Throughout the morning and well into afternoon, the dahl’reisen kept up a punishing pace. Light, lithe, they sped across the densely wooded terrain the creatures of the forest they had become, their feet barely touching the ground as they skimmed over mossy rock and tree and burbling stream, each step finding the perfect purchase. Most Fey warriors—even at their fastest pace—rested fifteen chimes out of each bell. The dahl’reisen only rested ten.

When at last Farel called a half bell rest, Rain and Ellysetta collapsed onto the ground, out of breath and energy. Around them, some dahl’reisen found a mossy stump or fallen tree to sit on. Others simply folded their legs and sat where they stood.

Rain and Ellysetta took a seat at the base of a large oak tree. Farel unclipped a flask from his hip belt and tossed it to them.

“Water from the Heras,” he told them. “It’s the closest thing to pure faerilas in Celieria. It should help you both.”

Rain thanked him and uncapped the flask, taking the first, experimental sip before handing the flask to Ellysetta to drink her fill.

As Rain leaned back against the oak and let his gaze wander, he noted the dahl’reisen nearby pouring a stream of the faerilas-infused water on their hands before drinking.

“What are they doing?” he asked, nodding a chin in their direction.

Farel glanced over his shoulder. “Testing themselves. The waters of the Heras burn like acid on the skin of any creature of the Dark. We require all warriors in the Brotherhood to pour the water on their hands before witnesses at least once a day and after every battle. It’s how we know who has fallen too far into Shadow.”

“What do you do if they have?” Ellysetta asked.

Farel eyed her steadily. “We let the forest have them.”

The scream of a lyrant broke the quiet. Ellysetta swallowed and looked away.

Farel stood. “It’s time to go.”

Eyes closed, Azurel checked the position of the Feyreisa’s Light. “We’re losing them,” he said. “I knew you’d slow us down. They’ll be free of the forest before we can reach them.” Once they were out of the Verlaine, Rain Tairen Soul could Change, and all hope of capturing him and his mate would be lost. “What can we do?” Dur asked.

Azurel considered the options quickly and gauged the distance to the two targets. “How many chemar do you have?” The Primage’s brows drew together in a suspicious frown.

“Why?”

“How many?” A low rattle, like a porgil’s warning before it struck, vibrated in the Mharog’s throat.

Dur’s composure slipped, revealing a flash of fear before he caught himself. “Three dozen.”

One pale, imperious hand extended from the cuff of the black robe. “Give ten of them to me.”

The Primage hesitated… then, with obvious reluctance, surrendered his pouch of chemar stones. Azurel spilled a dozen of the stones on the ground, near a pile of fallen leaves and twigs. He closed his eyes, drawing an image in his mind. Green Earth gathered at his call. The leaves fluttered, then began to spin.

“What are you doing?” Dur demanded.

Twigs rose up in the air. Their thin ends split, and the frayed ends curled around the spilled chemar like tiny claws. Brown, dead leaves knit together, fluttering like feathers in the weave’s swirling breeze.

“Shortening our trip.”

Farel pushed them hard until sunset. He called a few bell’s rest for evening meal, which consisted of cold journey cakes, faerilas, and a few chimes of sleep. As their brothers rested, dahl’reisen quintets scouted several miles in every direction.

“Listen.” One of the warriors in the quintet scouting the rear flank lifted his head. “Do you hear that?”

His brothers cocked their heads and listened for half a chime before shaking their heads. “Hear what?” the dahl’reisen asked.

Then the breeze shifted, blowing towards them, and the currents of air carried with them a tiny, almost imperceptible sound. Little pops of sound in a continuous series. Pop. Pop. Pop.

“That.”

The sound grew louder, coming closer.

“I hear it now,” one of the dahl’reisen said. “Almost like the sound of an elf’s fingerbow firing, only hundreds of them together. But what is—” His voice broke off. His eyes widened. He turned to the dahl’reisen sitting next to him, an Air master. “Lirn, get up there.” He pointed towards the treetops overhead. “Hurry. Tell us what you see.”

Silvery white Air gathered in a powerful burst and launched the dahl’reisen skyward. Lirn landed on a thick branch high in a nearby tree, then leapt again, moving with effortless speed until he reached the topmost branches.

The popping sound was much more noticeable up there, and Lirn turned his head towards the sound… and by the light of the setting sun saw the dark smudges of a distant flock of dark birds winging towards him, no more than a tairen length above the forest canopy.

Shock froze him in place for a stunned few moments. They couldn’t be birds. Nothing flew over the Verlaine and lived—and he knew the forest defenses were working. That’s what the popping sounds were… the constant streams of poison darts firing at the flock of birds.

Yet the birds continued to fly.

He narrowed his eyes, bringing the distant creatures into closer focus, and saw the dead leaves flapping like wings, prickled with so many darts the thing looked more like a flying quillspine than a bird. No wonder the darts had no effect. Poison couldn’t kill a thing already dead.