Realms of Shadow - Lizz Baldwin [86]
The human looked up from his soldiers and fixed his eyes on the onrushing missiles.
See them coming, slaver? Astride the Wind thought. The last thing your eyes will-
The archwizard held out a hand and the bolts of energy, which in Astride the Wind's experience had never failed to hit their mark, veered off and passed only a few inches from the man's blowing robes. The curve of their deflected path brought the missiles slamming into the face of the soldier with the gray in his hair. The soldier's head exploded in a burst of light and his body fell limply onto the deck of the flying boat.
Astride the Wind screamed in frustration and turned back to join Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds, the mountains now looming close ahead.
Well done, Chief, a voice echoed in Astride the Wind's head.
It couldn't be the human, Astride the Wind thought. But it is, was the man's response. Enemy! Astride the Wind raged back, not turning to look at the man.
The man sent a laugh into Astride the Wind's mind that tickled the kenku's throat.
Your father taught you well, Chief, the man persisted, as his father taught him, and his father taught him, back along the lines of your flea-speck generations to when I taught your savage ancestor the glory of the Weave.
In the name of what your father's father's father did to my people, Shade, Astride the Wind sent, I will send you back to the hell you've been-
It was me, Chief, the man interrupted. I live now as I lived then. For every spell you cast, for ever sorcery you inherit, I have a thousand more at my command. Only a savage like yourself, a low thing, would think it difficult to live a thousand years, or two thousand, or three.
Astride the Wind beat his wings rapidly to press farther on, his eyes glued to the prize ahead. If what this man claimed was true, his victory would be all the sweeter.
Do you not remember me, kenku? The man sent. Astride the Wind swallowed in a dry throat and saw in his mind's eye the paintings on the wall of the High Cave, the home of his people. The paintings were as old as the Soaring Heights Clan, and told the story of the city on the floating mountain, the soldiers in their flying boats, the misery of servitude, and the disappearance of the hated city just before its neighbors were thrown to the unforgiving ground by the hand of a dying goddess. They remembered. They all remembered. Ahead the blackening air above the ragged mountains beckoned. Astride the Wind flew faster, and Borne on the Drafts and Embracing the Clouds were alongside him.
You are certain, Astride the Wind? Borne on the Drafts asked, a wave of uncertainty accompanying the thought. Astride the Wind did his best to transfer a sense of purpose and confidence, but he couldn't feel if Borne on the Drafts took it all in or not. We are our only hope, he added.
Borne on the Drafts's shiver sent a tremble through the air. Whirling on High was his older brother, born in the same mother's nest three years before. And Whirling on High was still spiraling, inert, to a dismal, lonely death on the desert sands below.
Astride the Wind felt a wave of heat pass up his back and he dropped a couple feet to let whatever it was pass. There was a flash of orange light in front of him-an oblong bolt of fire as long as his forearm had rocketed over him. He glanced back and saw several more arcing toward he and his comrades from the outstretched hands of the Enemy. A bolt of flame narrowly missed Embracing the Clouds and another passed within a handspan of Astride the Wind. Borne on the Drafts cawed when one caught the hem of his tunic and singed it, nearly setting the garment ablaze.
He means to burn us! Borne on the Drafts sent, the thought edged with panic.
I mean to get your attention, hatchling, the man replied, the alien voice like stagnant water in Astride the Wind's mind. It has been a long time, but there is much to do now, and Shade Enclave requires the efforts of all those who serve her now or served her then. You are recalled.