Below us: sounds of combat. Hallie fighting the first ally who'd recovered from my initial strike.
I wanted to drop, wanted to help her. But if I disengaged from Kethar, he'd go straight for her. Pregnant female. Easier target. Leverage.
So I kept him occupied.
We circled each other at high altitude, both bleeding, both exhausted. Looking for openings that might not exist.
"You can't win this," I said. "Even if you kill me, my mate will kill you. You saw what she did to the wyrm's remains when she thought I was hurt. She'll do worse to you."
He lunged instead of answering, claws extended.
I folded my wings and dropped.
Faster than flight. Just falling with purpose, using gravity.
I caught him thirty feet above the ridge, all four hands gripping his body. We hit the cliff face together, rolled, separated.
Hallie was standing over an unconscious male—the first ally. She'd won her fight using the terrain, the narrow spaces, exactly as I'd taught her.
Kethar saw the unconscious male, saw me blocking his path to Hallie, calculated his odds.
And fled.
Launched himself off the ridge, damaged wing screaming protest, but functional enough to get him airborne. He flew erratically—losing altitude, struggling to maintain control—but he was escaping.
I started to follow.
"Let him go," Hallie said.
I stopped. Turned. "What?"
"He's injured. Wing torn badly. He won't get far." She moved to check the unconscious ally, assessing threat level. "And we have a prisoner. We can get information. Learn his plans."
She was right. Tactically sound.
But letting Kethar escape meant he'd attack again. Meant the threat wasn't eliminated, just postponed. Meant we'd have to fight him again when we were exhausted, wounded, vulnerable.
"He'll come back," I said.
"I know. But next time we'll be ready." She looked at the prisoner. "And next time we'll know exactly what he's planning."
I watched Kethar's shape disappear into the darkness, becoming smaller against the orange sky. My instincts screamed to chase, to finish it, to eliminate the threat completely while I had the chance.
But Hallie was right. Information was more valuable than one injured male's death right now. If we questionedthe prisoner properly, we'd learn Kethar's backup plans, his remaining allies, his next move.
"Bind him," I said, moving toward the unconscious ally. "We take him to The Warren. Question him. Find out everything he knows."
Hallie pulled vine from her pack. We bound the prisoner securely—wrists, ankles, wings folded and tied so he couldn't attempt flight even if he woke. He was young, maybe twenty-five seasons. Wing membranes just starting to thin from the sickness.
"Can you carry him?" she asked.
"Yes." I lifted the unconscious male easily, his weight nothing compared to the cliff wyrm I'd fought days ago. "Stay close. If Kethar doubles back?—"
"I'll be ready."
We flew to The Warren through darkness, me carrying the prisoner, Hallie climbing the route we'd taken earlier. Both of us wounded. Both of us victorious but aware the war wasn't over.
One ally dead in the rockfall. One ally captured. Kethar escaped, injured but alive.
