Still on our timberwings, we leave the confines of the clustered iron and cross out of the tree line. Roland stays on the ground, moving his pitch-black shadow silhouettes, filling in the gaps, making it seem like there are way more of us than there actually are. His magic wouldn’t work up close, but far away, it’ll do the trick.
The instant we leave the cover of the trees, the fae spot us, their shouts clashing into the air.I can feel their gazes yanking away from Cliffhelm, brought here instead, to the line of twisting iron.
“Come to us, you fuckers,” I mutter atop Kitt. She paws at the snow, talons scraping through the slush.
If this is going to work the way I’ve calculated it, we need their trajectory to shift toward us slightly.
Cutting my gaze toward Cliffhelm, I see Osrik has notched Fourth’s flag into the wall, the black fabric snapping in the wind. It signals that the catapult is loaded and ready, but other than that, the wall looks empty while he and the others lie in wait.
I pull my blade from my sheath and lift it high into the air.
Then I let out a battle cry as loud as I can.
Everyone else joins in with me. Gideon knocks his fist against an iron tree, making that noise split the air too, and our timberwings open their mouths and roar.
We sound fierce. We sound threatening. We sound and look like we’re more than six fucking Oreans and a trio of timberwings standing here.
And the fae…take the bait.
Their battle drums suddenly sound, and their front lines pivot.
Victory and adrenaline surge through my chest, and our shouts become even louder in answer. Their drums are caustic and unsettling, trying to gorge themselves with dissonant teeth, but we answer back.
“We stand our ground!”
“We stand our ground!”
“We stand our ground!”
Our own battle cry and the roars of our beasts make fresh bloodlust pump through our veins. The fae start to race toward us, as if they can’t wait to crush us beneath their might.
Their front lines are so close now we can hear their shouts. See their faces. Feel the stomping of their running steps over an already reverberating ground. Their swords are raised, legs sprinting. They don’t even bother with their magic. They want to cut us down by blood and blade.
Good.
They’re getting louder, louder, louder.
Closer, closer, closer—
“Hold!” I order, watching them breach the distance, tracking the ground behind them… “Hold…”
Then, their army is right where I want them.
It’s time.
I look over, voice raising. “Roland!” I shout.
Instantly, he jumps back onto Lu’s timberwing and buckles himself in, his shadowed forms evaporating. As soon as he’s secured to the saddle, I see the shift of snowy ground in the distance, and my heart gallops.
It’s the sign of the second phase. Meaning Finley and Maston are doing exactly what we need them to do.
Elation fills me, pumping through my veins with a burst of energy.
I give the order. “Riders, lift! Archers, loose!”
Our timberwings launch into the air without hesitation, and as soon as we gain altitude above the iron trees, arrows shoot from our archers’ bows.
Kitt aims straight for the rumbling clouds above us, making snow pelt my face. Behind me, I feel Tyde against myback, shooting off his arrows with wicked speed. The rest of our group is doing the same thing.
