Tanin threw himself down the slope into the canyon. More sliding than running, he accelerated quickly, pinwheeling his arms and trying to use his spear to steer himself straight for the captives.

The Charic’sada were in turmoil. The white-haired creatures screeched at one another, pointing, gesturing, running to help their fellows who were scattered up and down the canyon. Several lay dead, bodies smashed to pulp. Dozens of others were injured, holding bleeding arms, legs, and heads. Those unharmed were frantic, trying to help each other while still leaping clear of the barrage of rocks raining down. Miraculously, Tanin even stumbled past two Charic, who didn’t so much as glance at him as they rushed to the aid of others.

He slid to a halt at the base of the slope, where the ground leveled off and became softer near the riverbank. Iona appeared beside him, not breathing hard—or did the wood witch breathe at all?

Tanin spared no time. He lowered his head and raced for the cluster of captives.

He recognized some other races by story only; short Danaei, jungle dwellers with bright plumage like a sunset; shorter-still Blad, creatures known throughout Kassia as expert technologists, several who wore strange transparent circles over their eyes; and other hairless bipeds of varying shades of tan. The creatures all crouched together, most of them covering their heads with hands, arms, or wings. They looked around, as confused and nervous as the Charic. Among them, on the edge of their small circle of survivors, Tanin saw several Fell; in his haste and the anarchy of the scene, he couldn’t count them. Twenty, perhaps.

Stretched out, covered by a dusty, rough-woven but brightly colored blanket, Memine of Fell shielded her face with her forearms while other Fell clutched one another or tried to use their bodies to shield the prone girl.

The other Fell were largely older, Tanin saw as he neared. Memine seemed the youngest. Two heartbeats later, he reached her.

Tanin slid in the sand and dirt, throwing himself to her side and wrapping his arms around her torso.

“Memine!”

He cried then, but his body wouldn’t give up the precious moisture, so his tears were dry like dust. His whole being tensed with the emotion of it, to at last have his arms around his betrothed.

“Tanin?” Memine gasped. She tore her arms away from her face and sat up on her hands. Something made a harsh clanking sound as she rose. “What—how?”

“There’s no time.” Yet he nevertheless gave her a kiss, one full of dirt and terror. “We have to go, now.”

A Fell grabbed his arm. An older man called Runuk he recognized from town; a respected farmer. “Tanin! We are chained.”

He held up iron links in his hand. Tanin, stunned, ran his fingers over the chain. He’d never seen so much metal before; the Fell were not miners. He followed the links from Runuk’s ankle to Memine’s neck. In his focus to reach her, to touch her, he hadn’t even felt the thick iron band around her throat.

Crushed, Tanin discovered that all the captives were linked together by one long chain snaking through a variety of rings on their necks, wrists, or ankles. Where one went, so went they all.

Tanin impulsively tried to pull the links apart and quickly gave up, understanding that this heavy material was at least as strong as the native rock in his home. He struck at the chain with his spear, but the strong wood only chipped against it. Breathless, he grabbed a large stone and slammed it again and again against the links. They sparked in reply, and did not bend.

“There’s no hope,” Runuk said. “You shouldn’t have come, boy.”

Tanin ignored him. The Charic would see what was happening soon. He needed something stronger, something heavier . . .

Tanin turned his face to the canyon rim. Knowing it would bring him to the Charic’s attention, he nevertheless screamed with his entire being.

“Mohani!”

“She comes, Tanin Fell.” Iona’s small voice somehow penetrated the noise in the canyon as Orrock’s avalanches rolled down the slopes, smashing into Charic below.

The Agnise sprinted along the rim of the canyon to reach the same place where Tanin and Iona had descended. Iona stood still, her head swiveling around on her neck as if acting as a lookout. Nearby, Tanin thought he saw a tree begin to bend at the base and point its crown at them.

He blinked the image away—his fear was making him see things. He faced Memine. “We’re getting you out of here. All of you.”

Memine nodded shakily, then screamed, “Behind you!”

Tanin spun, spear in hand. A short Charic raced toward him, an axe raised. Tanin instinctively crouched and jabbed the weapon upward. It caught the charging Charic in the midsection and ran him through. The Charic’s eyes widened as if in surprise at being bested by a mere Fell, his lateral mouth snapping uselessly as blood sprayed from his lips.

A second Charic raced in. Tanin yanked at his spear, but it remained fast in the body of his first assailant. The Charic screamed, swinging a long, shining sword in circles in front of its body.

A tree bashed into the Charic horizontally with the ferocity of a lightning bolt, sending the creature several lengths away and stunning it. It was the same tree Tanin had noticed bending low in the trunk, as if it were utterly pliable. Now it was parallel to the ground like a great deciduous lance.

Iona stood still, chin angled down. Now her eyes did glow; there was no mistaking it. Green fire flashed behind her eyes as she stared at the tree. A brown patch appeared on her face and grew like a wildfire.

“Iona!” Tanin gasped. “What—”

“More come, Tanin Fell.” Her voice carried an edge as the tree slowly righted itself.

Tanin licked his dry lips. She was right of course; other Charic were catching on to their presence.

“Look!” Runuk shouted, pointing.

Mohani of Agnise slid down the slope, her body profile to them. She held the war hammer in both hands, the head raised high. She screamed over the din in the canyon, her face a mask of sheer rage, power, and—

Joy.

She came sliding at them like an avenging god, not stopping until she’d reached Tanin’s side.

“You called?” she huffed, grinning maniacally.

“This metal! I can’t break it!”

The Agnise didn’t hesitate. “Stand aside!”

With another roar, she swung the hammer behind her back then over her head in a practiced, lumberjack arc, her legs spread wide to steady herself. The head cracked against the links. The metal shattered, spraying slivers of shrapnel. Sharp pricks of it smattered across Tanin’s face.

Too heavy for itself, the chain slid from the ring around Memine’s neck. She was free.

The heavy collar still encircled her neck, but she wasn’t attached to anyone or anything else now. They could deal with the collar later.

Runuk grabbed the chain and pulled it through his hands until it had slithered out of the cuff on his ankle. He continued pulling it until another Fell was free. Runuk propelled him toward the slope. “Go!”

Wildly the other Fell captives struggled to pull the broken chain from their bonds, but suffered from panic; they did not work together and were having trouble getting the two ends of the chain to slide out of their various cuffs and collars. Runuk bent to guide them, sending any free Fell half crawling, half running for the steep ramp of dirt leading out of the canyon. The other captives, seeing their bonds were loose, yanked furiously on the length of chain through their own iron bonds.

Mohani turned to engage the Charic, releasing war whoops and swinging her hammer with glee as she smashed one Charic after another to the ground.

“Come on!” Tanin cried, grasping the edge of Memine’s blanket and flinging it off her.

“Tanin, no!”

He did not hear her. Reaching for her arm, he shouted, “We have to—!”

The desert dweller stopped just as his hand found hers. In his own tall ears, all the noise in the canyon ceased. The sight before him froze his desert blood, rooting him in place, unable to move, unable to blink.

“Tanin . . .” Memine wept.

Her legs were missing above the knee.

Tanin gaped at the ghastly sight. The stumps had been bandaged—rather expertly, he noted with some degree of madness—but they were saturated with her blood. He understood then what they’d done to her.

They’d fed.

Moaning at the horror, Tanin grabbed the wood witch. “Iona! Can you—”

Iona gazed quickly at the injury. “No, Tanin Fell. The damage is too great.”

Tanin screeched in frustration and rage. In the distance, he saw a band of Charic gathering and racing for their position, far too many to fight. A handful of freed creatures ran up the slope or into the river and swam for their lives while others still shrieked and struggled to get the chain out of their rings.

“Get her out of here!” Runuk shouted. “Get back to—”

A Charic arrow pierced his chest. The shot took the older creature off his feet. He sprawled in the dirt with a gurgle of pain, hands clutching the thick wood.

No time for a plan, Tanin realized in less than a heartbeat of time. No time to mourn.

The Fell, enraged, hunkered down and pulled Memine’s arms over his shoulders so that she hung from his back like a satchel. “Hang on!”

Tanin charged for the slope. Iona ran beside him, carrying his spear. Mohani shook her hammer and bellowed at the oncoming Charic.

“Fight me, you bastards!”

“Mohani, help!” Tanin shouted, hoping to save her life. Trying to fight off all the Charic would be impossible.

His ploy worked. Spitting toward the distant Charic, Mohani followed them up the slope. Tanin worked his legs in bold, enormous strokes, his torso ablaze from within at the effort.

Charic arrows stabbed into the hard ground around them as they climbed. Each thunk of an arrowhead missing his flesh made Tanin flinch. The rim of the canyon seemed a lifetime away.

And then they crested it. Far off already, he saw Fell rushing away from the canyon’s edge in all directions.

Tanin collapsed with Memine atop him. “Release me, Tanin,” she said into his ear. “Save yourself, my beloved.”

Grunting with the strain, Tanin stood again, hanging on to her arms. “No.”

Mohani grabbed his arm and pulled him along. “Quickly! They will have to reload.”

They hurried away from the edge. Maybe, Tanin hoped, the Charic would tire of the chase, leave them be, accept their losses . . .

Arrows again thunked into the dirt at their feet and flew over head. Tanin wondered where Orrock was—dead?

He couldn’t stop to find out. Push, he told himself. Push, you stupid child!

Mohani slowed beside him. She drew her forearm across her mouth, and Tanin saw it come away bright with blood.

“Mohani!”

“Enough running,” Mohani growled. She slid to a halt and turned, hefting the hammer.

Tanin’s heart clenched in his chest. Mohani’s back bristled with three Charic arrows. Rivers of blood poured down her vest, past her waist and down her legs.

Tanin stumbled to a stop, struggling to keep his grip on Memine. “No, no, Mohani! Keep coming!”

“Run, Fell! These bastards are mine!” She spit blood in the dirt.

Tanin inhaled to shout again, to beg her to come . . . and then his breath expelled in one wrenching cough.

He dropped to one knee, hearing Memine cry his name. No, no, no, he thought madly. No, what are you doing, stand up. Stand up!

But he couldn’t. As Memine tumbled from his arms and onto the rough desert floor, he understood he could not rise because of the shaft of a Charic arrow piercing his flank, near his heart.

Tanin lowered his head. Memine had raised herself on her hands, looking into his eyes with utter terror and loss.

“Memine?” He coughed wetly, and red droplets dotted her slender face.

She reached for him wordlessly, and Tanin saw farewell in her expression. This wound was mortal.

The earth thundered as he fell back to the ground. Orrock crouched over him, breathing hard, his horns and hairy body cloaked in dust.

The monk assessed him quickly. “Tanin . . .”

And then he spoke no more. Seeing his fierce and dazed expression, Tanin understood.

Not only was he dead, but the day was lost.