They reached it before fifteen minutes had passed, but it still felt too long. A swift pony could have reached the eyrie by now.
He brought the skiff up beneath the Yarost, the ship Mileva had told him about. He was sure it would be well outfitted-the threat of Yrstanla required it-but he was also sure Konstantin would have had it provisioned with extra rations and extra munitions in case Nikandr took this bait.
They came even with the deck, and though the wind was still strong-especially as it swept up along the mountainside to blow among the moored ships-Nikandr and the others moved quickly and efficiently. They had discussed this over and over before leaving the palotza. One by one, they leapt over to the ship as Nikandr and Anahid held her steady.
Then Anahid was over and finally Nikandr made the leap himself, his men catching him and steadying him as he used his hezhan to reverse the wind and push the skiff away. It twisted like a leaf on a pond, floating away until he was sure that he could release it and leave the winds to do the rest.
By then the men had already begun preparing the ship, most moving to the perch to release the mooring ropes. They were only half done when lights appeared above at the eyrie master’s house and an alarm bell began to ring.
Clang-clang-clang-clang.
“Quickly, men!” Nikandr called.
He joined in, forgetting the winds as he leapt over to the perch and helped Styophan with one of the last three mooring ropes. They were heavy, and though they worked as fast as they could, he could already hear the shout of men, hear their footsteps as they worked their way down from the upper quay. They would arrive in little time, and when they did, Nikandr and the rest wouldn’t stand a chance.
Nikandr moved to the middle of the perch. The first of the streltsi, each bearing a musket, were already rounding the last of the switchbacks. Nikandr allowed his hands to fall to his side. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He felt the rage of the wind, felt it course up along the hills and valleys until funneling up toward the snowcapped peak of Beshiklova with an energy he’d rarely felt.
As the bell continued to clang, Nikandr bid the wind to give him all that it could. He directed it as the walls of a valley would. He bid it to heave itself against the quay.
It did. It rushed against the streltsi as they were leveling their weapons. The wind blew them like autumn leaves, pushing them against the cliff at their backs. The sound of it… Nikandr had never heard the like, the shrieking as it ran through the rigging of the eyrie’s ships, the pound of canvas as sails came loose, the hollow thudding as ships were thrown against their perches. The insistent and fearful orders of the sotnik were nearly lost among the gale, but Nikandr knew they were readying themselves.
“The ship is free!” he heard Styophan shout.
Nikandr didn’t care.
Rarely had he felt so deeply connected to his hezhan. Perhaps he’d felt this way in those first few encounters on Uyadensk, when he’d not known the nature of the hezhan, nor his bond to it, but those times had been brought upon by his link to Nasim. Since then he’d been nervous to draw too heavily upon the spirit, but he did not feel so now. Whether it was an abandon that came from desperation or a trust that had been slowly built over the years he didn’t know, but he allowed the hezhan to take more of him than he ever had before.
“We’re free!” Styophan shouted, this time at the top of his lungs.
He knew he should release the hezhan, at least enough that he could move to the ship, but for the moment he couldn’t. He was lost. Lost among the winds. Lost in the in-between space between Erahm and Adhiya.
Had Jahalan felt this way when he’d communed with spirits? Did Atiana feel like this while taking the dark?
Had he been more aware, he might have seen the men on the perch to his left. He might have seen them train their muskets. He might have seen the flare as the gunpowder flashed in the pan.
Searing pain sliced across his shin, just below the knee.
He cried out, buckling and falling to the stone perch.
He heard the buzzing sound of a musket shot whip past his head.
The wind died in one final gust as his men dragged him toward the ship.
The Vostroman streltsi along the quay set their muskets on the top of their berdische axes and sighted along them.
Nikandr’s bond was not yet broken, however. It had been shaken, but he was able to draw upon it again, forcing it to assault the streltsi before they could fire.
Too late. The crack of four muskets rose above the howl of the wind.
One of his men cried out. Nikandr heard him fall to the deck.
“Help me,” Nikandr asked Styophan. “Quickly before they can reload.”
With his arm around Styophan’s shoulder, he managed to stand, managed to call upon the wind to push the Yarost away from the perch. A lantern came arcing from the ship next to them. It dropped against the deck, spilling oil and lighting the deck in a wide swath.
“Douse those flames!” Styophan called.
The fire was bright enough that Nikandr could see the streltsi clearly now.
And they could see him.
They paused, all of them frozen. They had thought that Yrstanla had come. They thought themselves under attack from the West. They had not expected men of the Grand Duchy, much less a prince of the realm, to steal into the eyrie and take one of their ships.
Two of the men had finished reloading. They lined up their muskets once more, training them on Nikandr.
But their sotnik stepped in the path of their shot, waving his hands, forbidding them to fire.
Reluctantly they lowered their weapons, but the looks of shock and disgust on their faces were telling. Nikandr’s abilities were not common knowledge, but they could clearly see that he was summoning the winds.
Only his hand-selected men had known before. But now…
Now the entire Grand Duchy would know.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
A tiana climbed the stairs to the top of Sariya’s tower. She had expected basins with women to attend to her and Ishkyna and Ushai, but there was no one besides Sariya herself.
Sariya turned from the window she was examining. Outside, Atiana thought she saw the view of another city entirely beyond the pane of wavy glass, but when she blinked, it was gone. Sariya walked forward, her simple white robes trailing softly over the stone floor. “Lie down,” she said, motioning to the center of the room where four pallets with brightly colored blankets lay.
Ishkyna, standing next to Atiana, scoffed. “We need basins.”
Sariya regarded Ishkyna anew. She glanced to Atiana, perhaps weighing just how different the sisters were, but then the look was gone, and she was cold indifference once more. “The tower will see to your needs. Prepare yourselves as you have always done, and we will reach the dark together.”
Ishkyna paused, looking to Atiana for her answer.
Atiana nodded to Ishkyna and moved to the furthest position, the one facing the westward window. Ishkyna approached the southern position, Ushai the eastern. Ishkyna seemed at ease, though it was easy for Atiana to tell from the stiff way in which she walked, the way her eyes took in the room, that she was nervous. Ushai was openly fearful. She swallowed constantly. Her gaze darted about the room, particularly to the windows and Sariya.
As Atiana kneeled upon the bedding, Sariya closed her hand around the empty air between the four pallets. She had grabbed at nothing-Atiana was sure of it-but a moment later something twinkled bright and blue in the palm of her hand.