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Adry gathered her rucksack and started to head across the bunker to where Dacha sat against the wall in the far corner. He had his eyes closed, his head leaning against the dirt behind him.

But before she’d gone more than a few steps, Uncle Iyrinder gently caught her arm. When she glanced at him, he gave a shake of his head, his voice lowered. “Not there. Not tonight. He will need space.”

Adry nodded and let Uncle Iyrinder steer her toward the other wall. She set down her rucksack before sitting on it to stay off the dirt.

Uncle Iyrinder set his own rucksack next to hers, and he, too, sank onto it. “How are you?”

She rested her back against the wall and her elbows on her knees. “I’m doing all right. Still a little numb and shaky.”

“If you need to talk, I am here. Your dacha is too.” Uncle Iyrinder’s eyes, the same color as Merrik’s, searched her face much as Dacha’s had earlier.

The fatherly kindness in that gaze made her smile. She’d be all right. How could she be anything else when she had both her dacha and Merrik’s looking out for her?

Chapter

Twenty-Three

As Adry woke, she grew aware of the dampness seeping into her bones, despite the layer of tarpaulin wrapped around her bedroll.

Rain drummed outside, puddling in the entrance and running in a trickle down the center of the bunker. With the rain came an icy blast of wind, far colder than normal for this time of early fall.

She sat up, though she hugged the blankets around her shoulders.

While four of the warriors slept, the other two remained on duty. Dacha was still curled in his bedroll, his back to them, while Uncle Iyrinder quietly moved about the bunker, setting out field rations and heating the tiny cook stove.

“Aren’t we making another push today?” Adry reached up to her braid and began untangling the strands the best she could. How she longed for a shower. Her scalp itched, and her body felt grimy with a layer of sweat, even with cleaning herself with her magic.

“Not today. It is delayed because of the rain.” Uncle Iyrinder set the pot on the stove. “Take today to rest. We will be pushing forward once the rain lets up.”

“I’m glad we’re not going out in this.” She smoothed her hair as best she could before she began re-braiding it. “It’s rather cold out.”

“The troll warriors are freezing the rain and blasting the Mongavarian line with ice and snow.” Uncle Iyrinder stirred the concoction in the pot. “The enemy will have quite the miserable day.”

Adry gave a shiver, even if she probably shouldn’t hold sympathy for the enemy. But spending the day in a trench while being pelted with the magically-created ice and snow didn’t sound pleasant at all. Hopefully it would take the fight out of a few of the soldiers so that they’d break and run once the attack resumed.

Adry laid down one of her rocks on the makeshift eshalma board that Yralissa had made. The elven board game had gained popularity in Escarland over the past seventy years.

Before she’d fully withdrawn her hand, a claxon’s wail blared, followed by the shout, “Gas! Gas!”

Her heart leapt into her throat at the dreaded words, her breath already catching in her throat. Was that a chemical smell on the air? Or just her imagination?

Adry fumbled for the gas mask attached to her belt. With her fingers shaking, she struggled to unhook the mask.

Dacha reached for her as if he planned to help, ignoring the protocol to see to his own mask first.

She managed to get the gas mask off her belt, and she slipped it over her head. The air she breathed through the bulky respirator smelled of charcoal, even after it was filtered through a layer of elven moss laced with plant magic. The glass goggles made her feel like a bug with huge, bulbous eyes.

Only once she had her mask on did Dacha pull on his, earning him a look from Uncle Iyrinder.

After shoving their gas masks over their faces, Ithronel and Finnea, the two elven warriors who had been guarding the door to the bunker, flung up their hands, their magic flaring outward in a green shield that blocked the door of the bunker completely.

No wonder those two warriors were a part of the elite Laesornysh guard detail. They had strong plant magic indeed to cast their magic in its pure form like this. Because plant magic had the ability to filter the air, their barrier would protect this bunker from the gas attack outside.

Adry climbed to her feet, standing poised but keeping her own magic buried deep within her chest. There was nothing for her to fight.

Dacha stood next to her, also poised, his swords, too, remaining in their sheaths. Uncle Iyrinder stationed himself on her other side, and the three of them waited in silence as the claxons continued to blare the warning.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, waiting, until the all-clear signal was finally given.