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“I hope the damn dakii will be too focused on their war,” Pyetar growled. “I don’t know why Thelbiz told us to try not to kill them when they don’t seem very motivated to take part in this war. They just seem to want to kill us more than usual.”

But Iryana suspected the dakii were too mindless. When Thelbiz first created them, they only cared to destroy, acting on their vicious instincts without restraint. With his greater influence over the last few months, they’d been less wild and more focused on destroying metal magic. That was as far as he could direct them. Limhiz’s bears seemed fairly sentient, but she got the impression there were very few of them. Perhaps that had something to do with it.

The more the gods’ magic was spread out, the less control they had.

She was surprised they hadn’t seen Limhiz’s armored bears since the 18th’s retreat, or much of Mhakiza’s fox-serpents. She wished she understood what was going on, how the war fared—the only signs they had of what was going on were the earthquakes and tremors reported from those who scouted out of range of the staff, the occasional dragon soaring overhead, and how ravenous the dakii got. At least they hadn’t seen more of Noshtiz’s metal-badgers.

Pyetar broke the silence. “We’re going to need to establish another house for the dead.”

Iryana shut her eyes tightly for a moment as she let that run through her. Every time she watched soldiers carrying one of their fallen comrades on a wooden stretcher through the valley, her heart clenched. She hadn’t thought they’d lost that many.

Hadima looked back at her, her eyes dimmed and watery. “It might be best to have the earth-forged dig a pit…”

Iryana’s eyes blew wide. “Do you think that many—”

Hadima clenched her jaw, but she nodded.

“Okay.”

They continued to talk about something, logistics maybe, but Iryana wasn’t listening. She was staring through the cluttered wall, through all the paintings, tapestries, and carvings. There were hundreds of people in their small valley, maybe close to a thousand now. Her clan and the 18th were the main forces keeping them safe. Responsible for all their survival. Responsible for those still evacuating. Every life lost was a failure, though she knew it was inevitable. People had been dying because of these creatures for years; perhaps this would be the end of the dakii killing them.

Iryana shook her head. She would not let her mind go there.

Her sister caught her eye, a hint of worry on her face. Iryana straightened and tried to offer a convincing smile.

“Uh, I actually had something I wanted all of you to help with,” Hadima bit out. “In my workshop.”

“Of course,” Pyetar replied.

They followed her around the corner. Hadima gestured them inside after she unlocked the door. Hadima lit the lantern hanging over the worktable.

“I have a few theories I want to work out,” Hadima said. Did her voice sound higher than usual? Iryana wasn’t sure. “General, you and my sister both have metal-forged knives or daggers, right?”

They nodded.

“Good!” She dumped out a basket of dried leaves onto the wooden worktable that dominated the center of the room. “Can the two of you cut these up as fine as you can with your metal forging?”

“I—uh,” Iryana started at the same time Pyetar said, “Okay, but—”

“Do you want me to—” Tenar started asking.

“No,” Hadima answered quickly. “I never got to show you the full medical setup, Major. I think it’s important that I show it to you as well. These two will be busy for a while. Come.”

Hadima led him out of the room in a flurry of movement that Iryana struggled to process. Her sister was asking the major about his experience with battlefield medicine when the door shut. The lock clicked.

She could hear their voices disappearing down the hall.

“Did she just…” Pyetar sounded half-strangled.

“Yes. My sister locked us in here alone.” Iryana was still stunned.

“Does she expect us to… Are we actually meant to chop this stuff?” Pyetar looked down at all the leaves.

“I’m sure she does. It’s dry, chopping it won’t take very long, though.” Iryana shook her head. “Hadima is… she likes to meddle.”

She finally looked at Pyetar, finding him tense.

“I assume nothing has changed,” Pyetar finally asked.