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paths, and arced outward again. Weaving fast
as the wind itself. Denying the archers an easy
target.
An iron bolt fired for Sartaq and ripped
through air above him, nearly grazing his
head.
The battering ram slammed into the wood
again.
A splintering crack sounded this time. A
deep groan, like some terrible beast
awakening from a long slumber.
Another iron bolt shot for them and
missed. Nesryn and Sartaq wove past each
other, flying so fast her eyes streamed. The
wind sang, full of the voices of the dying and
injured.
And then they were there, Salkhi’s talons
outstretched as he slammed into the iron
machine that had launched those bolts, ripping
it apart. Soldiers screamed as the ruk fell upon