You should have been born a fish,Ulyssus rumbles in my head.You’d complain less.
Fish don’t get shot out of the sky.
Below us, the human army marches on like an ant infestation, torches sputtering in the downpour. Their banners flap in the wind so violently I’m surprised the standard-bearers aren’t pulled off their feet. Their armor is dulled by mud and water — but they’re still coming. Too many of them. Too well armed.
Around us, the other riders hold formation as best they can in this wind. Serath to my right, Dain above, two more circling wider arcs. From up here it almost looks like we want to be here, like there is no world where we don’t come out victorious. It always looks like that before battle starts.
Arianda says five minutes,Ulyssus reports. With low visibility and lower sound relays, the drakens’ telepathiccommunication network is as much a tactical advantage for us as their fire breathing. I wish Ulyssus had a direct connection back to the draken field, but it’s too far out of range. Arianda can do it in an emergency, but my anxiety over Rowan doesn’t count as one.
Plus, given that keeping attention away from the draken field is the capstone of our strategy, Rowan is in the safest place she can be.
A flare punches through the cloud ceiling behind us—red and crooked, torn sideways by the wind.
Signal. We’ve been spotted. Ulyssus tenses under me, wings locking into a combat beat.
Hold, I order. Not that Ulyssus takes orders, but it does piss the draken off enough to distract him from what every instinct inside him is screaming to do—burn the marching humans to a crisp. I’d like to do much the same, but we’d need to drop too low for that. And I know the bastards below are armed with auric arrowheads. Maybe if the conditions were better we could risk it, not with these gales.
Instead, the draken riders are relegated to causing environmental havoc, herding the marching army toward a choke point about two miles southwest. The pass there eventually narrows to squeeze between twin rock formations that jut through the forest like broken teeth, the gap barely wide enough for three soldiers to walk abreast.
That’s where the fae ground forces get to do the real killing.
The brilliant part of the plan is that the bottleneck is not on any human map, given that it didn’t exist until a few hours ago when our mages and warriors finished shifting the stones into place. So far as the Eryndor army is concerned, there is no reason to avoid that direction. Especially if other options prove dangerous.
Which is where the herding comes in.
I’m a hunter not a sheepdog.Ulyssus’s tail lashes against the air in irritation.
And I’m not a fish, yet here we are.Lightning flashes, and for a heartbeat the whole sky glitters with wings — a dozen draken carving through clapping thunder and storm clouds, riders crouched low against their necks. A sight to terrify mortals. A sight to terrify me, if I’m honest, given how close we are to clipping each other every time the wind shifts.
Now,Ulyssus informs me as he folds his wings and drops so quickly that my entrails lag behind the rest of my body. We dive down through rain so heavy it’s like plunging into a river and Ulyssus opens his maw to bathe the tree line on the east side of the marching column in flame. The moment his single breath finishes, we shoot up and out of range. Serath and Dain, the two riders closest to us, do the same.
Down, blow, away. Down, blow, away. Down, blow, away. One draken after another lending their flame to the same section of the forest. Granted, it’s a very wet forest.
I twist to examine our work as Ulyssus navigates the currents and levels out at a safe altitude. There is some spectacular smoke and a few stray lines of soldiers buckling from formation, but for the most part the trees are too wet to catch and sustain the fire.
“We should go again,” Dain shouts. “The trees may not burn, but the humans will.”
I shake my head. Our first approach had the element of surprise and fear. They’ll expect a second approach. They’ll have archers ready.
“We have to do something,” Serath calls. “They are staying the course.”
My jaw tightens. Serath is right. Not only are the bloody humans staying on their original path, the main part of their column is only minutes away from the forked path where the fatal decision they won’t know they are making must take place.When the choice comes, the Eryndor army must take the west most road.
"Want to do something stupid with me?” Logan appears on my right, his black hair plastered to his forehead.
“No.”
“I’m sure you do.” This time, Logan doesn’t wait before he and Nyx take off, the draken’s wings cutting through the deluge like blades. I curse but follow, as the asshole knew I would, all the way past the human column’s vanguard ranks. Reaching the fork, Logan twists into the eastern path, and settles down low, like a damn fire-breathing guard dog. It’s zero subtlety and a good deal of stupidity. Exactly as advertised. It also just might work.
Ulyssus and I follow Logan’s example, choosing the eastern path and twisting in their air to hover just above Logan and Nyx. We stay there, waiting until Eryndor gets into range. And then we unleash hell.
Ulyssus’s flame erupts in a concentrated stream, white-hot at its core. Below us, Nyx's darker fire joins the assault, the combined inferno turning the eastern path into a throat of smoke and fire. The heat makes sweat run down my temples and sting my eyes, not even the rain and wind providing relief.
The first line of soldiers halts, raising shields against the heat. Then the second line piles behind them, fortifying the initial shields. A third row of shield bearers does the same. No one bolts, Eryndor’s training and discipline shining through as their front lines protect the rest of the troops from the blaze. Truthfully, I’m impressed. Impressed and grateful, since the shields protecting the human army from becoming charcoal are also protecting us from the archers.
Someone shouts orders—harsh, short bursts. A whistle cuts the air. Flags snap upward, signals pierce the rain.
I watch as the Eryndor formation bends, then reforms. Hundreds of soldiers pour into the western route—not panicked but disciplined, heads down, shields up. A few squads peel off to cover their rear with crossbows and auric fire-tips, just in case we circle back.
