Zeisha’s team had reached the other five clans in advance of the main army. Along the way, they’d encountered several armed soldiers on orsaback. The vine eaters, plus Ovrun, Kebi, and Sarza, had defended the Anya as he created shields. However, gunshots had killed two vine eaters and forced three who were wounded to withdraw.
The team watched Zeisha, awaiting her orders. But all she could think of was what they’d failed to achieve. She’d hoped the Anya could shield not only the trogs’ homes, but also their businesses and public buildings. Were soldiers even now destroying meeting halls and bakeries?
Next to her, the Anya spoke, his quiet voice full of authority. “The Well has more to give us. I know it.”
Squaring her shoulders, Zeisha forced her attention to the elderly man from Cruine. “Where do we go next?”
The Anya pivoted to face her, his cane tapping the floor as he did so. The wrinkles of his face had rearranged themselves, twisting in confusion. “I do not know.”
“I think I know,” Sarza said.
“Did you have a vision?” Zeisha asked.
“No, just . . . an urge. We need to go back to the tunnels. Hopefully I can direct us from there.”
Zeisha looked to the Anya, who nodded at Sarza, a small smile on his lips. “Please. Lead the way.”
A strong vine eater lifted the Anya onto Ovrun’s back. The group climbed down the ladder they’d just ascended.
In the tunnel, Sarza walked fast enough that Zeisha’s shorter legs had trouble keeping up. They hurried down one tunnel after another, guided by lanterns and Sarza’s quiet certainty. The vine eaters, including Zeisha, fueled up as they jogged.
Krey and Nora lay facedown on the roof of a three-story building. Below them, the Tree Clan’s main street was host to hundreds of Cellerinian soldiers. With organized efficiency, they drew out hidden trog fighters, then killed or captured as many as they could. Some soldiers had guns. Others carried blades or bows. Well-fueled magic eaters wreaked their own sort of havoc.
Krey’s ankle was killing him. He also had a burn on his arm from an ash eater’s fire. And he had no idea when he’d manage to see a healer. He and Nora had approached a building outside trog territory where a blood eater was taking care of wounded trogs. It had only taken seconds for them to realize they were in far better shape than those waiting to be treated. They’d returned immediately to the fight.
Now he wondered if they’d made the wrong choice. Pain and weariness combined to make him lightheaded and shaky. Depending on sheer momentum to keep him going, he chewed feathers and ice, frequently aiming frozen spheres at soldiers below.
Nora lay next to him. Pus and blood had glued her shirt to the large abrasion on her skin. She was probably as exhausted as he was. Still, she fought. He watched her aim a ball of ice at a stone eater. It hit the woman’s eye. Where’s that spoiled princess now?
Movement drew Krey’s gaze to a preteen trog boy slipping out of a sewer-access hole. Knife in hand, the boy rushed toward a male soldier who was finishing reloading his handgun. Even from above, Krey could tell the kid’s movements were clumsy. Loud. The soldier turned, lifting his weapon.
Ice shot from Krey’s hands at a dizzying speed. It found its mark. The man fell, his gun flying from his hand.
A female soldier who’d seen the whole thing looked to the rooftop, her eyes locking on Krey and Nora. She lifted a hand, and a vine shot out.
Krey grabbed Nora and tried to drag her, and himself, backward. His injured foot caught on the roof. He halted and cried out.
Nora was on her knees in an instant, pulling him back. “Someone see us?”
“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth. The end of a vine slapped the roof in front of them.
Nora cursed and scampered back. “Can you fly?”
“Doubt it.” He tried, shocking himself when he floated several simmets off the roof’s surface. “Yes!” he cried, landing on his hands and knees. “Get on!”
She did. He wrapped her in his magic, wincing when he sensed her bruises and torn skin. Flying low over rooftops, he sought another place to continue fighting.
Nora spoke in Krey’s ear. “Taima says the army has taken the northwestern portion of trog territory. My father is advancing with them.”
Krey ground his teeth. The news confirmed what his gut had been telling him: after perhaps an hour of full-on battle, the Cellerinians were already winning. Trogs simply couldn’t prevail against so many soldiers and guns.
“What does Taima say we should do?” Krey asked.
“She’s still flying high, trying to figure out if there’s a weakness we can take advantage of.” Nora stiffened. “Not again!”
Krey looked where she was pointing. In the street below, about fifty Cellerinian soldiers chased a much smaller group of trogs. Shots rang out. One trog fell while the others kept running. A soldier sent out a vine, capturing another trog.
They’d seen similar scenes earlier. When trogs leapt from hiding places to confront the enemy, they quickly found themselves outnumbered and had no choice but to flee. And it wasn’t just the trogs hidden in the streets who were in danger. Nora and Krey had also watched soldiers swarm into buildings to root out hidden archers and magic eaters.
There was nothing two ice lysters could do to save the fleeing trogs. More likely than not, the Cellerinians would subdue the group and capture the survivors. According to Taima, a large building outside trog territory was already filling with prisoners of war.
Krey turned, unwilling to watch the scene play out. As they departed, he heard gunshots and a pained cry.
After landing on another low roof, he and Nora tried to assist besieged trogs below. But when Krey took down one soldier and five more rounded the corner, he felt like he was using a watering can on a forest fire.
We’re losing Deroga.
After a long jog, full of twists and turns, Sarza stopped in front of a ladder. “Here.” She began climbing up.
Zeisha turned to Kebi. “Any idea where we are?”
Kebi held up her bundle of papers. “We travel too quickly for me to follow the maps.”
Sarza climbed the ladder and moved the piece of furniture that covered the hole in the ceiling. Zeisha followed, stepping into a dark room. The trogs had created dozens of these Extrain-tunnel access points over a century ago, in a brief bout of inter-clan cooperation.
The group rushed through the building, a journey that felt somehow familiar to Zeisha. They stopped in the lobby.
Swiveling her head, Zeisha took in the ancient, ornamental staircase at the rear of the room and the columns throughout. She drew in a breath. “I know this place. There are people hiding here. Trogs who can’t fight.” It was the refuge she’d originally been assigned to. “Why did you bring us here?” Zeisha asked, turning to the seer.
Sarza’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes glazed.
“Sarza?” Zeisha asked.
When the young woman didn’t answer, Zeisha shook her arm. It did no good. A few seconds later, Sarza came out of her trance with a jolt and a loud curse.
“What’s wrong?” Zeisha asked.
“This building—the army’s gonna burn it down if the Anya doesn’t prevent it.”
Zeisha grabbed the seer’s arm. “There are people on the twenty-fifth floor! Should we move them?”
Sarza’s eyes were wide. “No time. Go outside! Now!”
They all rushed through the open front doorway. Zeisha stared down the long, straight street. A group of soldiers was coming their way, distant enough to be blurry—and close enough to arrive in minutes.
Once again, Nora and Krey were forced to flee a rooftop perch. Gunshots and magical stones pursued them.
Taima had assured them the king couldn’t see much of trog territory from his current position. As Krey flew over the area, Nora’s hope for a victory withered. Everywhere, soldiers advanced, forcing trogs farther into their ancient territory. Fires filled the sky with dark-gray smoke.
&nb
sp; Krey flew over a deserted street, between two clans’ territories. Suddenly, he dropped about a met, leaving Nora’s stomach behind. She yelped.
“Gotta . . . land,” Krey groaned. He made a sharp turn toward a third-story window. Nora’s knee slammed into the hard edge of the opening as they entered. Inside, Krey fell to the floor. They rolled yet again, throwing up clouds of dust, their bodies separating in the process.
Fresh pain flooded into Nora’s back. “What the hell, Krey?” Coughing from the dust, she sat up. She regretted her outburst when she saw Krey.
He was on his side, curled up, holding his injured ankle in the air. Most of his foot was black and blue, and his ankle was swollen even bigger than before. She crawled to him. “Lie back, okay?” She took off her pack, which they’d emptied of ice the last time they fueled up. Krey’s remaining feathers made it slightly fluffy. “Put your foot on this.”
He turned onto his back, his face twisting with pain. Nora rolled the pack and set it under his ankle. He lowered his leg, whimpering when it touched the fabric.
“What happened?” she asked. “Ran out of fuel?”
He nodded.
She lowered herself onto her belly. With the way her back hurt, she couldn’t imagine ever lying on it again. Resting her head on her overlapped hands, she closed her eyes.
“Nora?”
Her eyes fluttered open. Had she dozed off? In the middle of a battle? She turned her head to face Krey.
His gaze was focused straight above him. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “I could fly on Taima, all the way to your father. No one would see me on her back. She could breathe a bunch of fire to distract everyone. I’d fly down and touch your father and make him end this thing.” His eyes were still aimed at the ceiling.
Nora gaped at him, then pushed herself up, grunting as the injured skin on her back stretched. She knelt next to Krey, leaning forward to put her face in his line of vision. His gaze shifted to the side, avoiding her.
“First of all,” she said, seething anger thick in her voice, “for such a smart guy, that’s an insanely stupid plan. Second, you did not just insinuate that you’re about to eat brain matter again, did you? Because that’s what it sounded like.”
Finally, he looked at her. “I know the plan is horrible. I’m hoping you can help me think of something better. And yes—I’m willing to go back to something that disgusts me to save the trogs. I’m willing to risk my very sanity for them. Pardon me for having such an idea. And thank you so much for the guilt trip.”
“Don’t lie to me, Krey!” she screamed. A spatter of spit landed on his face. As he wiped it away, she continued, “Don’t tell me it disgusts you! At least be honest! That’s what you promised me!”
“Honesty?” He pushed himself up on his elbows, causing her to sit up straight to avoid being headbutted. Then he sat up all the way, anger apparently smothering his pain. He turned to face her. “I’ve never not been disgusted by eating brains, Nora! But you wanted honesty, so I’ll tell you this—no matter how gross it is, I want it. I want it all the time. And when I’m tired or hurting, I want it more, so right now, you have no idea how hard it is to sit here and talk to you instead of flying off and finding some shimshims and tearing them apart until I get the fuel I need!”
His emotion stifled hers. “So why don’t you?” she asked in a low voice.
“Because I promised you and Zeisha and Ovrun that when I have a craving, I’ll tell you. I was pretty sure you were sleeping just now. I almost decided to eat all my feathers and fly away. But I promised. And when I promise something, I mean it.”
Nora closed her eyes and didn’t open them until she’d taken a deep breath, let it out slowly, and taken another. At last, she met Krey’s gaze. “This right here,” she said quietly, pointed back and forth between them, “this is making me trust you again. I think deep down, you want me to tell you the truth.”
He stared at her for a few seconds, then nodded.
“Here’s the truth, Krey West,” Nora said. “You are way too smart and way too strong and way too good to ever return to that dark magic.”
He swallowed, then whispered, “I know.” Another swallow, and then his voice was a little stronger. “But I don’t want to lose this battle. I don’t want the trogs to lose their city. Their way of life.”
“Me either. But if you go out there and attack my father, we won’t just lose this battle. I’ll lose you too. I still don’t have many friends, Krey.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to lose you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw flexing and nostrils flaring. “You don’t know what the cravings feel like.”
“I don’t.” She took his hand. “But if you can make it through this, when you’re exhausted and you have an ankle that looks like a giant, mutated grape, you can make it through any craving.” She gave him a small smile and was relieved when he returned it. “You’re not alone,” she said.
He squeezed her hand and nodded.
Nora!
Taima’s strong voice made her flinch. What is it?
Your help is needed elsewhere.
Okay, send me directions, and I’ll tell Krey to fuel up.
No, he is too slow. I saw where you landed. With the king in his new position, Osmius can fly safely. He is on his way to carry both of you while I stay in the air, watching the king. He shall come to your window.
Nora turned back to Krey. “How do you feel about flying on Osmius?” she asked.
His only response was a groan.
The Anya pointed at the front corner of the building. “Take me there,” he told Ovrun. He didn’t raise his voice, yet it was filled with authority. “Vine eaters, cover me.”
Zeisha ran ahead with the other vine eaters, but the Anya’s voice stopped her.
“Not you, Zeisha. Stand by me.”
He’d told her that at every location. Stand by me. She’d tried to insist that she should use her vines to protect him. His only reply had been, It is not your role.
Zeisha returned to the Anya, stewing in the same mixture of relief and guilt she’d felt each time. The last thing she wanted was to strangle someone with a vine. But how could she just stand there while everyone else played a role?
Anticipation shone from the other vine eaters’ eyes. Ovrun and Kebi had their bows out, and Sarza’s hand was on her knife.
Zeisha turned to the Anya, ready to insist she fight with the others. But he spoke first. “I need your help. Right here.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
Every other time the Anya had accessed the magic of the Well, he’d sat on the ground. Using unfathomable power, he’d twice brought lava from the earth, cycling it like a fountain so it flowed continuously without building up. Twice, he’d created geysers of steam. And once, under his hands, the dirt of the streets and the water that flowed deep below had combined to make thick, tall, earthen walls, bordered by deep trenches.
This time, the Anya remained standing, leaning on his cane. “Take off one of my shoes,” he told Zeisha. “Then hold me up.”
She had a hundred questions but no time for any of them. Her deft fingers untied and removed his shoe. She placed her arm firmly around his waist. He raised his hands, dropping his cane and leaning on Zeisha.
All across the street, thick dirt lifted from the ground, creating a low line between the Anya and his defenders. The dirt hovered briefly at ankle level, then rose. Compared to lava and steam, it was frightfully unimpressive.
A shot sounded when the dirt was at hip level. The Cellerinians were too far away to aim well, but the sound made Zeisha jump and cry out.
“Shh,” the Anya whispered, not moving his hands or taking his eyes off the rising cloud of dirt.
The soldiers continued to advance. They outnumbered Zeisha’s team, but only by a little. Another gunshot sounded. An arrow landed in the street, falling short of the Anya’s defenders.
“Guard him!” Kebi cried. The street in front of the defenders fille
d with waving vines, all still attached to the magic eaters’ hands. The motion made it harder for soldiers to aim, and the vines acted as a sort of shield. Ovrun and Eira nocked arrows. The street filled with the sounds of pounding feet and battle cries.
Hands still raised, the Anya remained calm. The dirt rose higher, blocking Zeisha’s view of the skirmish beyond.
Her breaths quickened. She wanted to scream, We can’t keep them away with puffs of dust! But her lips remained closed, her eyes wide open.
More gunshots sounded. A female vine eater cried out. Panic rose in Zeisha’s chest. The Anya leaned on her, heavier than ever.
The clamor of battle crescendoed—shouts, snapping vines, gunshots, cries. Zeisha fixed her gaze on the wall of dirt, trying desperately to see through it.
Then the dust itself drew her focus. It was turning. Slowly at first, then faster—faster—so fast, it now appeared as a line of dusty, rotating columns. The speed increased further, the dirt spinning so fast that it appeared solid. It extended all the way across the street and down the side of the building they were guarding, not stopping until it hit large buildings on either end. But the Anya had left a narrow opening, wide enough for one person to pass through.
“Return!” the Anya commanded in a shockingly strong voice.
Two vine eaters came sideways through the opening, one hopping due to a wounded leg, the other supporting him. More followed. There was Kebi—oh, thank God, she’s safe—carrying a young vine eater with a gut wound. Zeisha caught a glimpse of Sarza just outside the opening, fighting fiercely with her knife.
Shouts and shots rang out. Two uninjured vine eaters climbed onto their comrades’ backs, peeking over the dirt fence and shooting vines at the Cellerinians beyond. More vine eaters ran through the gap, some of them running past the building to ensure the soldiers didn’t circle around and attack from a different angle. Sarza and Ovrun came last, both walking backward, fighting the whole way. As soon as Ovrun was through, the spinning dirt morphed to fill the gap.
Still, it was just spinning dirt. Barely aware of the Anya’s continued weight on her, Zeisha watched the shield, expecting soldiers to burst through. Her palms buzzed with magic, her vines ready to emerge.
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 32
