“We are under attack!” the man announces breathlessly, his eyes large with fear. At least twenty poludnicas led by Dadzbog—and Swarog!”
I smile grimly. Perun’s revenge comes sooner than expected, and it will be vicious. At least if we win this battle, my alliance will be well and truly tested, loyalty bonds forged for good.
And if we lose, we won’t have wasted much time fighting, at least.
“Let’s go, then,” I say grimly. “And send them all home with at least a few bruises.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Sun
I wrap my shadows around us all, since it’s the most efficient way of traveling. I bring them to the cirque on top of the Mogila Mountain, Devil’s Cauldron, which gives us an excellent view of the entire surface area of the island.
“Look out!”
A ball of fire shoots our way, thrown from high above. I snuff it out with a shadow that’s pure darkness and rise into the air to see.
“Dadzbog and Swarog above us!” I shout. “Poludnicas in the south. They crossed Struzina!”
Nyja turns into a flock of birds, taking off toward the southern shore. Already, nawkas fly out of the shaft running up the mountain, exploding out of the hole in the middle of the cirque. They follow her. A small troop of nawkas fights the bieses on the shore, but it doesn’t look good. Most of them writhe on the ground, screaming. Poludnicas are deadly enemies, and it’s almost noon on a sunny summer day. Their power is at its peak.
“I’ll shield them from the heat,” Chors says.
“Wait! I want to join you. Slaughtering poludnicas is my favorite pastime,” Jaga says with menace.
Chors nods and looks at me steadily while his thumb presses to Jaga’s chin, right where I once put my claim. Cold fury floods my thoughts as I understand what he’s doing—putting his mark on her.
I get my confirmation when his thumb comes away, and Jaga’s chin sports a silver crescent and three stars.
“You want her to be safe, don’t you?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
I don’t answer, leaping high into the air as wrath fuels my magic. I swear, Chorswantsme to hate him sometimes. Or why would he have done this again? And she accepted it, of course.
Swarog flies at me, his gold and silver hair trailing behind him, both enormous fists engulfed in flames. He is Perun’s divine smith, the most skilled creator in Wyraj, who wields hammers as well as tiny precision tools with the same ease and skill.
I don’t bother waiting for a mocking greeting as his lips part. My shadows surge forth, swarming down his throat and into his nostrils, and he flails with his arms, his eyes flashing with shock. My attack distracts him, and he falls, spiraling toward the cliffs. I pursue him with vengeance, thinking about Chors’ mark on Jaga’s face.
Swarog stops his fall a good twenty feet above the ground. With his enormous, scarred fists, he grips my shadows like ropes and begins pulling them out of himself. I grin and give them hooks, and now, every time he pulls a length out of his lungs, it’s along with bloody chunks of his flesh. I send a flurry of slicing spells at him, but he conjures a massive shield of metal that repels them with deep clangs.
He is flame and heat, and my darkness hurts him, but not for long. As soon as the last of my shadows come out, he spits blood on the ground and rises higher, his face twisted with fury.
“You used to fight with honor,” he says in a deep, booming voice. “But centuries of hiding have made you a coward. You will lose, Weles. As you always do.”
My fear surges and tightens, and I grit my teeth. Yes, my instincts tell me he’s right. They instruct me to flee and hide in my throne room, the deepest hole I can crawl in. But—Jaga’s here, and I will not let her see me running.
“Have you seen what Perun did to Mokosz?” I ask, twisting my fingers at my sides as I weave an invisible net of spells. “I wonder what he’ll do toyouwhen you disappoint him.”
Swarog is right, I think, as his wide mouth twists in disgust. I’ve never fought like this, striking first or distracting enemies with mocking remarks.
All this is very underhanded. VeryWoland.
I have a split moment’s warning to put up a shield of darkness before he throws a ball of fire that could burn me whole. My shadows swallow it with difficulty, my magic draining rapidly as it snuffs out such a hot, magical flame.
He roars and pulls his arm back to throw again, his enormous muscles bulging from effort. I cast a glittering net of poison and night at him, and he’s too slow to pivot out of the way.
I duck, and the ball of fire explodes down the forested mountainside. I don’t bother putting out the fire. If we lose today, there won’t be any point rescuing Nawie, because we’ll be dragged away to Wyraj, never to return here.
I focus on Swarog, who’s cursing and hissing, trying to untangle the net I covered him with. It’s thin and invisible, the threads of poison eating into his flesh, immediately blackening where they touch. We’re close to the cliffs, and Jaga’s fight with the rarog comes to mind. I laugh under my breath.
