Eona - Alison Goodman [113]
He looked back at me, amber eyes threaded with silver. Had he had sensed my presence? But a shout from the courtyard refocused his attention. The troops were advancing. He stepped through the hole in the cell wall—the rest of us moving as one behind him—and with an upheld hand, he hardened the light breeze into a sudden wind that raised the dust into violent eddies. They swirled around our tight huddle but did not touch us, their howling force building with every step we took toward the troops.
Soldiers raised their Ji only to have them ripped from their hands and spear the men behind. We walked toward them as the power of the screaming wind snatched up the bodies of the dead and slammed them into the living, the horror breaking the line as much as the damage from the heavy human missiles. Those who remained staunch were hurled backward, the wind like a battering ram that pounded them into their comrades and the walls of the guards’ quarters. Pebbles from the raked border lacerated their skin into bloodied shreds, their screams lost in the shrieking gale.
How could I control the will of a man with such immense power?
We passed the Pavilion of Autumnal Justice, Ido reaming the earth on either side of us with a flick of his hands. The ground heaved under the next wave of soldiers, the cobbles ripped out from under them as they ran toward us. The stones arced in the air, then rained down on their heads with sickening thuds. Vida grabbed my arm and turned her head away as one by one the large oil lamps burst across another rank of troops, setting them alight, the wind whipping the flames across the oil-splattered, screaming men.
As we headed toward the palace wall, I caught sight of soldiers rounding the far corner of the guards’ quarters. Ido saw them, too. With a lift of his hand, he raised the sands from the training arena. I ducked, although I knew the pale cloud that arrowed over our heads would not touch us. It hit the men like a thousand tiny knives, shearing away skin and stifling screams with suffocating force. Behind me I heard Ryko’s soft moan of horror.
Ahead, a section of the palace wall exploded outward in a crash and tumble of stone and dust. Ido’s pace did not falter. We climbed through the hole after him and across the debrisstrewn riding track, all of us fighting the urge to run from the screaming devastation in our wake.
Before us spread the formal pathways and cultivated groves of the Emerald Ring—the lavish gardens that separated the palace from its surrounding circle of twelve Dragon Halls. We had emerged near the Lucky Frog Pond, its famed frog-house pavilion rising from the gilded waters like a miniature temple. The burning palace cast a burnished glow upon its surface, and caught the wet jewel eyes of the frogs crouched within it. Beyond the pond, a round moon gate framed a raked pebble garden, the pale stones gleaming in the reddened light like a pathway of gold.
Ryko hooked his fingers into his mouth and gave a series of shrill whistles that pierced even the cracking, shouting chaos behind us. The inky shapes of men and horses emerged from a stand of cypress trees to our right. I saw the pale, dappled hide of Ju-long and my heart leapt. Was Kygo among the men? Surely he would not risk it.
“The god of luck is with us,” Vida whispered.
“He had nothing to do with it,” Ido said, his voice rough with fatigue. “I saw their Hua through the eyes of my dragon.”
He led us past the pond toward them, the silhouettes coalescing into the wiry figure of Caido and four of his men battling to control the string of horses. No Kygo: he had given Ju-Long over to our rescue. The beasts had caught the scent of fire and burnt flesh, and all six were balking at the attempts to move them forward.
“Walk them back until they settle,” Caido ordered, the mountain lilt in his voice flattened by urgency.
The men pulled the horses around and led them farther into the gardens. Caido strode across to us. For a moment, he