raining arrows down upon those who would dare to threaten them. But he knew better. These soldiers came to destroy the Riders, but what they wanted to destroy most of all was their phoenixes. Without them, Riders were just animages, good with messenger pigeons and pack animals and not much else. Without them, they were ordinary people, easy to dominate and control. He had to protect the phoenixes, their future, at all costs.
Even, he thought darkly, at the cost of human lives.
Tristan took a deep breath, the night breeze rippling his tunic and causing Veronyka’s black hair to fly into her face. He looked away, back out into the night. There were some lives he couldn’t bear to lose.
The most recent scouting reports had the attackers approaching the way station from the road, which meant that at any second, the soldiers would be upon them. Bringing the fight to their enemies while they climbed the precarious steps would have been ideal, but they couldn’t risk leaving the stronghold—and the phoenixes who dwelt inside—vulnerable.
After questioning Elliot, Morra reported that he knew nothing of value about the coming attack, only that he was supposed to give them the location of the underground service entrance—and open it from the inside—but thankfully he’d never actually sent the letter. It pained Tristan to know that Elliot had been working with the empire all this time, but he also understood how hard it must have been to be put in that situation. Even now, Elliot’s failure to deliver the location of the Eyrie’s hidden entrance might very well cost his sister her life. They would have to try to help him when all this was over. No matter his betrayal, he was still a Rider.
Despite the soldiers’ plan falling through, Tristan had decided to post a contingent of guards inside the stronghold’s cellars, just in case. It was a poor attack point—their superior numbers would be forced to bottleneck and pour out of a small doorway, where Tristan’s soldiers could pick them off with ease—but he didn’t want to risk leaving it undefended. Elliot might be lying, after all. Morra could sniff out the truth better than anyone he knew, but Veronyka had tricked her, hadn’t she? Clearly the woman’s gifts weren’t infallible.
A light in the distance drew his attention. Veronyka followed his gaze, then several of the guards noticed it, and soon every head upon the wall swiveled toward the open field between the village and the steps to the way station.
Soldiers crested the lip of the plateau. It looked like a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty, their lanterns bobbing and weapons glinting with reflected firelight. It was a smaller number than he’d expected, a manageable number . . . but Tristan’s insides clenched all the same.
The first assault would come to the village gate, as he had expected.
Tristan closed his eyes, picturing his father’s map of the Eyrie and surrounding lands. Despite being a religious site for decades, the Eyrie had good natural defenses, thanks to its origins as a training outpost, including its position on high ground and the sheer slopes that rose all around it. It was perched on a jagged outcrop, concealed by other spears of stone and rock and hidden from wider view. To the west the mountain dropped off, leading to a massive gorge situated miles below, and to the north the mountain soared high into the clouds and the upper reaches of Pyrmont. South of the Eyrie was a kind of ravine or ditch, sloping steeply down to the edges of the Field of Feathers and the thick trees that surrounded it. The way station and switchback stairs were to the east—the only way to approach the Eyrie on foot.
Since their attackers were coming from the east, up the stairs and through the village was their only plausible point of attack.
The wide double doors at the gate had been reinforced with wood beams and stacked barrels of grain, and Tristan’s best soldiers remained behind them in case the attackers broke through. Archers were stationed along the village wall, but it was lower and narrower than the wall that enclosed the stronghold, putting them in vulnerable positions. Still, if they could hold the soldiers at the gate, the inexperienced apprentices, villagers, and servants that manned the stronghold might never see any action at all.
Tristan watched closely as the soldiers split their forces: Half approached the gate with ax and fire, and the rest shot arrows into the sky