The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [107]
Xinai tried not to stare at the sullen glow of the mountain as they worked.
She ended up teamed with Phailin and the young boy who’d been reluctant to fight the Tigers. The wards closest to the Kurun Tam were their task.
The boy, Ngai, might have been too young to shave, but he knew his witchcraft. The three of them picked at the web of magic until it weakened, then dragged the post from the earth. The spell made a sound like a snapping silk cord as it broke.
They grinned when the first ward fell, but by the third they were sweating from the effort as well as the humidity, and worked with silent frowns. Closer and closer to the walls of the Kurun Tam they moved, scanning the jungle as they crept from post to post. Through gaps in the trees, Xinai saw a plume of smoke smudging the sky over the city, nearly lost in the low clouds. The first distraction was under way.
They were close enough to the Kurun Tam to watch the second begin.
She heard the warning shout first and looked away in time. A heartbeat later flame blossomed inside the walls. Glass buoys filled with oil made lovely firebombs. The flames had spread by the time they ripped down the last ward. Shouts and cries and the screams of horses carried from the courtyard.
“Give the signal,” Xinai said, “then let’s get out of here.” Bowstrings twanged from the walls and pistols cracked.
Trembling and sweaty, Ngai unhooked the lantern from his belt and scrambled up a tree, flashing the light when he cleared the canopy. Though it would be a wonder if Selei would see it against the larger blaze growing nearby.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Phailin asked as Xinai waved them away.
“I have to meet Selei. Get to safety or join the others.”
The girl nodded and dragged Ngai into the cover of the forest.
Xinai looked up at the moon—nearly midnight. It would all be over by dawn, one way or another. She shook off her fatigue and began to run.
Even with Kwan’s warning, they arrived too late to save the closest ward-posts. Those along the mountain road had been uprooted, their spells unraveled. Scraps of magic still flickered around the carven posts; Zhirin thought she could have repaired them if they’d had the luxury of time.
“There aren’t enough of us for this,” Jabbor muttered.
The Jade Tigers had gathered perhaps a hundred warriors tonight—they guessed the Dai Tranh to have twice that, though how many were in this White Hand, no one was certain. The Tigers split up to cover more ground and could only hope the Dai Tranh didn’t travel in larger packs.
Sweat dripped down Zhirin’s back as they climbed, pasted her borrowed shirt to her skin. She took a certain grim comfort in Isyllt’s ragged breathing and sweat-drenched face; at least she wasn’t the only one not used to so much exercise.
As they drew closer to the Kurun Tam, Zhirin felt movement in the trees around them. Humans, which might be other Tigers or cautious Dai Tranh, and the quicksilver flicker of spirits. And colder flashes that she thought must be ghosts. Isyllt’s ring glimmered softly, and the necromancer scanned the woods as they climbed.
They heard the shouts before they crested the last hill and saw the flames. As they scrambled up the slope, Zhirin gasped. The fire burned inside the Kurun Tam’s walls.
“Are they mad? Attacking the hall—”
“It’s another distraction,” Isyllt said. “Damn me for not seeing it sooner. Breaking the wards isn’t enough—they mean to wake the mountain. They’ll have someone at Haroun’s summit, waiting for the others to finish.”
Jabbor swore. “What can we do?”
“You and the others stay here, try to salvage as many wards as you can. I’m going up.”
“Why?” Jabbor asked coldly. “Why do you care? Why not just run?”
Isyllt shrugged, her pale face impassive. “Because I’m trapped on this side of the river too, and I don’t want to die for the Dai Tranh’s zealotry. Zhirin?”
She only hesitated a heartbeat. “I’m with you.”
She thought Jabbor would argue, steeled herself against it. He let out a breath and shook his head. “Go on. Be careful.”
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