Half of his flight followed him. He looked at them critically, noting wounds and signs of weariness. Tyssi was bleeding heavily from a deep cut that worried him. The rest looked fit but tired. He surveyed the battle in the sky. The number of black birds was noticeably smaller—he gained a grim satisfaction from that—but the number of Siyee had also diminished. By about half.

Some had flown away to rest or replenish their supply of darts, but not the majority. His stomach sank. Most of the missing were dead. People he knew. People he liked. People he didn’t. His heart ached with loss. It all seemed so stupid now.

Why did we agree to come here? Why did we sign the treaty? We could have stayed at home. Given up the southern lands to the settlers. Retreated to the highest peaks.

And starved.

He sighed. We fight because the Circlians were the better choice of ally at a time when we could no longer hope that world events weren’t going to affect us. Better to be part of them and suffer the consequences, than not be and suffer the consequences of them anyway.

A whoop of triumph drew his attention down. He saw a flight of Siyee swoop upward, having unleashed a rain of poisoned darts and arrows on the enemy. The leader, he saw, was Sreil. Remembering that Drilli was with Sreil’s flight, he searched for her. She was flying close behind Sreil, grinning fiercely.

Relief and gratitude washed over him. Just seeing her lifted his mood. She was still alive. And so am I, he thought. And while I am, I will fight.

Looking down at the rows of darts and arrows attached to his harness he estimated that less than a third remained. He would use them up, then take his flight out to the camp to collect more. Glancing at his companions, he gave the signal to follow. Then he dived toward the enemy below.

He’d learned to read from the landwalkers’ posture and movements what their attention was on. The Pentadrians’ pale faces were easy to see against the black of their robes, especially when they looked up. He aimed for a group looking intently toward one of the black sorceresses.

Suddenly all of the faces turned toward Tryss in unison. He glimpsed hands in the same position holding bows and whistled a warning while dodging to the left. The rush of arrows was frighteningly close. Something scraped past his jaw. He arced away, heart pounding.

So they’ve learned to watch for us, he thought. And to pretend they haven’t until we get close. Clever.

He looked down and felt a shock as he realized how low he was flying. Fortunately the men and women below him now had their backs turned to him. Their attention was on something ahead. He looked up and felt his heart stop.