Wings of Lomay (35 page)

“And the Omelian priests have to be stopped,” Einar added with a grunt as he shoved out a sphere of magic. “This wind is making half the maneuvers these foxes normally use impossible.”

“The Omelian priests?” Alcander shouted. He whirled around to throw a substantial shield. The attack magic slammed into it with a bang. “I thought they were dead.”

“I did too,” Einar said. “But I know those threads, and it’s the right number. It’s the priests.”

Alcander swore as Drustan swooped by, his razor-sharp claws opening up deadly gashes on a Shifter-Dragon. “That’s why Kiora can’t get ahold of the wind. It’s not Jasmine—it’s the priests.” Alcander turned his fox, spraying magic to the front, and shielded his back as he followed Kiora’s thread. “I have to find her.”

***

THE FURTHER OUT KIORA flew, the worse the wind became. It was numbing, and her lungs burned. Arturo pushed with everything he had, and even still he was jerking from one side to the other, tossed around by gusts of wind.

Kiora’s hope dwindled as the enemy became so thick that she was forced to put all her resources into her shield only, completely abandoning any sort of offensive actions. Shots came from every direction—magic and fire. Her shield was a blur of color and she was trusting Arturo’s ability to follow the thread because she couldn’t see anything besides the dark shapes outlined by the flares of color on her shield.

***

ALCANDER PULLED UP SHORT at the sight below him. He felt Kiora’s thread, and he could see the telltale rippling of one of her massive shields peeking through a rolling ball of the enemy.

The assailants had Kiora surrounded and were unleashing everything they were capable of with complete disregard for their own. Taveans and Shifters were hit with attacks from their kin, and bodies dropped lifelessly from the swirling mass. The sphere of the enemy that surrounded Kiora was layers deep, and there was no way he’d be able to penetrate their attempt to destroy the Solus.

Kiora,
he thought, turning his fox back around to take on the two Shifter-Dragons that flanked him.

Alcander,
she thought back.
What’s the matter? Are you all right?

I’m
better than you,
he thought, trying to work through the immense discomfort of the conversation, as well as firing at his attackers, while remembering to keep a tight hold on his fox.
Listen, The Omelians have a group of eighteen powerful priests, hand-picked and trained since childhood.

How powerful
?

I mentioned them yesterday—they join together as one. They specialize in . . .
His thoughts cut off as a burst of magic hit his right arm. His staff fell. Alcander yelled, gripping his arm. He directed his fox into a dead dive after the tumbling staff.

***

ALCANDER! ALCANDER!
KIORA THOUGHT frantically. She reached for his thread, and relief flooded through her when she located it.

Wind,
Arturo thought.
The Omelian priests specialize in wind. That’s why you can’t control it. They are working together.

Suddenly she understood the Omelians on the shore. They were there for one reason only—to keep the rebels from focusing on the Omelian threads, to prevent them from realizing what they were dealing with.

We are getting closer,
Arturo thought.
But we are helpless, surrounded as we are.

“
How close?”

Very. They are below us.

I can clear us a path, but it won’t stay open for very long. We’re going to have to move fast.

Kiora focused, feeling the magic within her. She couldn’t grab the wind the Omelians were using, but she could certainly use her own. She sent out a burst of blinding white magic that rippled out from her in a circle. The group flinched, shielding their eyes. She didn’t use enough power for any lethality—she couldn’t waste that right now. Instead, she pulled wind from the opposite direction, shoving it toward her temporarily stunned attackers and carrying them into the brunt of the Omelian’s wind. The two storms crashed into each other, crushing her attackers like paper dolls.

Arturo tilted, and Kiora wrapped her fingers tightly through his mane in anticipation of an extreme dive. His wings pulled in tightly and they dropped toward the lake.

Kiora’s stomach lurched. “Arturo,” she gasped, squinting against the wind, “I don’t see anything.”

No sooner had she spoken than the wind switched directions, focusing in on her and Arturo. It pushed him backwards, forcing him out of his dive.
They’re here,
he thought.
They are being concealed by the Illusionist. Otherwise, we wouldn’t feel their threads.

They were shoved further away from the section of lake that Arturo had been aiming for, and Kiora was lifted off his back. She clung to his mane to keep herself from flying off. She had to find the Omelians and break the connection between them.

They have to be here somewhere,
she thought.
Maybe
on a boat. Neither the Illusionist nor the Omelians can fly—it’s the only way they could get this far out onto the lake.

I can’t . . . do this.
Arturo pushed his head into the wind, flapping as hard as he could.
It’s too . . .
His thought cut off and they continued to slide backwards despite his efforts.

Kiora covered her face with her arm, looking down at the drop between her and the water below.
Let’s hope they didn’t waste energy putting up an illusion where no one could see.

Be careful!

I will. Get out of here.
Kiora sent out a burst of light meant to blind anyone looking at them. It flared white. Kiora threw herself off Arturo, diving toward the lake. Arturo turned, allowing the wind to carry him away.

The fall was longer than she had thought and her feet came over her head. She slammed into the water, her back and side taking the hit. From the height she had fallen, it felt like she landed on solid ground.

Seeing stars, she struggled in the freezing water, putting up a regular bubble to conceal her thread before adding an air bubble that enclosed only her head. The gasp and cry of pain she had been holding expelled as soon as the air bubbled sealed.

She looked around, her mouth gapping at what she saw.

The lake rippled with waves from the wind, just as she had seen from the air and just as it was in reality. But in front of her, the waves stopped, and in their place, an ice bridge led all the way to the mainland shore.

She was sinking, rapidly, her wet clothes pulling her down. She struggled to take off her boots—finally she unlaced them and kicked them off. She shrugged out of her heavy coat.

The freezing wind was not being used to make the rebels uncomfortable, or to speed the enemy’s forces. The Omelians were freezing a passageway for the rest of the army that couldn’t fly, a land passage to bypass the water buffer. And the Illusionist was not only adding forces in the sky—it was concealing the Omelians’ efforts.

With the air bubble only around her head, she could still swim, and she paddled toward the bridge. It was probably fifteen feet wide and thick enough to support the weight of an army. She peered up through the thick ice, trying to ignore her chattering teeth. The distinctive outline of the Omelians’ three-toed ostrich feet stood out clearly next to the dark shape of the Illusionist.

The Omelians stood in a circle, holding hands. She needed to separate them. And then she needed to break this bridge before the forces from the mainland came marching across the lake.

***

DRAGON FIRE SEARED EMANE’S torso and down his leg. He howled, falling forward. His Marlock bellowed and fell to the sand, writhing in agony, Emane’s burned leg pinned beneath him.

The Shifter-Dragon moved toward Emane, malice glittering in its eyes. This particular Shifter had come in for an attack and bounced off one of its dead comrades that the rebels had not been able to remove from the spears. The Dragon’s head pulled back as its chest puffed in preparation—there was nothing Emane could do. He struggled one last time beneath the weight of the Marlock, but it was fruitless. The animal was in the throes of agony.

The Dragon released its torrent of fire.

Emane threw his arm over his face, turning away. Of all the ways to die, by fire was the one he most feared. A yell of terror lodged in his throat. Emane heard the fire connect—the boom, the hissing, but felt nothing. Pulling back his arm, he looked up to see a shield covering him. The fire rolled across it, inches from his face.

His lungs screamed for air, but the shock of near death rendered him unable to breathe. Emane slowly turned his head to see an Omelian protecting him.

The Shifter-Dragon turned with a roar toward the Omelian, who took off at a dead run across the island, firing magic over his shoulder The Shifter-Dragon pounded down the beach in pursuit.

Emane sucked in mouthfuls of air and healed the Marlock’s side. “Get off!” he groaned, pushing at the animal.

The Marlock cooed in delight and rolled to its feet.

As Emane healed himself, he was acutely aware of every drop of magic he had used, and how much he had left. He had done everything within his power not to do any healing—even turning away a rebel whose injuries were not serious enough. He had no idea what each minute could bring and he didn’t want to be found wanting if an emergency presented itself.

Emane pulled himself back on his Marlock, turned the beast, and charged straight at another Shifter-Dragon who was trying to burn down the stakes.

***

ALCANDER GRABBED HIS STAFF just before it hit the surface of the lake. He and his fellow Taveans were nearly surrounded. Magic and fire were exchanged in short range and the rebel Taveans backed themselves into a circle in the air, facing out to return fire.

The enemy tightened in a circle around them. But then the attack suddenly ceased. Alcander looked around, trying to ascertain what was going on.

Each of the Shifter-Dragons puffed up their chests.

“Shields!” Alcander yelled.

He was worried his voice didn’t make it over the wind, but the rebel Taveans’ shields burst out, butting up against one another’s and connecting at the edges, sealing their little force within. Alcander added the power of the staff to the shield.

Shifter-Dragons launched their attack. Their shields changed to red, yellow, and orange as fire encased them. The attack went on for minutes without respite. The shields thinned in places as their magical reserves waned. Little holes opened up beneath the attacks, allowing fire to lick through before someone in the group could reinforce the breach.

Alcander had been in some dire straits, but this one was worse. Inside the rounded shield, the shouts of encouragement fell silent. As their leader, he felt like he should say something, but there was nothing. Anything would have sounded like a good-bye—which is exactly what it was.

***

EMANE CHARGED, SLICING A Tavean in half with his sword. But then, every head turned, their attention on the backside of the island. Even his Marlock slowed to a slow lope

He tried to determine the source of interest, but couldn’t see anything besides the island and the watery barrier above. Everyone else was surely feeling threads while he was forced to wait until he could see whatever they already knew was there.

He feared it was Jasmine. But instead of a dark- haired female figure, the long, stretched-out bodies of Dragons silhouetted against the water barrier above. One after another they shot overhead, heading toward the air battle.

At first, Emane thought it was more Shifter-Dragons come to join the fight. But then the rebels cheered, waving their swords in triumph in the air, and Emane realized that Kiora’s impact on others had once again come into play. The Dragons were here to help.

***

THE FIRE OUTSIDE THE shield suddenly cut off, and for a second, Alcander thought the enemy was regrouping for another attack—which his force couldn’t handle—when he felt the threads. He shook his head slowly, disbelieving. His fellow Taveans shared the same stunned look.

The Dragons roared, their voices blending together in horrifying, unified musicality. Alcander felt the vibrations to his bones. They were here—the Dragons were finally entering the fight.

He dropped his shield as the Shifter-Dragons turned to face the new, and infinitely more dangerous, threat.

The Dragon colony ripped through the ranks, slamming into the enemy, blowing fire, grappling with their claws, dealing death blows.

The rebel Shifters and Taveans cheered, feeling hope for the first time since the threads of the enemy had first appeared in the sky. With a shout, Alcander dove back into the fray.

***

KIORA FELT THE DRAGONS arrive and paused for a moment, emotion and gratitude choking her up. Then the Omelian feet above her moved, turning, and the ice bridge that had been consistently inching forward stopped as the freezing wind was redirected.

Up until now, the Omelians had just been hindering the efforts above, focusing much of their power into using the wind to freeze the surface of the water to create their bridge. Now the wind was refocused. They used their full capacity to knock out everyone in the sky, on their side or not.

Kiora quickly decided on a course of action. She ignored the painful tingling in her extremities and thrust her arms out. Walls of water burst through the surface on either side of the bridge and straight into the air.

From beneath the ice, she couldn’t tell how tall the waves were, so she kept pumping water into them, ensuring the force would be enough, and released them. Tons of water dropped straight down, splintering the ice bridge. Immense pieces of ice plunged down into the lake like sleek underwater ships.

A section of the bridge remained above water, and the Illusionist and Omelians continued their assault from it.

Flipping her body around, Kiora magically grabbed hold of multiple pieces of Dragon-sized icebergs, pulling them toward her. She kicked out of the way, her numb legs aching in protest. She positioned the jagged ice pieces beneath the Omelians and the Illusionist, then shoved them upwards with a grunt.