The plan, for the moment, was simple: rest. Gwenna still wasn’t awake, Talal looked like he might fall over at any moment, and Valyn himself felt like he’d been beaten with boards for the better part of a week. He felt vulnerable without the bird, stranded, almost naked, but he couldn’t see any other way. Without ’Ra they could wear bison hides over their blacks, and aside from their dark hair, dark skin—easy enough to cover with hats and hides—blend in with the horsemen. They wouldn’t fool other Urghul, of course, but no one looking from the air would see anything amiss. Even if the Flea wasn’t following, he’d been clear enough back in Assare that the Eyrie had sent multiple Wings after Valyn.

And so, along with Laith and Talal, Valyn spent the better part of the morning erasing all signs of Suant’ra and the predawn fight. They mounded stone over the bodies of the two Urghul, raked out the bird’s claw marks from the soft earth, and moved the prisoners into the larger of the two api. The movement kept Valyn’s muscles from knotting too badly, and helped him to avoid thinking, at least for the moment, about the challenges ahead.

They’d just about finished carrying Gwenna into the smaller tent when Annick spoke from the other side of the fire, her voice level as usual.

“Keep working. Don’t look up.”

Valyn suppressed the natural reaction, bending instead to throw a couple more logs on the cook fire.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Bird,” she said. “Approaching high and from the east.”

It took an effort of will for Valyn to keep his hands away from his knives and blades, to squat down by the fire to prod at the contents of the rough kettle, but Annick had the better angle. Of course, the Kettral on the bird would probably expect a small group of Urghul to look up as they passed, but anyone scanning with a long lens would see his face, his features. Better to keep his eyes down and pretend he didn’t notice.

“They’re past,” Annick said finally.

Valyn glanced up, shielding his face with his hand, following the shape of the retreating bird.

“They were too high for me to make out,” the sniper continued.

Valyn squinted. The bird was high, but he could see the pinions, the shading of the wings and tailfeathers, his eyes keen even in the full daylight. He let out a long, slow breath.

“The Flea,” he said. “It was the Flea.”

14