She shrieked again, swooping around the edge of the compound and leaving everything—weapons, ropes, and people—burning in her wake. Flaring brighter than the sun, so bright that Veronyka had to shield her eyes, Xatara flew ever upward, farther and farther away. Where she was going, Veronyka didn’t know, but soon she was nothing more than a distant speck of light . . . then nothing at all.
The defenders watched her go, and Veronyka could feel their resolve wavering. Two phoenixes gone in moments, and the others emitting low, sorrowful cries of sadness and despair. One of the males abandoned the fight to soar in melancholy circles over the village. It occurred to Veronyka that she didn’t know which phoenix had laid the egg inside the enclosure, but she guessed it was Xoe, and this mourning male phoenix was her son.
Veronyka turned away, mind racing frantically as she tried to regroup. What now?
Tristan’s words came back to her once more: You have other strengths, you know.
What strengths? How did being a strong animage help them when they were under attack?
And then, as if she were having a conversation with him in her mind, Tristan’s voice answered with more remembered words: If phoenixes have the desire to fight on behalf of the humans they care about, why not other animals as well?
Veronyka whirled around, heart racing. “Tristan!” she shouted, running to his side as he helped hoist a barrel of rocks and debris over the edge of the wall, emptying the contents down on the climbing soldiers below. He left Ronyn to finish the job and came to Veronyka’s side, chest heaving.
“We lost both of them,” he said, running a filthy hand through his hair, leaving blood and dirt smeared across his forehead. His eyes were wild, and his hands were trembling with fear, adrenaline, or maybe both.
“I know,” Veronyka said, and they both turned as a wrenching crunch rose above the din. Part of the village gate collapsed in a cloud of smoke, and the only thing that kept the soldiers from rushing into the newly made gap was the fire licking up the sides of the wood and the scrambling defenders tossing spears and loosing arrows into the open space. It was only a matter of time before the entire structure gave way.
“Tristan,” Veronyka said, drawing his attention back to her. “I have an idea, something . . . reckless.”
His focus sharpened at the familiar phrase, and he gave her his full attention.
“You told me my greatest strength was my magic,” she continued hurriedly, as people rushed back and forth, taking advantage of the lull in climbers to reposition themselves and restock provisions. “But that’s not just me—that’s all of us. This stronghold is full of animages, and it’s full of animals, too. If the phoenixes chose to fight . . . maybe the rest of the animals would too.”
His eyes lit in realization. While not every person who lived at the Eyrie was an animage, most of them were. If they worked together with the animals, from the lowliest mouse and pigeon to the mighty Wind . . .
“Together,” Veronyka added, “we outnumber the soldiers.”
He was nodding, over and over again, and after one final, decisive dip of the head, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Okay.”
Turning to face the courtyard, Tristan cupped his hands and bellowed in a commander-worthy battle voice, calling everyone’s attention. They had mere moments before more ropes would fly up and a new wave of attackers made an attempt on the stronghold. The phoenixes had slowed the climbers down, but they took longer and longer now to build their heat and make their runs, and it was clear that, with two gone, they weren’t enough to keep the stronghold safe.
“Defenders,” Tristan said, looking around at them all, sweaty and bloody and barely keeping it together. The sound of the battle at the village gate was a strange, dissonant contrast to the bubble of silence that enveloped the stronghold—but also a reminder that this was the calm before the next storm. “We have used every weapon and tactic available to us—except one. Who are we? Some of us are soldiers, craftspeople, or cooks; others are Apprentice Riders or even stablehands.” His golden-brown eyes flicked to Veronyka before he continued. “But those are all unnecessary divisions, small pieces of the whole. We are animages, and wherever we come from, we are united, here, in this place we now call home. We are also united in our abilities. Tonight I asked the phoenixes to fight alongside us—and they rallied together to join our cause. Maybe if we ask the other animals of the stronghold to fight with us, they will do the same.”
Whispers spread through the courtyard like leaves in a light breeze. Veronyka closed her eyes and cast her awareness wide, lowering her defenses. There. While the people of the stronghold were confused and unsure, the animals heard Tristan’s rallying cry, felt his intention and the rise of his magic—and responded to it.
“We will not force them,” Tristan said firmly, “but if they choose to help us, we can guide their efforts and ensure they understand the risks. Just as they do in our daily lives, the animals can make us stronger—from phoenixes to messenger pigeons, from warhorses to hounds—no ally is too small, no effort unworthy.”
Veronyka looked around. Many of the animals were afraid and would rather hide among rafters or in dark, quiet cellars, but others . . . Slowly they emerged, slipping between legs and perching on shoulders or ledges. There was a steady thumping sound coming from the stables, and Veronyka found Wind’s familiar, stubborn mind. He was ready to break down his stall door if someone didn’t come and open it for him soon.
The bleak feeling that had so recently overtaken the stronghold changed, shifted. . . . It wasn’t exactly hope, but it was something other than despair, and that was a start.
“If we stand together,” Tristan said, “we can show these empire soldiers what we’re capable of.”
Tristan’s speech ended with the sharp clang of a new grappling hook scraping against the stronghold’s walls. In an instant, the people and animals of the Eyrie responded. Veronyka hurtled down the nearest stairs, almost tripping over the cats and dogs that weaved between her legs. As she burst through the stable doors, unlatching every stall, pigeons and sparrows and doves filled the air.
Outside, Veronyka stared as her most recent reckless plan came to fruition. She joined in where she could, sending flocks of birds left and packs of dogs right. She’d expected to have to do more, but the animals were focused and ready to fight.
Messenger pigeons gouged the eyes of climbing soldiers, while falcons shrieked and dove, beaks tearing and claws scraping flesh.
Instead of weary villagers with serrated kitchen knives, cats scratched and clawed at the climbing ropes—and at any unwary soldier who managed to crest the wall—and a barrage of dogs and horses barreled into the village through the open postern door.
Veronyka climbed the wall again just in time to see a soldier try his hand at running through the ruins of the village gate—only to be surprised by the giant bloodhound that leapt through the gap, colliding with him in midair and tackling him to the ground.
Llamas carried supplies and weapons, while the horses dragged heavy beams and wagons to try to shore up the village gate’s barricade. Veronyka even saw Sparrow hacking at a rope, Chirp perched next to her, biting and tugging at the loose threads.
Veronyka’s heart filled with triumphant glee. Fighting alongside her animal friends was terrifying, but it felt right. They were natural-born allies, and like Tristan said, they were stronger together. Let the empire think them weak and defenseless without their Phoenix Riders—they would show them exactly how much damage animages could do.