“That’s not a comforting thought.”
We sat there, unmoving, for a long moment. There came another crash, followed by a shout.
I was on my feet in a flash. “That was River.”
Our tent opened, admitting a swirl of icy wind and snow. Dargye staggered inside, clutching his arm. His face was ashen, and blood welled beneath his hand.
“Dargye, what—?”
“It’s Norbu,” he choked out. “He’s gone mad. He tore my tent apart with a dagger, and then came at me.”
“What?”
“He would have killed me, I think, if River hadn’t distracted him—”
I shoved my way past Dargye, plunging headfirst into the storm. At first I could make out nothing amidst the chaos of snow and wind. Thunder boomed so loud I felt my bones tremble. Back in the tent, the black kinnika was no longer whispering, but ringing out loudly enough to cut through the storm.
As soon as my eyes had adjusted, I realized the wrongness of what I was seeing. There should have been three tents huddled against the mountainside—instead there was only one, River’s. The sounds I had taken for the crash of falling rocks must in fact have been the tents being torn from their stakes and blown by the gale against the mountainside.
Lightning flashed, illuminating River standing motionless at the crest of a rise, his hands raised. Norbu was just beyond him, swaying precariously. I couldn’t make out what was passing between them, but Dargye’s wound was reason enough for me to believe that River was in danger. I sprinted toward him, drawing my own dagger from my pocket.
“What’s going on?” I panted when I reached his side.
“Kamzin, stay back,” River said in a strange, commanding voice I had never heard before. It stopped me in my tracks, as if my feet had frozen to the ground.
“I don’t—”
Norbu let out a ghastly cry, harsh and guttural. And familiar.
The sound came again, but not from Norbu. Somewhere in the distance, lost in the storm, the fiangul were calling.
They were calling for Norbu.
The shaman let out another terrible, birdlike scream and lunged toward us. His eyes were black, as black as the fiangul’s, and wide with madness. I raised my dagger and started forward, but River shoved me backward so hard that I tumbled down the rise. I heard him shouting at Norbu, then the sound of a scuffle. Seconds later, River sailed clear over my head, landing hard against a boulder with an oof of pain.
“Dammit,” he said as he drew himself shakily to his feet. “I never should have cast that strengthening spell on him.”
“What?” I almost screamed.
River winced. “It really should have worn off by now. I didn’t see the harm in it at the time—I knew the fiangul had their talons in him, but it seemed as though the bond was weakening, that he was acting more like himself. I realize now that—”
Norbu let out another cry, and surged forward. He moved with a speed so rapid, so unnatural, that I screamed again. He grabbed River by the shoulders and pulled him into the snow, his hands around his neck. Without pausing to think, I leaped onto Norbu’s back, putting him in a headlock with one arm and raising my dagger with the other. He reared up, flailing and screeching. Wings erupted from his back—black, curving, enormous wings—rending his chuba and flinging me into a snowbank. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, just in time to see him lean over River again.
“Norbu!” I screamed over the raging wind. “Norbu, stop! You know River; you know all of us! Please don’t—”
But another sound filled the air. The sound of heavy wingbeats, and distant screeching that filled the air like a smothering fog.
The fiangul were here.
“River!” I shouted. I ran forward, lowering my head like a bull. I plowed into Norbu, knocking the shaman to the ground. In the process, I knocked all the breath from my body.
“Ohhh,” I breathed. River’s strengthening spell had made Norbu powerful in more than one way, it seemed. He had the density of a tree.
Norbu was already on his feet, already reaching for me. But River was there, suddenly, grabbing the shaman by the hair and driving his fist into his face.
“River, no,” I yelled the moment before his fist connected with a sickening crunch.
River shouted in pain. Swearing, he reeled backward, clutching his injured hand. Norbu barely seemed affected. He spread his wings, and braced himself as if to leap at us.
“That’s it.” River’s jaw was set, his face pinched with pain. “I’m sorry, my old friend, but I have to do this.”
He made a sharp gesture, and the shaman sailed backward. He hit the mountainside and tumbled to the ground, where he lay without moving. At least for a moment. There came a flutter of motion, followed by another. Dark shapes descended on Norbu’s motionless body. Thin, spectral shapes borne upon wings of shadow.
“They’re taking him!” I shouted.
“He was lost already.” River grabbed my arm and pushed me behind him as more of the fiangul emerged from the storm. They glided toward us, their wings spread wide, their taloned feet barely caressing the snow.
“Oh, Spirits,” I moaned. “They’re going to take us too! They’re going to make us like them!”
River swore again. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. Azar-at?”
The fire demon was suddenly at his side. Are you prepared? Its voice was low and silky in a way that made my skin crawl.
“Would it matter if I weren’t?” River said. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He raised his arms suddenly, spreading them wide over his head. Something descended from the clouds, a dark and churning column of darkness. It passed over us harmlessly, barely stirring my hair, but the fiangul were thrown into a frenzy. The funnel dragged them into its maw, devouring even those that tried to flee. It whipped back and forth over the plain, tearing long gashes in the new-fallen snow and tossing up the rocky earth beneath it. Once it had swallowed the fiangul in our vicinity, it raced after the retreating cloud the others had formed. I watched, frozen to the spot. As the fiangul fled, so did the storm that bore them. The blizzard softened to a light sleet, and a patch of blue sky pierced the clouds. Everything was quiet and very still.
SIXTEEN
RIVER FELL FORWARD. He pressed his hand against his chest, his expression contorted.
I knelt at his side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He pressed his hand against his head, and then his chest again, as if he was not quite certain of the origin of the pain. “Whenever I use Azar-at to anchor a spell, it takes something out of me. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
I felt cold. “You mean you had to—”
“I had to give him another piece of my soul, yes. But don’t trouble yourself, Kamzin. I barely feel it anymore.” He paused thoughtfully. “In fact, it’s sort of tingly.”
“What happened?” Tem raced toward us. “Dargye collapsed, and by the time I had his wound bandaged you were—”