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“It was a stupid risk to begin with.” Morlash’s fingers twitched.
“The dead deserve whatever rites we can give,” Odan said firmly, leveling the full weight of his attention on Morlash.
Nisang shrugged. “For once, I agree with Morlash. We can’t keep doing the flyovers. Not with the possibility of the dragon returning.”
“There’s Gilmire’s Path.” The Skaag pointed out a narrow, snaking line through the mountain on one side of the narrow pass. “I can send the Bloodhounds up there. Forward scouts.”
Cian shook his head. “Dev’s shadows are enough for now. We know where they are, and they don’t seem inclined to move.”
Odan snorted. “They’re practically goading us to make a push up either side. You know that?”
“We’re going to have to do something. We can’t just sit here and wait for them to make a move,” Morlash spat.
“We aren’t doing nothing. We’re gathering information.” Cian gestured to the empty space at the table beside him.
As if on command, a shadow materialized, darkness swirling like living smoke. Black tendrils curled out of the shadow, wrapping around the wooden pieces on the map, rearranging them slightly. Then, to the far right near a spot where the river curved in on itself, the shadow placed a smooth, white rock. With a chilling whisper of disembodied voices, the shadow disappeared, and I shivered.
“Fuck,” Odan spat.
“It’s as we feared,” I said. “They’re headed for Lach Ban-Lenon.”
“No defensive force has ever won a battle at that crossing,” Morlash said carefully. “The river’s too shallow and narrow.”
Cian put the rock back down, carefully placing it exactly where the shadow had left it. “No defensive force has ever had ballistas.” He glanced at Nevahn. “What I need from you, Nevahn, is to know how many troops it will take to secure, load, and operate the ballistas, and how best to use them.”
Nevahn swallowed loudly and glanced around the table nervously. I lowered my hand to squeeze his ass. He blushed and glared at me, but the distraction seemed to help him forget his nerves.
Nevahn cleared his throat and pointed to the map. “These lines. What do they mean?”
Morlash snorted, drawing a glare from Cian.
“Indications of topography,” I explained. “This is the high ground. It’s narrow and steep, but we could get carts up there to support the ballistas.”
Nevahn shook his head. “You don’t want it up there, drawing fire.”
“That’s where the clearest shot would be, though.” Morlash hooked his thumbs in his belt and leaned back, daring me to contradict him.
“You don’t need height to get a clear shot with these,” Nevahn said, picking up the ballista figurines. “They’re on a three-sixty platform with a hundred and thirty degrees of horizontal positioning.”
Morlash stared at him with a frown.
Odan leaned in. “It means it spins and you can aim it up and down.”
“I know what it means,” the Skaag snarled.
Nevahn placed the wooden model ballista back a short distance from the river. “You want them back from your position with a clear line of sight to the sky. Loading, firing, and positioning is a two-man job, but you’ll only get one shot before you have to reposition. Don’t count on being able to track it as it moves. Anticipate its path.” He picked up the other ballista figure and moved it, placing it back and to the right of the first. “Form a hard line across a steep diagonal and time the fire. How fast can a dragon fly?”
Nisang glanced at Cian before replying. “With Brenna as a passenger, the top speed is fifty klicks.”
Nevahn was quiet for a moment, calculating, before he adjusted the pitch of the ballistas.
“How are they supposed to fire at anything there?” Morlash ground out. “That’s behind the tree line.”
I shrugged. “Not if we clear enough branches.”
Nevahn nodded. “Anyone with wings can be above to act as our targeting. They’re not looking to fight so much as to bait Brenna and the dragon into staying low, within range, and to help our aim.”
Morlash shook his head. “She’ll see those ballistas a mile away and burn them to ash.
