I shake my head at just how familiar that reasoning sounds.
“Some of us have family in Navarre,” Avalynn says, a row in front of me with the other first-years in our squad. “Are we supposed to just sit back and wait to hear if they die?”
“They should have left,” a rider retorts from somewhere in the vicinity of Second Wing.
“Not everyone has the means to pick up their entire lives and move just because a war is coming, you elitist prick,” Avalynn counters, her voice rising.
She has a point, and the mutters of agreement throughout the wings rise in volume and pitch.
“This is not what Battle Brief is for!” Devera shouts.
We quiet down, but the energy has shifted, and it’s not in a positive direction.
“Let’s spin this another way,” Brennan says. “If you were Melgren, what would you be doing right now?”
“Shitting myself,” Ridoc answers.
Brennan rubs the bridge of his nose. “Other than that?”
“Bolstering the wards,” Rhiannon offers. “As long as they remain at full power, this is all just bluster on the part of the enemy.”
“Excellent point, Cadet Matthias.” Brennan nods.
“So he has to choose between arming his forces or keeping the power supply concentrated in the armory?” That question comes out of First Wing.
“Another excellent point,” Brennan agrees. “What’s the problem with arming the forces?”
“Spreading out the daggers lessens the efficacy as a power supply for the wards,” Rhiannon replies. “Even if the energy isn’t actively being spent killing dark wielders, the wards are still weaker.”
“Right.” Brennan looks straight at me. “And what would you choose to do, Cadet Sorrengail?”
“Besides actually fight to defend innocent civilians?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think twice about calling my brother out in public.
“If you were Melgren.” His head tilts, and from that look, I know I’m going to get the mother of all lectures after this.
I study the map for a heartbeat. “I’d have pulled every dagger from the coastal outposts to reinforce and boost the power supplies at the border outposts. They’re powerless once they cross the wards. Wyvern die. Venin can’t channel. That leaves them with hand-to-hand combat—”
“Or artillery,” Cat adds.
“Exactly.” I glance at her and nod. “As long as the Navarrian forces can physically repel the dark wielders and keep them from scattering the power supply in the armory, then there’s no real danger of incursion.”
“And that’s exactly my point.”
“But Melgren saw them being defeated,” a flier from Second Wing says.
“Let’s run with that thought.” Devera gestures at the map. “Should the wards at Samara fall, what would happen?”
“They’d have a direct line to the hatching ground,” someone answers.
“No,” I reply. “That portion of the wards would fall back to its natural distance, about a three-or four-hour flight from Basgiath, just like ours. The power supplies in the outposts extend the wards, they don’t create them, so while a large piece of Navarre would be unprotected—” Blinking, my gaze finds my brother’s.
He nods.
Melgren was bluffing, banking on us not fully understanding how the wards work. He used a scare tactic to get us to agree to fight.
“Did you want to finish that thought, cadet?” Devara asks.
My mind spins as my heart lurches into my throat. I stare at the map, at the thin line of the border that remains uncrossed by what appears to be an undefeatable legion of the enemy, and a thought so terrifying I can barely reach for it begins to take hold. “How old is this information?”
“I’m sorry?” Devera’s brows rise.
“How long have they been sitting on the border?” I clarify, my nails biting into the palms of my hands as I tighten my fists, pushing down the fear threatening to consume me.
She glances at Brennan, who replies, “They’ve been there for three days. This morning’s report confirms they haven’t moved.”
Oh gods.
“We act now.” Tairn’s voice rumbles through my head.
I stuff everything into my bag as Devera calls on another rider to answer a question.
“What are you doing?” Rhi asks in a whisper, and I notice almost every member of my squad has turned to watch.
“I need to find Xaden.” I sling my pack over my shoulders and slip my arms through the straps, preparing to stand. “It’s not Samara.”
“All right.” Rhiannon puts her things away, and the rest of the squad follows her lead. “We’re coming with you.”
There’s no time to argue, so I nod and we all file out, earning us a few shouted protests from Devera, but the sound only blurs into the roaring in my ears as my thoughts spin faster and faster.
The hallway is relatively empty, since every cadet is at Battle Brief, making for a quick exit from the western wing of the house.
“Where are you?” I ask down the bond.
“In a strategy meeting in the Assembly chamber,” Xaden answers. “Why?”
“I’m headed your way. I need you.” We pass the doors to the history classroom and then the great hall.
“Is anyone going to tell us why we just walked out of Battle Brief?” Cat asks, a few steps behind me.
“Violet has a look in her eyes,” Rhiannon explains, keeping up at my side.
“The same one she had before the Squad Battle last year,” Sawyer says.
“She’s onto something, and from our experience, you just roll with it,” Rhiannon finishes.
Xaden walks out of the Assembly chamber and heads straight for me, meeting us in the middle of the hallway. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not Samara we have to worry about.”
“Why?” He keeps his eyes on me despite the shuffling of my squadmates.
“Because they’re sitting there waiting,” I explain. “They’ve been waiting for three days. Why?”
“If I knew their thought process, this war would be over,” he replies.
“Melgren says they’re overrun on solstice. That’s the day after tomorrow.” Gods, we’re going to have to move quickly.
He nods.
“Wyvern aren’t going to take down the wards at Samara. They can’t fly past them. Plus, smaller hordes were moved along the full border. I think Samara is just a distraction. I think they’re waiting for them all to fall.”
His eyes flare for a heartbeat.
“The battle can’t take place somewhere else,” Sawyer argues. “Melgren would see it.”
“Not if we’re there,” Sloane counters. “Melgren can’t see the outcome if three of us are there, remember?” She holds up her forearm, where her relic winds above the edge of her sleeve.
“Exactly.” My fingernails bite into my palms. “He can’t see the real fight if we’re there. He has all his forces concentrating on Samara, when they should be—”
“At Basgiath,” Xaden finishes my thought, his eyes searching mine. “The Vale.”