.
Bony fingers clasped Wryth’s arm. A hand pointed in the opposite direction. He turned and squinted. He saw two figures stumbling together, looking nearly like one. It was a large wolf or dog, accompanied by a small girl.
Vythaas drew closer, whispering in Wryth’s ear, raising gooseflesh. “Vyk dyre Rha…”
Wryth stared harder. He could not imagine how that frail, staggering form could be the future vessel for the dark majesty of the Klashean god, the infamous Shadow Queen.
Still, Vythaas knew far more about this prophecy than anyone, so Wryth had to trust the withered Shrive in this matter. Moreover, despite appearances, the girl had fought her way all the way here to Dalal??a’s dark henge, while somehow also collecting the ancient weapon along the way. If Vythaas was correct about her, she had to be stopped now, before she came into her full power.