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He’ll die, she thought. Unless our enemies sent too few. She doubted that.
“Let me stay,” she whispered back. “You go back to Lord Kosenmark. I’ll hold them.”
Even as she spoke, her skin rippled in fear. But it only made sense, she told herself. Detlef was the senior guard. Kosenmark needed him the most. Besides, with Toc’s goodwill, she could hold them long enough for reinforcements to come to her aid.
“Are you certain?” Detlef said.
“Do you think I won’t?”
He tilted his head. His face was invisible in the darkness, but he reached out and gripped her arm. “I trust you. Stand strong.”
With that, he turned back into the dark side street and set off in a silent run. Galena hefted her sword, checked her helmet, then strode toward the enemy.
* * *
ILSE WOKE TO a shout from Detlef. Instinct took over. She flung the blanket away and snatched up her sword. Raul already had his in hand. He tossed one helmet to Ilse, took another for himself. “Boots and daggers, too,” he said. With shaking hands, she buckled on her belt and stuffed her feet into her boots. She thrust daggers into both sheaths. Raul did the same. “Stay close to me,” he said. Then they were through the tent flaps.
Outside, the entire camp was awake. Detlef was bellowing, “To arms, to arms.” Ada had rousted the last of those sleeping, handing out swords and helmets, and shouting for the outer perimeter to draw back now, damn it.
Just in time. A crowd of strangers poured into the moonlit plaza, a swarm of faceless shadows. Kosenmark’s guards met them with swords and knives. The pilot and his crew had their clubs. One man caught up a burning brand from the fire. He hurled that in the face of the nearest enemy and struck with his dagger. The next moment, the air went taut with magic, and he went down into a pool of blood.
Ilse had no time to notice more. One of the strangers shouted an order. Immediately the others spread out. Three of them ran toward her and Raul. Ilse swept up her sword to block the first blow. She blocked again and felt the shock of her opponent’s blow through her body. He was a tall man. He had a longer reach. She did not dare to press him too closely or he would use his height and strength to overpower her. The years of drill served well enough to keep the man from breaking through her defenses, but he would, soon enough.
Raul charged the man, who turned to meet him. Sword struck sword. Raul pressed the man’s sword back to his throat and drove his dagger into the man’s belly. One garbled curse, a wet and choking noise, and the man collapsed.
Károvín, Ilse thought. He spoke Károvín.
The other clues clicked into place. These were soldiers—Dzavek’s men—come for Valara Baussay. She had no more time for thought. Raul plunged into the fight. Ilse followed. Together they fought their way toward the rest of their company. Their only chance was to make a square and work their way to the nearest wall.
It wouldn’t be enough. They were only twelve. Their attackers almost twice as many.
Katje went down, run through by a sword. Ada leapt over her body to fill the gap. Ilse sensed Valara’s signature, but she could not see where the woman had gone.
Then she spotted her.
Valara had a knife in her hand. She was swiping at those trying to capture her, and shouting in Erythandran. A bright fire hung in the air around her. One of the Károvín soldiers shouted an answering spell. The fire wavered. He plunged through and wrapped an arm around her throat. Valara twisted away from his hold. Before he could recapture her, she cried out in Erythandran.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter. Ei rûf ane Anderswar.”
Magic exploded in the air. There was a blinding bright spot in the middle, which changed in an instant to the dark outline of a woman’s form. Valara. Gone. Ilse didn’t wait to think what to do.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter,” she cried. “Komen mir de Anderswar. Komen uns de vleisch unde sêle.”
The world split open in a dazzling cloud of magic.
* * *
MIRO LUNGED TOWARD Valara Baussay. Moments before his hand closed over her arm, a blinding explosion of magic swept over him. He stumbled, caught himself, and rubbed his gloved hand over his eyes. He could see little more than a smudge of light and shadow. But then the shadow blinked out of sight.
His pulse tripped and raced forward. She escaped.
He knew it. Caught the scent of Vnejšek, of smoke and burning incense, as though a wisp of its essence had leaked through the infinitesimal gap required for her flight from one plane to another. He hesitated a moment—he had made this leap only a few times before—then he was speaking the words to follow.
“Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm. Komen mir de vleisch unde sêle ane Anderswar.”
Hallau Island vanished. But the stink of blood and fire, the smell of panic—all the scents of battle—filled his nose. He felt everything ten times over, from the cold air in his lungs to his blood rippling beneath his skin. Vnejšek in the flesh.
He spun around, searching for Valara Baussay. White vapor extended in all directions, shaped in pillars and canyons and shadowy halls of a gossamer substance. The air smelled of hot tallow and ashes and a scent he recognized as Leos Dzavek’s. Vnejšek was reading details from his secret thoughts and half-remembered dreams.
