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His attention turns to me. He accepts the conclusion without challenge.
We remain overnight. I clean wounds, ration the usable remedies, and leave instructions for the fevered workers. Rhysandir questions every guard and inspects the outer defenses before dawn.
The return journey begins beneath falling snow.
We take the main road south. Wind drives white sheets across the slope, erasing the tracks behind us. The party moves slowly around a narrow shelf where the mountain drops sharply to the east.
The equus become restless first.
Mine tosses its head and shies toward the cliff.
A cry rises from the rear guard.
Dark shapes burst from the snow above us.
Waira descend over the ridge on long limbs, their claws tearing loose rock from the slope. One strikes a guard from his saddle. Another lands between the pack equus, snapping at the reins.
Chaos magic blackens the air around Rhysandir.
Joran shouts for the guards to close ranks.
More waira appear below the road.
They have chosen the narrowest point, with the mountain at our backs and the drop before us.
The delegation is caught inside their assault.
14
RHYSANDIR
Chaos tears the first waira apart before it reaches Fiona.
The creature leaps from the upper slope, jaws open beneath a crown of coarse black hair. I drive my hand forward. Magic strikes it in the chest and bursts through bone, hide, and sinew. The remains scatter across the snow in a spray of darkness.
The equus scream.
Three more waira descend from the rocks. Their long limbs grip the slope where armored soldiers struggle for balance. One seizes a rear guard by the cloak and drags him from the road.
I close my fist.
The air around the creature collapses. Its body folds inward and drops beside the guard.
“Defensive line,” Joran commands. “Blades outward. Hold the equus.”
The Morwen’thir guards obey. Shields lock around the center of the delegation while two soldiers pull the fallen man away from the slope.
The waira below us climb toward the road.
Their attack is coordinated. The creatures above force us toward the cliff. Those below wait to take anyone who falls or tries to descend. The narrow shelf prevents the guards from forming a proper wall.
Black fire gathers across my palms.
I cast it along the upper ridge.
Chaos races over the stone, splitting rock and throwing three waira into the ravine. One catches the edge with hooked claws. A second strike severs its grip.
Pain answers beneath the puckered scar on my side.
