“Kirisin! Run!”
Praxia dodged and weaved as the night fliers came at her—one, two, three of them, claws ripping at her head. But she was small and quick, and they missed their target, catching only air. Her knives flicked out at them as they passed, and two shrieked in pain and anger, one rising only momentarily before falling back, wings beating uselessly. Kirisin saw it clearly as it landed, a human-shaped form with leathery wings and a reptilian spine and tail.
Human once, he thought, scrambling away. Reptile now. Changed into something monstrous.
A flock of them had fallen on the two Elven Hunters and both had gone down, buried in a mass of beating wings and ripping claws. The boy heard them scream as their lives were torn out, their efforts at defending themselves too little, too late. Others were coming at Ruslan and Que’rue, but both had backed themselves against the AV and were using short swords and long knives to keep their attackers at bay. Three of the skrails died right in front of the boy, cut to pieces. Others escaped with deep cuts and slashes. Blood flew everywhere from the injuries, some of it spattering his face.
Logan Tom had turned away from his work to summon the magic of his black staff, had called it up and sent it arcing across the night sky. It illuminated the darkness and revealed dozens of skrails. The Knight of the Word spun the magic out across the flats, into the darkness, and more of the skrails, revealed in its blue blaze, were caught up in its sweep and incinerated. Shifting his stance, Logan Tom raked the skies overhead, and another knot of attackers was beaten back.
“Get into the AV!” he shouted at the Elves.
Kirisin was already trying to do just that, but the path was blocked by skrails and Trackers locked in combat. The battle was raging back and forth in front of the Ventra’s doors, and the boy could not find a way past.
Then Praxia was next to him, grabbing his arm, hauling him ahead, into the teeth of the fighting. She cut their way through, shouting at Que’rue and Ruslan to let them past. In desperation, she threw herself into the battle ahead of him, and the three Trackers fought to clear a path through the knot of skrails. From farther out on the flats, Logan Tom was struggling to keep others that were still in the sky from joining those on the ground, his magic flaring into the darkness in sharp bursts. But the skrails were coming at him from everywhere, recklessly flying into the magic’s fire, almost as if eager to sacrifice themselves.
Kirisin hesitated, uncertain which way to go.
“Get down!” he heard Logan Tom yell at him.
He dropped to one knee, searching wildly. Dark bodies surged toward him, flew at him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to think which way to go.
“Kirisin!” Praxia screamed.
An instant later four sets of talons locked onto his shoulders. He had been seized by not one but two of the skrails, huge creatures with reptilian faces that were beaked and horn-encrusted. Their leathery wings beat madly as they hoisted him aloft, and although he twisted and thrashed in their grip he could not break free. The ground fell away beneath him, and his companions began to diminish in size.
He experienced an overwhelming terror as he realized what was happening. He screamed for help, but it was already too late. Even if he were freed from the skrails, the fall would kill him. His companions were not going to be able to save him. Already he could barely see them. Only Praxia was giving chase, shouting up at him futilely.
A cold certainty flooded through him. He knew where he was being taken and the fate that awaited him when he got there. Demons would be waiting for him, and he would be made to use the Loden exactly as Culph had intended.
In desperation he yanked the pouch that contained the Loden Elfstone from within his shirt, broke it free from its cord, and cast it away. He watched it fall to earth. At least they wouldn’t get that, he thought.
But would his companions find it? Had they seen him drop it? Would they even know to look for it?
Then he was too high to see anything more, and he quit looking.
FOURTEEN