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S EATED ATOP B ASHALIIA , Esme kept close to Nyx.

Despite the threat crowding the shoreline and racing toward them, Esme could not shed her unease at being seated atop this winged creature. The fear of such beasts had been deeply instilled, even defying Jace’s gentle coaxing to quell her discomfort.

Crikit showed no such reluctance, having rooted himself into the bat’s fur. The molag had recognized this winged island was the only refuge from what splashed toward them. A score of hawklike predators closed upon their group. The beasts swam swiftly, as nimble in the water as on land. More circled the shore, pinning their prey down.

Nyx retreated with Bashaliia into the deeper lake.

Daal joined her with Pyllar.

Both bats struggled, unable to reach the bottom any longer.

Esme felt a thrumming emanating from Nyx. Still, the woman clearly struggled to wield her bridle-song against this threat. One of the birds shivered, momentarily confused, losing speed, then it let out a sharp cry and shattered whatever net had been cast by Nyx.

Daal called, reaching a hand, looking ready to leap over. “Let me help.”

Nyx waved him off. “Even without the dissonance from the forest fraying my weaves, I don’t think they can be bridled. They’re too fierce. Too wild-hearted.” She pointed to the two figures in the water—and one vargr—splashing and kicking, weighted down by clothing and fur. “Get them up here with us!”

While treading the depths, Graylin and Vikas had little ability to defend themselves. Kalder, too.

Perversely, the predators floated deftly, kicking with their legs, with their sharp beaks raised high on snaking necks. Esme pictured those horny scimitars striking down, stabbing at anything in the water.

Graylin yelled to Nyx, gasping with exhaustion, while waving to include Daal and Tamryn. “Get your mounts in the air! All of you. Get to the Fyredragon. ”

“We’re not leaving you!” Nyx hollered back.

Daal agreed, but for a different reason. “Pyllar tried! I sensed his heart. Even if he could beat his wings to lift off the lake, he’s too bogged down by his soaked pelt.”

Esme recognized they were trapped. The savage birds would eventually chase down their prey, flock over them, and attack wildly, shredding wings and tearing flesh. The hunters’ cries had grown into a raucous chorus, echoing all around.

No wonder Nyx struggled with her bridling.

One of the birds reached Vikas, who had lagged behind due to her thicker clothing and Gyn-heavy bones. Its beak speared down, but the quartermaster managed to parry the blow with a desperate slash of her broadsword. As the woman struggled to recover, the beast struck again, lightning fast.

But Tamryn’s mount had reached them. Heffik snapped out with poisonous fangs, ripped the bird from the lake, and flung its body far. Still, more birds closed in from all directions, unfazed by the bat’s attack. The beasts were clearly pack hunters and counted on speed and numbers to defeat larger prey.

Their savage cries rose in volume, sensing the kills to come.

Esme cringed, but she kept her knife in hand, ready to defend her winged island.

Then a piercing, crystalline blast of a horn cut through the cacophony.

Nyx gasped, covering her ears, as if the noise struck her harder. She toppled sideways, but Esme grabbed her arm. Bashaliia shifted under them, too, to catch Nyx’s weight.

“It’s ripping into my skull,” Nyx moaned.

As more horns blared from the forest, the bats writhed, screeching in distress—but other beasts were affected, too.

The birds shattered away in all directions—with wings splashing and legs paddling wildly. The pack struck for shore, for the crystalline bower. The flock already on the beach vanished into the forest in a blink.

Esme searched all around, thankful for the predators’ retreat but fearful of what had driven them off.

After several more breaths, the horns cut off.

The silence that followed was more intimidating than the noise.

Nyx sat straighter, sighing out her relief. “Those horns… they were like the forest’s chiming, only a thousandfold worse.”

Finally, shadows shifted in the forest, and a group of shaggy, flat-snouted behemoths shambled into view. They moved on thick legs with wide pads, exposing hooked claws that gnashed into the sand. Their fur appeared to be made of dense, thick quills.

Only these hulking beasts had not come alone.

Riders sat astride them.

The strangers came wrapped in a continual spiral of ocher-colored cloth, winding from toe to the crown, like ancient burial shrouds. Several of the beasts carried two figures.

Esme spotted a curled horn, made from a tusk or antler, carried high, ready to blare out again if the savage predators should return.

For a tense period, the two parties stared at each other.

Some of the riders whispered, bowing their heads together. Arms pointed toward Bashaliia, then to the raash’ke. Esme flinched when one of the riders curled a thumb and forefinger and tapped it against his forehead.

Esme had witnessed that gesture all her life.

A Chanaryn warding against evil and misfortune.

She glanced down to Bashaliia, knowing what had likely triggered that reaction. She got confirmation when the whispering carried a familiar word across the water.

“M?nk’resh…”

While the name was pronounced differently and accented strangely, Esme recognized its similarity to mankrae, the Chanaryn word for the winged daemons from her people’s ancient sagas.

She leaned forward to tell Nyx.

Before Esme could speak, a rider lifted high in his stirrups. He shouted to them, “Kr?m niche aben p?as’keen!” He pointed behind him. “Nee, ash? nee!”

Nyx stirred. “I think he wants us to follow him.”

“That’s indeed what he’s saying,” Esme agreed. “I can’t follow every word. But it’s some form of the Chanaryn tongue.”

Nyx glanced back. “Your people.”

“Those aren’t my people. I don’t know who they are. But that rider is warning us to go. That it’s too dangerous to stay.”

Graylin heard this, too, as he treaded water. “We should do as he says.”

Not that they had any other choice.

The group splashed and swam to shore, aiming for the downed sailraft. The strange vessel had already drawn attention. One of the riders used a spear to lift a ripped corner of balloon fabric.

As they waded out, Vikas noted this, too, and gestured to Graylin. She fluttered a hand through the air with a shake of her head: “ We won’t be leaving in that raft.”

He nodded.

As their group climbed to the beach, the riders retreated atop their shaggy mounts, plainly wary of the giant bats.

Esme did her best to intervene, sliding off Bashaliia. She lifted her palm and waved her other arm toward the raash’ke. “Mosh akee nah.” She placed her hand over her heart, then to the Myr bat’s flank. “Nah, resh ka. Nah, m?nk’resh.”

She used their word for mankrae, while reassuring them that the bats were not a danger. But she could not tell how much they understood, especially with their faces wrapped, showing only dark eyes.

Still, none of the riders drew closer.

Even their mounts shifted nervously, extending and retracting their claws as if sensing their riders’ anxiety. Their rounded ears stood tall and wary. Up close, the creatures appeared far larger, bigger than any ox, but these were not grass chewers. Their stubby snouts hid sharp fangs. The strangest feature, though, were the long quills that lay flat over their flanks. Each quill was translucent, showing a slight sloshing inside, maybe holding a reserve of water.

The same rider who had called to them spoke again, waving toward the forest. “Kr?m we nye. Aben p?as’keen. Nee, ash? nee.”

Esme explained his words. “He’s pressing us to go with him. Repeating that it’s not safe to stay.”

“What should we do?” Daal asked in hushed tones, noting the weapons made of sharpened bone.

Graylin searched to the east. “We need to alert the Fyredragon. ” He waved to the bats. “Once your mounts have shaken off the worst of their sogginess, you all take flight back to the ship.”

“What about you?” Nyx asked.

“I’ll go with these strangers, along with Vikas and Kalder. If these desert dwellers know anything about what lies under that mountain, we need to learn as much from them as we can.”

Esme stepped closer. “I’ll go with you. You’ll need someone to help you understand their tongue.”

Graylin nodded his appreciation.

Daal revised this plan, turning to Tamryn. “You head back to the ship. Nyx and I’ll follow along with these strangers, too, tracking from above.”

Graylin looked ready to object.

Nyx stopped him. “If you all run into trouble, we’ll never know.”

As if to stress this, Nyx turned her gaze to the bloody patch of sand where Perde had died. There remained no sign of the crewman. Even in a panic, the predators had fled with every scrap.

Nyx rubbed the grief from her brow, but her eyes remained determined.

Graylin sighed, clearly recognizing such caution was warranted. “Keep your distance,” he warned Nyx and Daal. “These people are leery enough about the bats.”

As they prepared to go their separate ways, Crikit untangled himself from Bashaliia’s pelt, leaped off, and scurried to Esme’s side. His stalked eyes waved as he clicked with concern.

“Yes, you’re coming with me.”

In all this strangeness, she welcomed this chitinous bit of familiarity.

Behind her, Tamryn took off with Heffik, wafting up sand as those large wings dug for the sky. The desert riders retreated, mostly in fear, but a few whispered in awe.

Esme respected such resiliency, which was likely a necessity in such a hostile terrain.

She stared toward the forest.

But how will we fare?

E SME RODE ATOP one of the large beasts, clinging to leathered grips that flanked the saddle. A tall seatback supported her rear, while ahead of her, a thin-waisted woman bounced in harmony to the rolling bound of their mount. Esme had learned such beasts were called ürsyns, with this particular one named Ruro.

The woman hadn’t offered her own name. Apparently, their mount had to be honored first for some reason.

Esme had also learned the name for those sharp-beaked predators— strüksos —which roughly meant feathered daggers in the Chanaryn tongue.

A name she found grimly fitting.

While she kept a wary eye on the forest, she felt safe enough in the company of these strangers. In addition, Graylin and Vikas flanked her, sharing ürsyns with fellow riders. Farther out, Kalder and Crikit raced to keep up with the swift passage of these beasts. Though the ürsyns appeared clumsy, weighted down by their thick pelts of quills, once underway the beasts sped with great dexterity, following some trail that was indiscernible to Esme.

As their group raced on, she studied the crystalline forest. Under the shadow of its dense canopy, the bower appeared even more wondrous. Trunks glowed, cascading in shades of emerald and crimson, as if revealing the lifeblood of this wilderness. From branches and stems, fat-lipped cones hung heavily, requiring a keen eye to avoid hitting them—a lesson hard earned. Several cones sprouted blossoms of translucent petals that sucked away if a finger brushed them. Something her rider had scolded Esme from doing with a stern look.

Overhead, sunlight pierced the canopy with brilliant spears.

Graylin squinted up at those breaks, watching for the occasional shadow to sweep over them, marking the passage of Nyx and Daal. Those dark sickles served as a reminder of the ever-present danger.

Still, the forest continued to tinkle softly, not in warning but as if to encourage their passage, to rid its bowers of these strangers.

Enraptured by it all, Esme leaned over and called to Graylin, “From my people’s stories, I never imagined the Argos would be so beautiful.”

Her rider heard this and twisted in the saddle. “?rgos,” the woman corrected. Then she swept an arm to make sure Esme understood. “Elan e ?rgos.”

Esme nodded, accepting the correct pronunciation.

Not Argos, but ?rgos.

The woman pointed back along their trail and motioned as if drinking from a cup. “Elan e Koos Nuur.”

Esme nodded again, knowing the rider must be naming the lake. Koos Nuur meant Sweet Water in Chanaryn.

Again, another fitting name.

She had also learned that these tribal people called themselves the Chanr?, which simply meant people in the Chanaryn language—a name similar enough that she had no doubt these were the ancestors of Esme’s nomadic clans.

How could that be?

On this mystery alone, she had hundreds of questions. But while moving swiftly, any real conversation proved to be challenging.

She had managed to pass on a few of Graylin’s questions. It seemed these Chanr? people had spotted the arrival of the Fyredragon, then noted their group setting off for the forest. Knowing the danger here, the desert riders had set off from their village—a place called Tosgon—to investigate the strangers and to offer aid if necessary.

Which certainly had been needed.

Finally, sunlight brightened in front of them as they approached the southern fringe of the ?rgos. Trees grew thinner in size and numbers. The ürsyns trundled faster—either due to the widening trail or from the threat of exposure, as their group was no longer sheltered under the canopy.

Esme caught glimpses of rolling red dunes, climbing ever higher toward the horizon. Then they cleared the forest and raced across open sand. Their mounts fled for the thin shadows cast along the side of the dunes—either to escape the burning sun or to keep hidden.

Likely both.

Behind them, Nyx and Daal appeared in the sky, trailing high. They wafted their mounts back and forth, then circled as Esme’s group slowed to a halt in a wider patch of shade.

Here, more of the Chanr? waited for them, both in the shadows or posted along the crests of neighboring dunes. Esme imagined they formed a rear guard. With the return of the hunters, these sentinels closed upon them, indicating this would be a brief stop. Esme also noted there were not enough mounts for the number of guards.

A sharp whistle corrected this, triggering explosions of sand.

Another half dozen ürsyns rolled out of burrows, their quills spraying clouds of dusty grains. They must have buried themselves in the cooler sands, leaving only their noses exposed.

In rare agreement, Crikit and Kalder shied away from those eruptions.

As everyone mounted up, one of the spies posted along the crest skimmed down the slope on sandals that looked crafted for this purpose. Upon reaching the bottom, he hurried toward Graylin.

“We must make for Tosgon!” he called out, while untying his headwrap so he could be better understood. “Get your ship to follow!”

It took Esme a breath to realize this newcomer had spoken in the common tongue.

Crikit, fleeing from an eruption of an ürsyn, came close to colliding with the figure.

The man stumbled back in shock—but not at the antics of the molag. His gaze had swung from Graylin to Esme’s mount.

“It cannot be…” he gasped, dropping to a knee.

The impact jarred his headwrap loose, revealing a face that had been forever branded into Esme’s heart.

She leaped down to the sand and ran at the man.

He bounded up and closed the distance.

They struck hard, knocking the wind from each other’s lungs. She clung to him, hugging with all her strength, afraid this might be a cruel mirage.

She moaned into her brother’s chest, “Arryn…”

He held her just as tightly. “Esme, how are you here?”

She had no words, shaking with a sob that had been trapped in her chest for so long. She pushed back and placed her palm over his heart, feeling it pounding hard, proving this was real.

He lifted his hand and rested it beside hers.

Confirming the same.

Between their thumbs and forefingers, scars marked their flesh, needled in place when they were children, forming the jagged rays of a sun.

Half on his, half on hers.

She pushed her hand closer, forming the full countenance of the sun and the promise it represented.

She stared up into eyes as familiar as her own.

“I found you.”