Page 228 of Kingdom of Ash

A horn blasted from the river. And then the firelances unleashed white-hot flame into Morath’s ranks, as if they were plumes from hell. Dragons, all of them, spewing fire upon their enemy.

Flame melted armor and flesh. And burned the demons that dreaded heat and light.

As if they were farmers burning their reaped fields for the winter, Rolfe’s Mycenians marched onward, firelances spewing, until they formed a line between Aedion and their enemy.

Morath turned and ran.

Outright sprinted, their warning cries rising above the bellowing flames.The Fire-Bringer has armed them! Her power burns anew!

The fools did not realize that there was no magic—none beyond pure luck and good timing.

Then a familiar voice rang out. “Quickly! On board, all of you!” Rolfe.

For the ships in the river had pulled up, gangways lowered and rowboats already at the shore.

Aedion wasted no time. “To the river! To the fleet!”

Their soldiers didn’t hesitate. They sprinted for the awaiting armada, onto any ship they could reach, leaping into the longboats. Chaotic and messy, but with Morath on retreat for only the gods knew how long, he didn’t care.

Aedion kept his position at the front line, ensuring no soldier lagged behind.

Down the line, Prince Galan and a spotted, furry form did the same. Beside them, red hair waving in the wind, Ansel of Briarcliff held her sword pointed at their enemy. Tears slid down her freckled cheeks. The heads of her men lay scattered in the snow around her.

And ahead of them, still unleashing flame, Rolfe’s Mycenians bought them the time to retreat.

Each second dripped by, but slowly, those boats filled. Slowly, their armyleft the shore, every boat that departed was replaced by another. Many Fae shifted, birds of prey filling the gray sky as they soared over the river.

And when there were none left but a few boats, among them a beautiful ship with a mast carved after an attacking sea dragon, Rolfe roared from the helm, “Fall back, all of you!”

The Mycenians and their firelances made a quick retreat, hurrying for the longboats returning to shore.

Lysandra and Ansel ran with them, and Aedion followed suit. It was the longest sprint of his life.

But then he was at the gangplank of Rolfe’s ship, the river deep enough that they’d been able to pull up close to the shore. Lysandra, Galan, and Ansel were already past him, and Aedion had barely cleared the deck when the gangway was lifted. Below, around, the Mycenians leaped into their longboats and rowed like hell. Not a single soldier left behind. Only the dead.

Light flashed, and Aedion whirled toward the ship’s helm in time to see Lysandra shift from ghost leopard to woman, naked as the day she was born.

Rolfe, to his credit, only looked mildly surprised as she flung her arms around his neck. And to his credit once more, the Pirate Lord wrapped his cloak around her before he gripped her back.

Aedion reached them, panting and so relieved he might vomit upon the shining planks.

Rolfe let go of Lysandra, offering her his cloak completely. As the shifter wrapped it around herself, he said, “You looked like you were in need of a rescue.”

Aedion only embraced the man, then nodded toward Rolfe’s gloved hands. “I assume we have that map of yours to thank.”

“Turns out it’s good for something other than plundering.” Rolfe smirked. “Ravi and Sol of Suria intercepted us near the northern border,” he admitted. “They thought you might be in trouble—and sent us this way.” He ran a hand through his hair. “They remain with what’s left of yourfleet, guarding the coast. If Morath attacks from the sea, they won’t have enough ships to stand a chance. I told them that, and they still ordered me here.” The Pirate Lord’s tan face tightened. “So here I am.”

Aedion hardly noticed the sailors and soldiers making the quick sailing to the other side of the river. “Thank you,” he breathed. And thank the gods for Ravi and Sol.

Rolfe shook his head, gazing toward the mass of Morath soldiers still retreating. “We surprised them, but it won’t hold them off for long.”

Lysandra stepped to Rolfe’s side. Aedion tried not to cringe at the sight of her bare feet and legs, her uncovered shoulders, as the bitter wind off the river bit at them. “We only need to get to Orynth and behind its walls. From there, we can regroup.”

“I can’t carry your entire army to Orynth,” Rolfe said, gesturing to the soldiers massed on the far shore. “But I can bear you there now, if you would like to arrive in advance to prepare.” The Pirate Lord studied the shore, as if looking for someone. “She’s not here, is she.”

Lysandra shook her head. “No.”

“Then we’ll make do,” was all Rolfe said, the portrait of cool command. His sea-green eyes slid to where Ansel of Briarcliff stood at the ship’s rail, staring toward the field of heads left in the snow.

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