The Queen spun in midair, her body contorting with what could only have been the aid of windcrafting, and a clawed foot lashed out at Kitai’s face as the two of them soared through their leap. Kitai was not caught unawares by the attack, and intercepted it with her left arm—but away from the support of any earthcrafting, she was no match for the vord Queen’s sheer power. The kick broke bones and laid open flesh in a short spray of blood. Kitai cried out and lost her balance as she came down again, tumbling into the tent canvas and bringing the tent down. The vord Queen took a single, contemptuous step on the tent’s cross-pole before it could fall and continued without slackening her pace.

She met Tavi’s eyes for an instant, and her expression unsettled him. He had rarely seen any emotion at all displayed by a vord queen, and he had encountered several—but this Queen was not wearing a blank mask. She was smiling, a child’s gleeful grin of excitement and joy, an expression seen only in the midst of favorite games and birthday celebrations.

Bloody crows. The creature was having fun.

Tavi let out a cry of rage and flew faster, blade held ready for a cavalry-style passing stroke, but Crassus was surging steadily past him, his years of experience surpassing Tavi’s raw power at windcrafting. He had shifted his blade to his left hand, and was arrowing toward the fleeing Queen’s right side. The young Tribune clearly intended to occupy the vord’s attention and defenses while Tavi took the killing stroke on her left. Tavi altered his flight path slightly, the edges of Crassus’s violent windstream ripping his cloak to shreds. He braced himself and closed half an instant behind Crassus’s leading attack.

Before they reached her, the Queen spun between one step and the next, a neat pirouette, and one pale arm moved in a swath across her body, spreading a small, arcing cloud of crystals into the air.

Crassus never had a chance. The salt crystals struck him before he could have registered the threat, tearing his wind furies to useless shreds. He fell with a short, frustrated cry into the sea of white tents beneath them, heavy poles snapping, heavy canvas tearing under the bone-shattering force of his speed.