by Evie Manieri
This time Frea struck first, and her attack was murderous, leaving Isa no opportunity for anything but defense, no chance to strike back. She was horribly conscious that if just one blow found its mark she was done for. Finally Frea’s sword ground down against Truth’s Might, and then snapped away as Trakkar carried her past.
Now she had time to look back at Rho. He had slipped his feet out of the stirrups and brought them up underneath him. His fine, lean body balanced on the saddle for one long, airless heartbeat.
Then he jumped.
She caught her breath and watched Rho’s cape, transformed from snowy white to tawny gold by the morning light, swelling out behind him. He wasn’t going to make it—his leap was too short …
But then his foot came down on the tough cartilage of Trakkar’s wing and he used the momentum of its upswing to propel him the rest of the way. He threw himself into the wide space that Dramash had left when he’d moved back, and he’d got one foot jammed into the near stirrup before Frea even had time to react, and the other leg over and secure while she was still trying to get her sword around to strike at him.
Isa looped her fingers through the reins and whistled frantically to Aeda, who sprang forward and executed the same tight little turn she’d showed off earlier, bringing them around behind Trakkar. With the sun behind her everything in her field of vision was soaked with color, and it was difficult for her to make sense of what she was seeing.
Trakkar was flying erratically, alarmed by the sudden extra passenger and by Frea’s slack handling of the reins. Rho was trying to wrest Blood’s Pride out of Frea’s hands, struggling to break her grip on the sword while trying to keep clear of the blade itself. And in a phenomenal piece of bad luck, his cape had snagged on the stirrup, pulling his shoulders backward and leaving his left side exposed to the sun.
Instinctively she reached out to help him, but she still had her sword in her hand and he ducked away from her in fear. “Hold on!” she shouted, then,
But Rho and Frea were locked together, and if he let go of Frea’s arm now, he would be dead in an instant. Isa changed her grip on Truth’s Might, and then frantically changed it again as she considered the possibilities. With the two so close together, there was no sure way for her to strike at Frea without hitting Rho.
Then she saw the dull hilt of Rho’s knife poking out from under his cape: it was just what she needed, but she had no free hand with which to grab it and in another split-second it would be out of reach. There was no time to sheath her sword.
She opened her fist and let it go.
Truth’s Might dropped between the heaving sides of the two triffons and fell away, tumbling down, shrinking until it slid into the dark water below and disappeared forever.
Wasting no more time, she snatched Rho’s knife from its scabbard and plunged it deep into Frea’s thigh, just a moment before Aeda’s momentum ripped it out of her hand. Frea’s body went rigid with shock, she lost her grip on Blood’s Pride and Rho tore it away from her.
he howled in frustration.
Frea’s silent howl of pain and outrage hit Isa in the back like a savage shove. She straightened up and tried to bring Aeda about again, but maneuvering was more difficult now that both animals were facing in the same direction. As they turned, she saw Frea yank the knife out of her leg and she called urgently,
But he had already slid further back to strap Dramash and himself safely into the harness, and his seat was precarious: he had only one foot in the stirrup, one hand gripping the saddle and his back was turned. Isa whistled desperately to Aeda, but the triffon was already doing her best to bring them back into position.
Frea was trying to reach Rho, but she had buckled herself in too tightly to turn around. As Isa watched, her sister yanked furiously at the sliding buckles, trying to loosen the straps around her legs, and finally sliced through them with Rho’s knife.
Frea’s rage was no longer rational; there was only a savage hunger to taste the blood of those who had wounded her. Isa felt her sister’s madness sucking at her like a whirlpool, and finally she understood that no mercy, no clemency, would be possible. The part of Frea that had been her sister was already gone.
Throwing both arms protectively around the boy, Rho kicked back at Frea. His heel caught her leg near the knife-wound and her body jerked in pain, but still she brought the knife back up and slashed at him. He kicked at her again, this time hitting her forearm, and though she kept hold of the knife, Trakkar’s reins went snapping out into the hazy air. The triffon felt the change in the tension on the reins immediately and tossed his head with a worried snort.
Rho fastened the last buckle around Dramash’s waist and yanked the strap tight, then he thrashed around with his foot, trying to find the stirrup again, but he had slipped too far back in the saddle to reach it.
As the unfamiliar weight of Blood’s Pride slid about in her sweat-slicked glove, Isa tried to bring Aeda into battle position, but Trakkar’s flight path was too unpredictable. Finally Aeda found a straight line to him, and she put on a burst of speed and pulled in her wings—but at the last moment, Trakkar jerked around again and suddenly, instead of coming alongside, they were facing him broadside.
Frea’s dented helmet spun toward them and she thrust out her open hand toward Blood’s Pride as she howled,
Aeda ducked her head to fly under Trakkar’s belly. In one moment, the saddles of the two triffons would be at equal height.
Isa drew in a deep breath and flipped Blood’s Pride around so that her hand was gripping the unsharpened base of the blade. She held the sword out, hilt-first, toward her sister. Time slowed down; each moment had the inevitability of something she had already lived through, many, many times.
The space between the two triffons closed.
Frea leaned out to grab the sword as it came toward her, and Isa held it there steadily for her, knowing that her sister could see or think of nothing else. When Frea’s fingertips brushed the hilt, Isa brought her arm back like a fisherman yanking a line, and Frea lunged for the bait. For a moment she hung there, prone, in the open sky. Then she dropped.
Trakkar’s claws rose up in front of Isa’s face and she threw herself down onto the saddle. A cool wind chilled the sweat beneath her cloak as Trakkar’s shadow passed overhead. And then she and Aeda were diving down, down, following the flash of Frea
’s helmet toward the hungry waves.
By the time Frea hit the water, Isa was close enough to feel the spray spatter her face. Aeda dragged her feet through the swells and then opened her wings and soared upward again. Isa searched among the dipping whitecaps for a gleam of silver or the spread of a white cloak.
Trakkar’s shadow flicked over the water.
A strange, faint voice answered,
Isa leaned forward and grabbed the reins as close to Aeda’s neck as she could. She played out the slack over Aeda’s side.
She guided Aeda down as low as she dared and leaned out over her wing.
She leaned further out. Now she could see Frea thrashing in the water. She was alternately scrambling with her arms and legs to stay afloat, and pushing and tugging at her helmet. The contrast between the frantic movements and the still, peevish little voice was terrifying.
A wave lapped over Frea’s head and she disappeared.
A moment later she bobbed up again, further out to sea.
Frea’s cape fanned out over the water, spreading outward. The helmet sank first. Then, inch by inch, the cape disappeared beneath the waves.
A curtain of dread came down around Isa, muting everything but her own voice.
A wave slapped up against Aeda’s side and the triffon tossed her head in alarm. Isa gathered up the slippery reins and let her climb back to a comfortable altitude. The ship was far out to sea by now; there would be no chance of any of Frea’s men making it back to the Shadar on the triffons. For the moment at least they posed no threat to the city. Rho and Isa silently turned Trakkar and Aeda back toward the shore.
* * *
The sun was warm on her back. She had no memory of having fallen asleep, but when she opened her eyes, her head was resting on Aeda’s bristly neck and the beach was right in front of her. Trakkar was lying in the sand just below the tide line, with the water splashing over his feet and belly. From his exhausted attitude, she guessed that he had refused to fly any further. Rho and Dramash were making their way up the beach on foot. Rho was walking with a pained, lurching motion, and just as Aeda touched down next to Trakkar, she saw him double over and fall heavily onto the sand.
She caught him with her right arm as he fell, but she couldn’t hold him. She dropped to her knees in the sand, cradling his quaking body against her chest. Using her own body to shield him from the sun, she pulled open the clasps of his cloak and pulled up his shirt.
He was right: she couldn’t possibly lift Rho into the saddle by herself, not one-handed. But she couldn’t just leave him lying on the beach, burning in the sun. Squinting against the glare, she saw a cluster of rocks not far to her right.
His lips moved against hers and his eyes opened again.
She ran back to Aeda, slid Fortune’s Blight from the saddle and ran back, but by the time she reached him, he was unconscious again. She laid the sword vertically across his body with the hilt on his chest. Then she took his limp hands and closed his fingers around the hilt.
She picked her way over the flaming sands to Dramash. She had no idea what to say to him, how she would convince him to come with her, but he came forward to meet her and followed her without a word, as if he already understood. She helped him clamber up into Aeda’s saddle, and he buckled the straps of the harness himself, all the time as silent as a Norlander.
A few moments later they were setting down in the middle of the ruined palace, where a small crowd had re-formed around Daryan and Omir. Most of them scuttled back against the walls as Isa landed, but Daryan ran forward to meet them.
“Thank the gods,” he called out in a strained voice as he ran up to Aeda. “You got him back— You just took off after Frea, and I didn’t know— What happened? Are you all right?”
Dramash undid the harness and slipped down off Aeda’s back into Daryan’s arms. The hush in the ruined hall was so intense that the clinking of the buckles rang out like claxons. Then the boy walked to Aeda’s huge head and began stroking the fur between her ears. Aeda lowered her head and narrowed her eyes with pleasure.
Isa stayed in the saddle, looking down from beneath the shadows of her cowl at the reins twisted around her fingers.
“My sister is dead.”
“Isa,” Daryan breathed. He stepped closer to Aeda’s neck so that she could see his face as he looked up at her. His dark eyes
looked softly into hers. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you had no other choice.”
“I must go. I must find a healer for Rho. I had to leave him on the beach. He’s hurt very badly.”
“No, don’t go,” he cried, very softly, but turned at the sound of someone running toward them.
“Daimon!” the breathless man called out as he neared them. The messenger caught sight of Dramash and decided to stop a good ten paces away. “Daimon, your wife is in need of you,” he said more formally. “They sent me to fetch you—they say you should come at once.”
“All right,” Daryan said. The messenger moved away from them, but stood waiting for Daryan to follow. “I have to go, too,” he told her, staring straight ahead at Aeda’s bristly hide.
“Rho wants you to take Dramash. You and Harotha.”
“Harotha will know what to do with him,” he agreed. He glanced around at the crowd, at the messenger waiting for him, and then at Dramash, still standing by Aeda’s head. “They’re all afraid of him now.” He swallowed, and then looked up at her again. “Are you all right?”
She twisted the reins in her hand. “No.”
“Isa,” he said, miserably. He made the slightest of movements toward her, and then checked himself. “I have to go.” He held his hand out to Dramash and together they walked after the messenger.
She was already losing him.
Chapter Forty-Five
The messenger guided Daryan and Dramash through a district that had largely escaped the fires to an unassuming house with smoke streaming from the chimney and a Nomas woman waiting in the doorway.
“Hello again, Daimon,” she greeted him. It took a moment for him to recognize her as one of the women he had encountered in the street just before the temple exploded. He regarded her with unease. Her jaunty greeting felt forced and her face was grave. She moved aside and he started toward the doorway, but then stopped, seeing the Nomas king sitting by himself in the shadows. Jachad was leaning up against the wall of the house and his eyes were trained on the ground. He appeared to be staring at nothing.