let’s get out of here.” Bowstrings twanged from the walls and pistols cracked.
Trembling and sweaty, Ngai unhooked the lantern from his belt and scrambled up a tree, flashing the light when he cleared the canopy. Though it would be a wonder if Selei would see it against the larger blaze growing nearby.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Phailin asked as Xinai waved them away.
“I have to meet Selei. Get to safety or join the others.”
The girl nodded and dragged Ngai into the cover of the forest.
Xinai looked up at the moon—nearly midnight. It would all be over by dawn, one way or another. She shook off her fatigue and began to run.
Even with Kwan’s warning, they arrived too late to save the closest ward-posts. Those along the mountain road had been uprooted, their spells unraveled. Scraps of magic still flickered around the carven posts; Zhirin thought she could have repaired them if they’d had the luxury of time.
“There aren’t enough of us for this,” Jabbor muttered.
The Jade Tigers had gathered perhaps a hundred warriors tonight—they guessed the Dai Tranh to have twice that, though how many were in this White Hand, no one was certain. The Tigers split up to cover more ground and could only hope the Dai Tranh didn’t travel in larger packs.
Sweat dripped down Zhirin’s back as they climbed, pasted her borrowed shirt to her skin. She took a certain grim comfort in Isyllt’s ragged breathing and sweat-drenched face; at least she wasn’t the only one not used to so much exercise.
As they drew closer to the Kurun Tam, Zhirin felt movement in the trees around them. Humans, which might be other Tigers or cautious Dai Tranh, and the quicksilver flicker of spirits. And colder flashes that she thought must be ghosts. Isyllt’s ring glimmered softly, and the necromancer scanned the woods as they climbed.
They heard the shouts before they crested the last hill and saw the flames. As they scrambled up the slope, Zhirin gasped. The fire burned inside the Kurun Tam’s walls.
“Are they mad? Attacking the hall—”
“It’s another distraction,” Isyllt said. “Damn me for not seeing it sooner. Breaking the wards isn’t enough—they mean to wake the mountain. They’ll have someone at Haroun’s summit, waiting for the others to finish.”
Jabbor swore. “What can we do?”
“You and the others stay here, try to salvage as many wards as you can. I’m going up.”
“Why?” Jabbor asked coldly. “Why do you care? Why not just run?”
Isyllt shrugged, her pale face impassive. “Because I’m trapped on this side of the river too, and I don’t want to die for the Dai Tranh’s zealotry. Zhirin?”
She only hesitated a heartbeat. “I’m with you.”
She thought Jabbor would argue, steeled herself against it. He let out a breath and shook his head. “Go on. Be careful.”
From the southern road came the sound of horses. “The Khas is here,” Jabbor said. “Maybe they and the Dai Tranh can kill each other off neatly and leave us to clean up.” He leaned in and kissed Zhirin, soft and quick. “Hurry.”
She’d ridden to the mountain dozens of times, but never walked there, let alone run. Her sandals chafed her feet raw, and she didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she glimpsed someone in front of them, but it was hard to be sure through the darkness and flicker of the wards. The posts glowed fiercely, not their usual soft light; Zhirin doubted that was a good sign.
The ground sloped steeper and steeper as they neared the stair, and they scrambled and slid with every step. She heard hoofbeats again, close behind, but the riders would have to abandon their horses to follow any higher.
They hit the stairs and ran faster, despite stubbed toes and burning thighs. Someone was definitely climbing ahead of them, and they were gaining now.
“Wait!” Zhirin’s breath failed and she had to shout again.
The person paused, a slender silhouette against the witchlights.
“Xinai!” Isyllt called.
Another few steps and Zhirin recognized the mercenary. White as bone in the cold light, eyes lost in shadow. Isyllt’s ring blazed and Zhirin glanced around as if she might see the ghost.
Steel gleamed in Xinai’s hand. “Stay back.” Her voice was rough, cold as her blade.
Isyllt hesitated, one foot on the next step. “Don’t be a fool, Xinai. The mountain isn’t some little spirit you can tame. It’s not like the nakh.”
“Go, necromancer. This is none of your concern. Consider your life a gift for bringing me home.”
Isyllt’s breath hissed through her teeth. “You’re possessed.”