she told Drustan to take them as close to the side as he could. His wings nearly scraped the rock face as he maneuvered them into place. Kiora reached out her hand, shooting a massive bolt of magic at the ceiling. It clattered down in a shower of rocks and dust. “Go through the hole,” she instructed.
“A bubble?” Drustan asked.
“No,” she coughed, waving at the cloud of dirt around them. “Not yet.”
“Kiora,” Alcander began, but stopped as the three rose through the hole like ghosts rising from the dead. The dust billowed around them, shrouding them from sight. But it didn’t mask their threads. A battle cry rose from the Taveans.
“Fly, Drustan,” Kiora instructed. “That way.” She pointed him away from the exit Lomay would be taking the camp through. At least half of the oncoming forces veered off in pursuit.
“Wise,” Alcander conceded, looking over his shoulder. “Your thread has caught their interest.”
“And yours,” Drustan said. “The Shifters told me there is quite a price on your head amongst the Taveans.”
“Can you concentrate on flying?” Alcander snapped, putting up a shield for a shot that had been thrown out of range. It dropped a few feet behind them.
“Am I going anywhere in particular?” Drustan asked, his eyes flitting around at the endless expanse of brown as his wings pumped.
“Draw them off, then do exactly as I say.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Kiora, a little help?” Alcander shouted.
Whirling around, Kiora saw a cloud of magical volleys moving within range. The army sent after them was much larger than the force they had battled last time. Shifters and Taveans poured towards them. The Trackers’ feet pounded up dusty walls alongside them.
Kiora added her shield to Alcander’s, leaving Drustan on course until their shields were a blur of color underneath sizzling magical attacks. “All right, Drustan,” she said. “Fly straight up.” Drustan immediately tilted his wings, taking them nearly ninety degrees upward. The line of attack followed behind them. She eyed the formation. “All right, Alcander, hold on,” she said, clenching her knees tight to Drustan’s side.
“Drustan, the only way this will work is if we do it fast. Otherwise, Alcander and I are dead. When I say go—” She glanced behind her again—the Shifters were sprouting wings and gaining fast. “I will put up a bubble. You are going to flip upside down before dropping as fast as you can. Take us right underneath them.”
“This is crazy—” Alcander began.
“Go!” She threw up the bubble, dropping all shields that kept them from being killed. Drustan flipped himself upside down and dropped into a dive. The attacking force focused their attention up and to the side, as Kiora had hoped they would, firing off random shots into the sky, hoping for a lucky hit. By the time the army began firing downwards, Drustan was already flying beneath their feet, back the way they’d come.
Kiora laughed out loud, flipping around on Drustan to watch the shower of magic exploding throughout the sky. Grinning, she looked at Alcander, whose white hair flew behind him like a banner.
“That was . . . impressive,” he said.
“Wasn’t it though?” Drustan laughed. “She is amazing.”
“I can’t take all the credit,” Kiora said. “Arturo did something similar in the battle for Meros.”
Alcander didn’t say anything, but he gazed at her with a fierceness that she finally had to look away from. She scanned for any other sign of people. Suddenly a sphere of light, half the size of a mountain, exploded ahead of them.
“What was that?” Kiora yelled, covering her eyes with her arm.
“Lomay. If that went off, it means he got the people out.” Alcander breathed a sigh of relief. “He would have left it to detonate when the enemy entered camp.”
“Then it’s all gone?” she asked sadly.
“I’m sure it was mostly destroyed, yes.”
“What about the Wings?”
He paused. “I know Lomay would do about anything to keep them safe, so I imagine they are fine.”
Knowing the people were safe allowed her to relax. “All right, tell us where to go.”
* * *
EMANE WOKE TO A familiar pain. Familiarity did not make it easier. The last time Dralazar had coached Layla, through demonstration, on how to inflict as much pain as she could without actually killing him. Truth be told, Emane preferred her attacks. They weren’t as painful as Dralazar’s. Whether for lack of magic or lack of desire, he wasn’t sure.
Trying to avoid any sudden movements, Emane curled his fingers, healing his palm and arm first. He continued, managing to heal most of