them that the front of the line looked wider than the rear. It wasn’t, though. It was just that the ranks went back so far that they faded toward their distant camp in dwindling perspective. Mena tried to do the math she had not managed before, but got lost when estimates went beyond fifty thousand.
Elya dipped a wing and swung them around, bringing Mena’s army into view as she did so. The sight of them was not a surprise, but her heart sank, her stomach knotted. There were not enough of them. Four thousand at the most. They were spread too thin. They were simply humans, no beasts of war to bellow for them. Their defeat was not even in question. It was as inevitable as the fate of a hill of ants with a booted foot about to crush it.
Mena flew low over them, shouting encouragement. She touched down on the ice before them and told them not to fear the numbers coming against them. This was not about numbers, she said. It was about heart and right and cunning and freedom. She and Elya flew up and danced before the line, spreading the message as best she could. Without fail, they roared back their affirmation. Perrin blew the horn that signaled them forward, and the two armies marched toward each other.
Though the message was simple, and she doubted that many of the men and women in the ranks fully believed it, Mena was not lying. The vastness of the Auldek force actually gave her hope. Rialus had said the Auldek-though hundreds of years old-could only remember eighty years or so’s worth of memories. They had not fought battles this size in hundreds of years. They knew of them only what they had read in books. They may be tremendous individual warriors, but that did not mean they would know how to fight a large-scale engagement.
This army now marching toward her troops was frightening, but it was also absurd. It was a little boy’s fantasy of an army. It was brawn and numbers and bellowing creatures and an anvil of might… and it made no sense at all. If Mena had these resources she would never have arrayed them all against an army as paltry as the one she presented. With such vast numbers, most of them would never come anywhere near the soldiers they were meant to fight. They would be useless, standing with weapons at hand among a throng of themselves. It would only make communication impossible, orders unmanageable, strategy lost to the dull mind of the mob. It had taken them hours of precious daylight just to assemble, meaning Mena had had time to speak with Rialus. Nor would she have chopped the ranks up by a hierarchy that had nothing to do with an actual battle plan. It was vanity. It was foolish. If Mena had Devoth’s army, she would have left the bulk of them back in camp, eating a hearty breakfast and preparing the evening’s victory celebration.
“But I’m not fighting myself,” Mena said, once they were aloft again. “I’m fighting them.”
The freketes rose then, one after another, from the Auldek camp. As they flew over the invading army, the troops erupted in cries, booming shouts as loud as the explosions of the night before. The beasts flew in dips and rises, slipping side to side among one another. Their wings were massive. The heavy weight of their bodies swayed beneath them almost like a separate load being carried by the span. The riders on their backs clung to them like young bats to their mothers. Mena had not thought it through before, but now she knew she had never accepted these creatures as they appeared. They were too dense, too thick with muscle, too large and bulky for even those great stretches of wings to lift them. Thanks to Rialus, she understood why now.
It was not that he could confirm it with certainty, but he had bet his life on bringing her the intelligence that the amulets that the freketes wore around their necks helped them fly. He had seen them without them only a few times, only when they were on the ground, at leisure, being tended and fed. When aloft they always had them on. The night of the Scav attack, Devoth had waited for Bitten’s amulet to be brought to him and placed on the beast before he flew. What if this was not vanity, not just a custom or an idiosyncrasy? What if the freketes needed the amulets to fly?
The moment he asked the question, he knew the answer to it. “Devoth once mentioned a handful of relics the Lothan Aklun had given them,” Rialus had said. “The amulets are some of these relics. They were things to trap Lothan Aklun spells and keep their power.”
Mena had to end the meeting before she could question him any further. Now, aloft above her marching soldiers, she hoped he had spoken the truth. She had not told the others this part of her plan. The first clash of the day should be hers. It had to be hers. She felt the eyes of her troops watching her, and she tried to forget them so that she could do what she needed to for them. She drew the King’s Trust and urged Elya forward to meet them.
Which one? Which one?
Mena could not tell the riders or the beasts apart. They came on in a swarm. The freketes grunted and bellowed to one another, carrying on some bestial conversation. They all wore chains around their necks, amulets heavy on them, just as Rialus had said. All their eyes stayed fixed on her.
At least I’ve got their attention.
She pulled up and hovered, Elya’s wings feathering the air. Pointing with the King’s Trust, she picked out a frekete and rider. “You!” she shouted. “Your name! What is your name?”
This set the swarm of them into confusion for a moment. They were in the air above and below and before her, out on either side now, too. But they did not attack. Eventually, the rider atop the mount she had pointed at turned it sideways and yelled back, “Howlk.” He slapped his mount hard on the shoulder. “Nawth. Nawth!”
Mena shouted, “Howlk and Nawth, I challenge you.” To make sure he understood, she scowled and pumped her sword hand in the air, then pointed to them and to herself.
Howlk understood. They all did, and for a few raucous moments they argued about it. As she and Elya hovered, the freketes and their riders converged on one another like squabbling youths. Mena sheathed her sword, reached down, and checked her crossbow, memorizing just where the stock of it lay behind her hip.
The debate did not last long. Despite whatever protocol Mena had usurped with her challenge, the others drew back. Howlk and his mount came forward, looking very pleased.
It’s you and me now, Elya. First, we test them.
They surged toward them, darting to the side at the last minute. The freketes howled as Nawth pumped his wings in pursuit. Elya flew higher, cut side to side, folded her wings in, and dove. Nawth followed her. After the first few moves Mena reined her back. Elya was faster, much more maneuverable. No need to flaunt it, though. She needed to use it instead.
On her mental order, Elya twisted her wings. She spun them around. Flaring out to either side, the membranes of her wings filled with the air she grabbed, stopping them dead in the air. Mena pulled out her crossbow. She stood in her stirrups and brought the weapon to sight over Elya’s shoulder. She held it one-handed, something she could only do for a moment, as the weapon was one of the heavy, powerful ones her soldiers had used against the foulthings.
Nawth came toward them with wings flapping. His body convulsed and clawed at the air, as if he were swimming, as desperate to get to them as a drowning man is for the surface. Mena pulled the trigger and shot for the center of that writhing mass. The bolt thwacked away, scorching the line between them faster than her eye could see. Nawth caught it in his forearm. It was not an intentional block, just the result of his thrashing. It went in at an angle and hit bone, punched through, and then pinned his forearm into his chest. He howled and dropped.
Elya hovered, the two of them watching the frekete fall. The other freketes did the same, all of them hovering nearby, stunned to silence for once.
The descent did not last long. Nawth flexed his wings. He rose beating them steadily. Looking up at Mena and Elya, teeth gritted and eyes simmering with new depths of hatred, he tore the prongs of the bolt head from his chest and then tugged at it until he had it free of his shattered arm. He tossed the bolt to the side. It fell toward the ground, spinning over and over.
Howlk ripped free the sword he had sheathed diagonally across his back. As Nawth reached their height, Mena drew the King’s Trust. She adjusted herself in the saddle, blended her mind with Elya’s, readying her.
Nawth moved first. He surged forward, turning at the last moment and dropping his shoulder so that Howlk could swing his sword. Elya slipped down and to the side. Howlk cut only air. Nawth turned and rose; Elya danced away. She spun. Darted. Mena kept her close to the frekete but used her speed to dodge Nawth’s lunges, avoiding his kicks and Howlk’s sword attacks. The two grew more frustrated. Both of them shouted at her, Howlk in Auldek and Nawth in some bestial bellowing akin to words but not quite.
Mena let their anger grow, fed further by the derision cast at her from the surrounding freketes and riders, all of whom circled them. They drew closer, making it harder for Elya to move. One of the other freketes slashed the membrane of Elya’s wing.
