Tavi stared at his aunt’s hand, where the nails seemed to have grown to twice their usual length, like shining-edged claws. Isana took note of his glance and gave her hand a shake, as though relaxing muscles cramped from sewing. Once, twice, and the nails appeared as they always had, practically short and neatly groomed—but stained with spots of blood. Tavi shivered.
“Get him to the far shore,” Isana instructed. “There are two more out here, and matters aren’t settled between Kord and Bernard as yet. Tavi, get through the woods. When the storm comes, you’ll be safe for a time.”
Bittan, bloody-mouthed, appeared on the shore. “You barren witch!” he howled at Isana. He gestured, and fire leapt toward them.
Isana rolled her eyes and flipped a hand toward Bittan. A wave rose to meet the flames, drowning them and continued forward to clutch at the young man’s feet, washing them out from under him. He went down with a yelp, spluttering, and scrambled back away from the shore.
“Get through the woods,” Isana continued. “Get to Aldoholt, by the lake. I’ll have word to him by then, and he’ll either get you to Gram or get Gram to you. He’ll protect you until then. Do you understand, Tavi?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tavi gasped. “But —”
She leaned into him and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I’m sorry, Tavi, so sorry. There’s no time for questions now. You must trust me. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Tavi said.
Isana turned her head, and the fires spreading on shore reflected in her eyes. “It’s spreading. And the storm is nearly here. I have to call down Nereus, or Lilvia will whip those fires until they devour the Valley.” She looked back to them and said, “Tavi, get away from the river. As far away as you can. Head uphill. Take Fade with you, and keep a close eye on him—I don’t know what made you bring him along.” She shot a glance past Tavi to the slave, who offered a witless smile to Isana and ducked his head.
She shook hers in response, kissed Tavi’s head again, and said, “Go, quickly.” And with that, she turned and vanished down into the waters of the river again.
Tavi swallowed and tried to help Fade, as the slave moved out of the river to the far side and up onto the shore. Tavi looked back as he moved out of the water.
Kord lay on the ground, curled onto his side, weakly struggling to get back to his feet. Bernard, his face bruised and his tunic torn, stood with Amara at the white rock of the ford, their backs to Tavi, facing the woods.
From the smoke and the shadows of the trees there limped a man, middle-aged, barefoot, and of innocuous height. He swept his eyes around the fire-lit stream and then focused on the two people standing at the ford, then past them. Tavi felt the man’s eyes touch on him like cold, smooth stones, calmly weighing him, assessing him, dismissing him. The man lifted a hand, and Tavi heard the tree nearest him buck and tremble, and he turned in time to see it pitch forward toward him.
Bernard’s head whipped around, and he raised a fist. As swiftly as the first, a second tree uprooted itself and toppled, landing hard against the first, so that the two fell against one another, each supporting the other from falling, while Tavi and Fade stood trembling in the arched space beneath them.
“Impressive,” the man said. He focused on Bernard, and abruptly a wave of earth lashed out toward Tavi’s uncle. Bernard planted his feet on the ground, teeth bared in a grimace, and a second wave rose in front of him, gathered momentum toward the stranger’s attack. Bernard’s efforts were evidently not enough. The ripple in the rock tore through his own efforts and ripped apart the ground he and Amara stood upon, sending them both toppling.
Tavi cried out, for even as his uncle fell, the stranger drew from beneath his cloak a short and heavily curved bow. He set an arrow to the string and drew with a cool precision. The shaft leapt across the stream, toward Tavi.
From the ground, Amara cried out and slashed her hand at the air. The arrow flicked itself abruptly aside and rattled into the woods behind Tavi.
The man let out a short, frustrated noise and said, “Point-less. Kill them.”
From behind him stepped the man Tavi had seen earlier, sword again in hand, quietly lethal intent in his eyes. The swordsman glided forward, toward Amara and his uncle, the blade catching the scarlet light of the fires raging around.
Kord had regained mobility and hauled himself to one side. He roused Aric with a few kicks and started to fall back into the woods, letting his son scramble after him as he tried to regain his senses. But even as Kord left, there was a rattle in the blazing brush, and Bittan backed out of the middle of a blaze, blinded and choking on the smoke. He waved a hand before his face and found himself standing a few scant feet from the swordsman, between the man and Bernard.
Tavi never even saw the swordsman’s arm move. There was a hissing sound, and Bittan let out a surprised choke, and fell to his knees. The swordsman moved past the boy. Tavi saw scarlet puddling around Bittan’s knees, and the boy fell limply over onto his side.
Tavi felt his gorge rise in his belly. Fade let out a hiss of breath and clutched at Tavi’s arm.
“Bittan,” Aric choked. “No.”
For a moment, that tableau held, the boy on the ground in a pool of his own blood, scarlet firelight all around, the swordsman, blade extended to his side, moving with patient grace toward the people standing between him and Tavi.
Then everything happened at once.
Kord let out a bellow of raw and indiscriminate rage. The earth rippled around him and lashed out toward the swordsman.
Amara came to her feet, her blade in hand. She threw herself forward even as the swordsman’s blade descended toward Bernard, intercepting it. The earth heaved and threw them both to one side, locked together in a close-quarters struggle.
The innocuous looking man extended his hands toward the far side of the river, and the trees groaned in response, the air filling with the twist and crackle of branches, of movement.
And the storm arrived.
One moment, there was relative stillness—and the next, a wall of fury and sound and power thundered down over them, engulfed Tavi’s senses, blinded him, and whipped the surface of the river to icy foam. The flames Bittan had started buckled for a moment beneath the wind’s onslaught, and then, as though the storm had sensed their potential, they blossomed and bloomed, spreading and growing with a speed as terrifying as it was amazing. To Tavi, it almost seemed as though faces gibbered and shrieked in the wind around those flames, calling them, encouraging them.
Fade let out a squeal, cowering down against the winds, and Tavi abruptly remembered his aunt’s commands. He seized the slave by the arm, though still terrified for those behind him at the ford, and dragged him into the twisting woods, along the paths he knew, even in the semidarkness, away from the river.