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I glanced at Cian.
“Go.” He waved me off, eyes half-closed. “I need to heal and have a proper bath before you have me.”
I inclined my head. “I’ll see you both later?”
“Yes, later tonight,” Cian agreed. “After we’ve both had a chance to get cleaned up and properly dressed.”
Just moments later, I strode through the camp, a half step behind Nisang, who had taken up a pace that nearly left me breathing hard. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said the graceful way he stalked through the dusty, dry heat meant he was upset. I followed, waiting for him to say something, or indicate the purpose of our walk, but he said nothing, guiding me away from the command tent, away from all the prying ears of Skaags and Nightmares, to the banks of a wide river. A wooden watchtower had been erected on the shore, several soldiers prowling along the various levels, peering across the water.
We turned away from the watchtower, making our way down the bank to a patch of tall grass. There, Nisang paused facing the water, his expression pinched in worry, hands folded under his powerful wings. “You will not like what I’m about to say.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head, waiting.
Nisang snorted. “I don’t like it either. Doesn’t make it any easier, but someone’s got to say it.” He blew out a slow breath. “You shouldn’t be here, Nevahn.”
“Because I’m a weak human who can’t fight? Or because I’m a distraction to Cian?”
“Both,” he said, turning to me. “You’ve come a long way since you arrived in the undercroft, grown in ways no one could have predicted. Youarestronger. I see that. But your body and mind have limits. You aren’t made for war, Nevahn. It would ruin you. And watching what it would do to you, how it would break you, it would wreck Cian. His focus must be on this war and not on protecting you. We will lose otherwise. We might lose anyway.”
I said nothing, instead dipping down to collect a handful of rocks. They were smooth and cool against my palms. I turned one over, running a thumb over the gritty underside before casting it out over the water. It skipped twice before the river swallowed it. “Let me ask you something, Nisang. Why are you out here fighting if you don’t think you can win?”
His eyes skipped over the water with the next rock I tossed. “Because Cian commanded it, and I obey his commands.”
I paused before throwing another rock. “Maybe you’re the one who should go back to Ezulari then.”
He blinked wide-eyed at me.
“I’m not the strongest person here. I’m not the smartest or the bravest, either. I can’t fly and I don’t have magic. But I believe we can win. And even if we lose, I know that it’s better to have fought against tyranny and injustice and lost than to have done nothing at all.”
“Gods,” Nisang snorted behind me. “You even sound like him.”
I flung the rocks at the river. “If you don’t think I can fight to your standard, then teach me.”
Nisang studied me for a long moment. “Very well. Meet me at dawn tomorrow. Small training yard. Bring a sword.”
Formostoftherest of the day, I wandered around camp without a guide, getting to know the layout. The painted tents I had seen earlier were common and designated different Skaag units, their symbol painted on their tents and their shields. Most of them ignored me, but a few tolerated my questions, probably because they welcomed the chance to brag about their units.
There were the Bloodhounds, a unit of scouts that prided themselves on being invisible in any terrain. The Unburnt had trained to hold their breaths and tempered their bodies against high heat and smoke as much as possible. There was even a small unit of Skaags that had learned rudimentary combat spells, the Scourge. Scattered amongst them were other Nightmares with similar skills, keeping everything from being mono-species. The Skaags treated the Nightmares as they did each other, with a rough sense of camaraderie somewhere between animosity and competition.
After walking through the various camps and speaking with any soldiers who would give me the time of day, I found myself invited to a small gathering of Nightmares and Skaags circled around a pair of Spooks, the same subtype as Xeltec and Dorric. They were holding a game that involved a dance, one sword in each hand, leaping over a roaring fire. It seemed to me a good way for somebody to get burned, but I was told it was a blessing dance. Each leap they made, every spin or toss of their sabers, was supposed to generate good luck and fortune for someone in the crowd. When one dancer leapt over the fire and his foot grazed the coals, the entire crowd exploded with laughter. Coins and drinks changed hands, and the dance went on.
The second time it happened, one Skaag—a Bloodhound, judging by the streaks of rust-colored paint across his face—slapped an unlabeled bottle into my hand and commanded, “Drink!”
I almost vomited the second the stinging drink touched my tongue. It was so sweet and pungent that I might as well have lit honey on fire and tried to drink it.
The Skaag grinned and slapped me on the back hard enough I almost tripped. “If you throw it up, you’ll lose all your good luck. Don’t gag! Drink!”
All eyes were on me. What could I do but take another drink? The crowd exploded in celebration as I did.
Trying to keep from getting too drunk, I wandered away from the blessing dance and wound up leaning against a post, watching a group of Skaags play a betting game with diamond-shaped playing cards spread over the table in front of them. I watched them play for a while, trying to discern the rules of their game.
The hand ended with two out of three of them cursing and throwing down their cards.
“I need a new partner,” one hissed.
“You need to get fucked is what you need.”
“Don’t we all?” replied the other who’d lost, shaking his head.
