“We won’t be able to hold the city,” Amara spat. “Not in the face of so many hostile furies. They’ll rip the city to shreds around us, killing our people along the way. The only thing we can do is withdraw.”

The younger woman shook her head dazedly. “W-withdraw? There’s nowhere left to go.”

Amara felt a surge of fierce pride rush through her. “Yes,” she said. “There is. You will follow Aldrick and his people. Explain to him about the feral furies. Make sure Lord Riva knows, as well.”

“B-but... what are you going to do?”

“Warn Aquitaine,” she snapped. “Stop hovering there like an idle schoolgirl and go!”

Veradis nodded jerkily, turned, and began accelerating to catch up with the Windwolves. Amara watched for a few seconds, to be sure Veradis wasn’t about to fly off in the wrong direction in sheer confusion. Then she turned, called to Cirrus, and dived, rushing down toward the far-distant earth with all the speed that gravity and her fury could give her. There was a thunderous explosion all around her as her speed peaked, and she realized that she had none of the operating passwords for the battlefield below. She would just have to hope that the combat teams patrolling the air were too slow to stop her or kill her before she could speak to Aquitaine.

Besides, that was the least of her worries.

How was she going to be able to face Bernard and tell him that for the sake of the Realm, she had chosen to leave his sister’s fate in enemy hands?

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 17

Tavi stood at the prow of the Slive and stared ahead of the fleet as it raced across the long strip of ice laid out upon the north side of the Shieldwall. The ride was not a gentle one. Extra ropes and handholds had been added all over the ship, and Tavi only stayed standing by virtue of holding on to one supporting rope with each hand.

He had grown used to the sound of the runners screaming as they glided over the ice, a sort of endless squeal-hiss that went on and on and on. The ship juddered and shook as it raced before the unnaturally steady northwestern wind, sails rigged to catch it to best advantage. The Slive creaked and groaned with every shudder and thump. Those of her crew not terrified for dear life were frantically running up and down the ship, making constant efforts of woodcrafting to keep her timbers from shivering apart under the strain.

“There it is,” Tavi called back, pointing ahead to where a Legion javelin with a green cloth tied across its butt had been thrust into the ice. Crassus and his windcrafters had been racing ahead of the fleet, ensuring that the frozen path the Icemen had created for them remained smooth and safe.