Sursha grabbed me, her tunic pulled up over her nose and mouth. “How are they so powerful?” she asked, pointing at the Daughters of Aillira standing with Draki.
“The warlord must have given them his blood.” The blood of Gwylor, the death god. The blood of Ildja, the serpent-goddess, the eater of souls.
Dragonmen and nomads fled the battle to escape the smoke and exploding stones. Cracks opened in the earth, swallowing warriors before closing again, burying them alive—a powerful trick from Draki’s earth-shifter.
Something glimmered above our heads, spreading across the battlefield. On the other side of the field, I saw Eathalin, her hands in the air, casting a veil to hide us all from the Daughters of Aillira on the watchtower.
It was no use. They didn’t need to see to do damage, and Draki had no qualms about sacrificing his own men. A wave of fire crashed over nomads and Dragonmen alike, followed by a hail of stones. My brother’s army thinned as one nomad after another succumbed.
“We have to stop them,” I said. “We can knock them from the watchtower and use the wind to catch them when they fall.”
Mabyn looked at the wind-wafter. “Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“It’s too risky,” Sursha said. “You could kill them.”
“They’re going to kill everyone. Do you have a better idea?”
No one spoke. The women glanced around, seeking confirmation from one another. The wind-wafter nodded first, then the rest of them bobbed their heads in consent. “Careful,” Mabyn said. “Our sisters are innocent. We mustn’t harm them.”
We stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by a shield of wind and earth and flame, throwing everything we had at the tower. I called for every bird who could hear me to dive at the Daughters of Aillira, but they had their own shields. Wind met wind, flame met flame, the gulls and cranes and crows that swooped over the tower caught fire and fell in a scorch of feathers or were thrown back by gusts.
The wind-wafter on the tower sent a gale shrieking toward us, scraping across the field, stirring up cyclones of dirt and hurling men through the air. Wind slammed into our line, ripping us away from one another, dragging us along the ground in different directions.
Draki’s mind touched mine. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can be allies, Lira.
His voice forming my name made me shiver. Had he ever used it before? “Our gods won’t let us be allies,” I said as I climbed back to my feet.
Then we will become gods ourselves.
I didn’t want to be a god. All I wanted was to be a soul-reader, to be given the choice to use my gifts of my own free will, to help those who needed it. At least, that’s what I told myself.
But when the packs of catamounts and coywolves I’d called from the wilderness finally arrived, paws running across the drawbridge, my pulse spiked. I felt the burn of the animals’ muscles in my own as they leaped at the Dragonmen, claws and fangs ripping through the invaders, the scent of death in my nostrils, the tang of blood on my tongue—it sent a thrill up my spine.
We were created for greatness, little warrior.
I licked my lips, tasting salt and iron. “I was created to avenge my ancestor, Aillira. To cut down anyone who gets in my way.”
Just like that, I made my choice. Damn the god of death and his serpent-bitch sister. Damn the twisted monsters Veronis and his brethren had become. Whatever choices I made from here on would be to right the wrongs that had been done to the first gifted girl of Glasnith, a girl who’d been betrayed by her family and her gods just as I had, whose life and love were stolen from her as mine were. The woman my mother named me after.
The Daughters of Aillira on the watchtower raised their hands, preparing for their next attack.
I screamed Aillira’s name like a battle cry as I lifted my palms toward them, guiding another flock of birds to the tower’s rooftop. This time, I urged the birds closer together, sending them to attack the shield not as a scattered mass but as a single entity, a crushing boulder of talons and beaks and wings that burst through the barrier. In their wake, the warlord remained as steadfast as a statue, but the Daughters of Aillira swayed and stumbled.
Where was our wind-wafter? I looked around, frantic.
There—she lay on the ground not far from me, blood dribbling down her forehead. Unconscious.
The Daughters of Aillira toppled over the watchtower’s edge, into open air, and crashed into the sea.
CHAPTER 16
REYKER
He couldn’t see what was happening at the drawbridge. He’d done all he could, quietly executing guards, lowering the bridge, disabling the warning bell. The rest was up to Garreth and his army. Reyker had his hands full with the battle for the bay.
He’d seen the fleet of longships from one of the watchtowers—Iseneldish ships, the same symbol painted on the sides of every hull: a circle with crossing axes in its center. The Mountain Renegades, coming to attack Draki’s largest stronghold on Glasnith, to undermine his great victory. To turn more of Iseneld against the Dragon.
A thing Reyker would gladly help with, if not for the nomad army crashing through the front gates. The Mountain Renegades would cut through the Dragonmen and keep going, straight through every last nomad, until the village was theirs, and the nomads would see no difference between Dragonman and Renegade as they aimed their blades.
The Daughters of Aillira were just opening the infirmary door when he leaped off Vengeance and skidded to a stop in front of it. “I need your help,” he said.
He convinced them to follow him to the shore, to watch the longships edging toward the bay. They didn’t trust him, but they recognized the threat. Any ship from the Frozen Sun was considered an enemy.
“What’s your plan?” Keeva asked.
“Are there tide-tellers among you?” Two women stepped forward. “Can you propel a ship if you aren’t on it?”
The tide-tellers shared a glance. “We couldn’t before,” one of them said, “but we’re stronger now. We can’t control the ships like a sea-farer could, but I think we can push them forward, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good. Are any of you fire-sweepers?” As the magiskas shook their heads, Reyker said, “Then we’ll do this the old-fashioned way. Come with me.”
They started on the largest of the three piers, climbing aboard the ships—Reyker on his own, the Daughters of Aillira working in pairs. They searched the ship holds for flint, using sailcloth as kindling, turning each vessel into a bonfire before unmooring it. The tide-tellers took turns, one shifting the Renegades’ longships so they drifted away, the other ferrying the burning ships forward, creating a fiery blockade that stretched across the mouth of the bay.