“Don’t be ridiculous,” Amara retorted. “We’re all leaving together.”
“There are too many of them. Our people aren’t armed. Half of them can barely stand,” Bernard said. A vordknight buzzed down from above, and he shot it through the center of its chest. It fell to the ground like a wounded pheasant, and one of the freed earthcrafters smashed it with a heavy iron bar ripped from the walls of the cage that had recently held him.
But more Vord were coming. Many more. They swarmed over the walls from every direction, and the thrum of vordknight wings quivered in the air all around them, before materializing into half a dozen of the winged horrors, diving upon some of the still-dazed, defenseless prisoners.
A sphere of white-hot fire erupted abruptly in the air-not among the Vord, but immediately above and behind them. For an instant, Amara thought that the firecrafter’s aim and timing had been badly off, but the wash of heat blackened and curled the Vord’s relatively delicate wings, and the eruption of hot wind from the firecrafting sent them spinning and tumbling completely out of control to crash haphazardly to the ground.
“Bloody crowbegotten bugs!” roared a gravelly voice, and a blocky old man, his silver hair still shot with streaks of fiery red limped into sight, being supported by the slender, bedraggled young woman Brencis had called Flora.
“Gram?” Bernard said, surprise and delight on his face.
The old firecrafter squinted about until he spotted Bernard. “Bernard! What the crows are you doing in the south?”
Bernard shot one of the crashed vordknights who had survived the fall and risen to its feet in the courtyard. “Rescuing you, apparently.”
“Bah,” Gram growled, and Amara finally placed the old man as the previous Count of Calderon. He raised his hand and waved it in a circle, and a sheet of fire arose atop the walls surrounding the courtyard, a red-hot curtain that came from nowhere and drew howls of pain and protest from dozens of as-yet-unseen Vord. “Move to the Vale, Gaius says. Retire in wealth and comfort, he says. My ass, the crowbegotten old confidence man.” He squinted at Bernard. “Figure us a way out of this mess, boy. I can’t hold this for more than half an hour or so.”
“Half an hour?” Bernard asked, grinning.
“The wooden cages,” Amara said. “We can use them as wind coaches, long enough to get clear of the city at least.”
Bernard turned to her and kissed her hard on the mouth. Then he drew his sword and tossed it to another freed metalcrafter. He pointed at that man and the one who had taken Amara’s sword. “You, you. You’re on guard. Kill anything that gets through.” He jabbed a finger at the freed earthcrafters. “Arm yourselves with something and help.” He spun to the Citizens, gathering loosely around Lord Gram. “Anyone with any watercrafting, do what you can to help the others shake off the aphrodin, starting with Citizens and windcrafters.”
One of the Citizens, a man who would have been pompously impressive if he’d been clean, groomed, and standing in a civilized part of the world, demanded in a dazed voice, “Who do you think you are?”
Bernard took one step forward and rammed his clenched fist into the dissenter’s mouth.
The other man dropped bonelessly to the ground.
“I,” Bernard said, “am the man who is going to save your lives. You two, toss him into one of the wooden cages. He’ll slow us down less when he’s unconscious. Move it people!”
“Do as he says!” bellowed Lord Gram.
Citizens scrambled to obey.
“Bloody crows,” Amara breathed. “Do you know who that was?”
“An idiot,” Bernard said, his eyes sparkling. “He can challenge me to the juris macto later, if he likes. Shall we get to work?”
“What should I do?”
“The windcrafters and coaches. Get them ready.”
Amara nodded. “Bernard, the slaves…”
“We’ll take whoever disarms himself and wants to go,” Bernard said. “If there’s room.” He leaned down and kissed her swiftly, again, then growled, “When I get you out of here, Countess…”
A thrill ran through her that had nothing to do with furycrafted collars. “Not until we’ve both bathed. Now, don’t make me punch you in the mouth, Your Excellency.”
He winked at her, then turned, barking orders as the freed Aleran Citizens and Knights prepared to make good their escape.
Half an hour later, dozens of makeshift wind coaches sailed up from the captured city, Vord shrieking useless protest behind him. Perhaps a score of vordknights attempted to stop the coaches, but were driven away by half a dozen firecrafters, and moments later the coaches were too high and moving too swiftly for any winged pursuit to catch up with them.
Amara vaguely remembered working as hard as she could to help keep one of the coaches aloft, and bringing it in for a brutal but nonlethal landing an endless amount of time later, as the sun began to rise. Then someone put a stale piece of bread into her hand, which she ate ravenously. A moment later, there was a warm fire-a real fire, by the great furies, and its heat wrapped her in blessed warmth.
Bernard pressed her head gently down onto a cloak he’d spread on the ground, and said, “Rest, my Countess. We’ll have to move again soon. I’ll keep watch.”
Amara was going to protest that he needed rest, too, she honestly was, but the fire was beautiful and warm and…
And for the first time in weeks, Amara felt safe.
She slept.
CHAPTER 43
Tavi stood atop the earthworks and stared out across the rolling plain. His armor and helmet had been scoured clean and freshly polished by the First Aleran’s valets, and gleamed in the setting sun.
Since they had arrived the night before, thousands more refugees had appeared, and the flow of Canim makers fleeing the Vord was only growing heavier. The crafters of the Legions had made sure that there was freshwater available, but food was in much shorter supply, and shelter was almost nonexistent.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps marched up behind Tavi and stopped.
“What is it, Marcus?” Tavi asked.
“Your Highness,” Valiar Marcus replied. He stepped up beside Tavi and stood in a natural-looking parade rest. “Did you sleep?”
“Not nearly enough,” Tavi said. “But that’s going around.” He nodded at the berm that was Molvar’s only defense. “You and your people must have worked without stopping.”
“It was the Canim, sir,” Marcus replied, his voice serious. “The ground around here has got a lot more rock than earth in it. Thousands of them were out here, moving stones. I knew that some of their warriors were strong, but bloody crows.” He shook his head. “You should see what some of their makers can do. The ones who lift heavy things for a living, I mean.”
“Impressive?”
“Terrifying,” Marcus said. “This berm is as much rock as earth. Considering that Your Highness sent all of our engineers on a different mission, our men had to work like mad to keep up with the Canim.”
Tavi nodded. “Well, it shouldn’t have surprised us. We saw evidence enough of what they could do at Mastings, and even more since we’ve gotten here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have the latest reports?”
“Such as they are,” Marcus said. The faintest trace of reproach laced his voice. “We could do a lot better if our Knights Aeris were available, sir.”
“They’re busy,” Tavi said. “How much time do we have?”
“The Canim mounted packs have been encountering the Vord closer and closer to the port, sire. They’re steering refugees in this direction.”