Tavi could hear the slave’s labored, gasping breath even through the wind—she was evidently at the end of her endurance. Her footsteps staggered, as they grew closer to the glowing firelight. In the darkness, the windmanes screeched, and Tavi looked back to see one of them swooping down through the sleet, its face twisted into a grimace of hatred and hunger.
The girl’s eyes widened as she saw Tavi’s expression, and she began to spin about—but she was too late, her reaction too slow. She couldn’t possibly turn to defend herself in time.
Tavi reached back and seized her wrist in both hands. With the weight of his whole body, he hauled her forward, past him, and sent her stumbling toward the light ahead. “Go!” he shouted. “Get inside!”
The windmane hit Tavi, and there was suddenly no air in his lungs, no warmth in his limbs. He felt his feet leave the ground, and he went tumbling, jouncing, and bounding down the slope and away from the shelter at its summit, blown like a leaf before the power of the storm. He rolled, arms and legs loose, struggling to keep from stopping too abruptly, to guide his fall down the hill and to its base. A grey stone appeared before his eyes in a flash of emerald lightning, and he felt himself scream as he flinched away from it.
He caught a flash of light reflected on water, on the ground, and aimed himself toward it through the half-dark, desperate and terrified. He came to a halt in the mud pooling at the bottom of the hill beneath a finger-width of freezing water, his arms sinking into it halfway to his elbows. He struggled and heaved them free of the muck, turning in time to see the windmane descend on him once more.
Tavi rolled to one side, the sludge slowing his movements, and felt the windmane’s deadly chill settle around his mouth and nose, cutting off his air. He thrashed and flinched, but accomplished nothing. He could no more keep the fury from blocking his air than he could spread his arms and fly above the storm.
Tavi knew that he had only one chance, and that a slim one. He struggled to his feet, then leapt into the air and hurled himself sprawling in the muck. Cold, oozing mud and chilled water slithered over him, churned to the consistency of thick pudding by the storm. He wriggled down deeper, forcing his face into the mud, then rolled to his back, covering himself in it.
And suddenly, he could breathe again.
Tavi peered up at the windmane—but it wasn’t facing him. The fury swirled and swooped around the point where it had first attacked him, its glowing, hungry eyes flicking back and forth. They never did settle on Tavi. The windmane screamed, and half a dozen of its fellows came looping down and around the area near where Tavi had fallen, spinning and spiraling, searching for him.
Tavi lifted a hand to brush mud from his eyes, a fierce grin stretching his lips. He’d been right. The earth. The earth that was the nemesis of furies of the air had covered him, hidden him from them. But it was bitterly, painfully cold. Tavi stared at the swirling windmanes and felt the chill settle into his bones. He was safe from the manes. But for how long?
The rain continued to pelt down, and muddy water dribbled into Tavi’s eyes. The rain would wash his coating of mud away in short order, assuming he didn’t simply collapse to the ground and freeze. Moving as quietly as he could, he reached down and scooped more mud into his hand, dumping it onto his belly and chest, where the rain had begun to make headway.
Tavi peered through the storm and up the gentle slope of the mound, to where the light burned at its top, outlining an opening in a dark structure, otherwise invisible in the night. He saw no sign of the slave—which meant that she was either safe or dead. Either way, he had done everything he could for the young woman. He let out a hiss of frustration.
Instantly, three of the windmanes spun their glowing eyes toward him and flowed through the air, directly at his mouth.
A yelp started in his chest, but he stifled it from reaching his throat — instead, rolling away, through the mud for several paces, and got to his feet. Looking back, he saw the furies of the storm swirling around the spot where he had lain. They could not see him, perhaps, but they could surely hear him. Even in the din of the storm, they had heard his breath. He scarcely dared to breathe now and wondered if they would hear him moving.
Either way, he thought, the rain would expose him to them in a few moments. He had to get off of the open ground, to shelter. He had to try to slip past the furious windmanes.
Tavi would remember that walk for the remainder of his life, as the torment a starving mouse must feel when darting between the feet of giants to snatch at crumbs of food and then rush back to safety.
All around him, the windmanes swirled and howled. A young bounder buck came leaping out of the darkness across Tavi’s tail, squealing and throwing his hindquarters wildly about. To the buck clung three of the windmanes, their claws raking, eyes blazing. As Tavi watched, the furies rode the bounder down to the ground, its horns passing harmlessly through them. The buck let out an awful scream, before one of the manes tore open its throat and two more flowed over its muzzle, cutting off its air. The bounder struggled in silence, thrashing and bucking as its blood flowed. The other windmanes nearby swirled closer, shrieking, clawed hands reaching.
The animal vanished into a luminescent mass of churning mist and vicious claws. Only moments later, the cloud dispersed into a dozen howling forms.
And all that remained of the bounder was a head, its eyes wide open and white with terror, beside a scattered pile of claw-rent meat and cracked, bloody bones.
Tavi’s knees went weak, and for the space of several breaths, he couldn’t remove his eyes from the gruesome spectacle. The lightning left him in the dark a moment later, leaving the sight of the poor buck’s fate blazed across his vision. He opened his mouth to scream and found himself breathless, silent, as in the helpless terror of a nightmare.
Lightning split the sky again, and the fear took him and ate him in one bite. His trembling paralysis became a sudden surge of fragile, terrified strength, and he all but flew up the hill toward the promised safety of the light. He heard himself suck in a breath and scream, and the windmanes rose up around him in an angry chorus — but one without a director, without a tempo. They swooped and dove furiously around him, but none could see him. The protection of the earth held true, until Tavi had raced up the slope to its summit.
There, a simple dome of polished marble rose from the slope of the hill to the height of three men. Its open entryway glowed with a soft golden light, and above it, writ into the marble in gold was the seven-pointed star of the First Lord of Alera.
Tavi felt a section of earth as heavy as a feastday cake slough off of his back and heard the furies scream behind him. His own scream answered them, as the terrible wind raced toward him. He held his arms over his head and threw himself at the doorway.