High up the east side of the valley, near the headwaters of the Ujutus, a dozen cloaked riders emerged from the woods. Leaving their horses, they descended the slope to the churning waters.

Wayra discarded her cloak and paused to stare at the incredible sight of the tornado whirling above the keep, and the makrasha swarming the walls.

“They won’t last long,” Thyra said, wiping spray from her face.

“We must hurry.” Wayra pointed to the steep slope across the river. “They do not attack from the east side. It’s too steep. We’ll climb there. Follow me!”

Using a powerful blast of air, Wayra threw herself into the air and across the river. She tumbled in a heap on the other side, landing on a cushion of air that saved her from breaking her neck. She struggled to her feet and turned to watch the rest of her company.

Thyra landed gracefully nearby, making the dangerous spell seem easy. She grinned at Wayra, her face flushed with excitement. The other kestrels landed around them, most duplicating Wayra’s clumsier effort, but landing safely.

All but one. The last of them, a young man barely confirmed, misjudged the distance and slammed into a large rock in the river. The impact shattered his body, and the churning current swept the bloody remains under, leaving a crimson smear on the rock that soon washed away under the merciless pounding of the waters.

He was not ready.

This was no time to mourn the loss of one who could not keep up. Wayra glanced down at the glove that concealed the blackened claw of her right hand. I will not fail again.

Turning from the river, she considered the steep, barren slope they still had to climb. Coarse grass and scraggly bushes fought for purchase in the rocky slope. High above, the east wall of the keep reared, beckoning them on.

Wayra focused her will and gouged out a footstep in the hard ground, and then another just above it. Leading the way, she ascended the hill, dirt and small rocks flying as she carved a staircase one step at a time.

# # #

Tanathos surveyed the battle and smiled. Only half an hour into the fighting and victory was close at hand. The defenders would break soon. The pitiful force could not withstand his makrasha with the keep’s defenses being consumed by the tornado.

He stared at the whirling vortex for a second and gloried in its raw, destructive power. Perhaps he would choose it as his symbol.

He deserved it.

Turning, he beckoned, and a halimaw rose from where it had been crouching on the ground with two others. The beast towered over him, an impressive specimen at fourteen feet. Covered in dark fur that strained to contain its awesome strength, the monster glared hungrily at the wall, its amber eyes tracking targets constantly. Its huge maw dripped saliva and its body quivered with the need to kill.

Tanathos stroked its flank and pointed toward the highest tower. “Go. Kill.”

The halimaw roared, the sound drowning out everything else and sending a shudder of fear through both armies, and raced for the wall. With incredible speed, it hurdled through the ranks of makrasha, trampling any of the smaller beasts too slow to get out of its way.

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From the wall, bolts of magic speared down toward it, but the halimaw paid them no heed, and the magic dissipated. A rain of arrows tried to slow it, but it moved so fast most of the bolts missed. A few struck true, doing little more than scratching the thick hide and enraging it further.

The halimaw reached the base of the wall and, gathering itself low to the ground, leaped. It soared high, grasped the parapet, and vaulted over the wall.

Ignoring the townsfolk tumbling away in terror, it leaped to the roof of the keep, crossed to the central tower, and began to climb.

Tanathos smiled.

# # #

His body trembling with the strain of holding the tornado at bay, Rhisart no longer saw the battle below. Immersed in the effort to defend the keep, he was unprepared for the long, clawed paw that reached through the window and tore into his shoulder. Agony exploded through him and he staggered back.

Above the keep, the tornado dropped lower until it howled just above the highest turret. Defenders cried out in renewed terror, but there was nowhere to run. Through the transparent shield, they could look right up into the whirling funnel that yawed above like the insatiable maw of some giant demon.

Gasping in pain, Rhisart stared in horror at the halimaw clawing its way through the window in pursuit. Even as his mind struggled to adjust to the terrifying sight, his training kicked in. Reaching out with fingers of power, he grabbed the chairs in the room and hurled them at the beast just as it sprang through the window.

The first chair unbalanced it, and the second knocked it back from the window. As it began to fall, a single claw dug into the stone and held firm.

The effort cost Rhisart too much concentration, and the shield protecting the keep, already weakened, slipped from his control.

He fell to one knee, fighting to withstand the agony of his wound and focus the power again to salvage the spell.

It wasn’t enough. The shield crumpled and the tornado descended. The huge funnel encircled the keep.

Outbuildings shredded under the onslaught, and defenders threw themselves to the stone floor of the rampart. The combined might of the remaining sentinels was barely enough to shield the people on the wall from the worst of the wind. The tornado roared like a living thing, glorying in its power to destroy.

# # #

“Victory!” Tanathos shouted.

At that moment, the ground beneath the six shadeleeches controlling the tornado lurched upward a dozen feet. The shadeleeches tumbled into the air amid the shriveled corpses of the makrasha sacrificed to fuel the spell.

The tornado disintegrated.

Wind blasted in every direction, whipping everything behind the wall into the air. Three mini-cyclones spun off the main funnel as it fell apart. They spiraled away, ripping stones from the keep and destroying smaller buildings in their path. Defenders screamed in fear, but the shield over the top of the wall held.

One of the cyclones crossed the wall right at the point where the sentinel had suffered the Tai Pari. The wind caught the buckled stones and wrenched them out of place. The wall groaned as huge blocks twisted. The same cyclone ripped through the ranks of the attacking horde, scattering makrasha and whipping their weapons into a deadly barrage.

Even the halimaw roared with impotent rage as the wind tore it from its precarious perch on the side of the tower and threw it across the courtyard.

At the far end of the valley, silver trumpets rang out as an arriving army galloped from the shelter of the forest and charged toward the lower town.

# # #

On the eastern slope, Wayra shouted, “Brace!”

She focused her shields to direct the wind away. Below her on the narrow staircase they had carved into the hill, the other kestrels tried to follow her lead.

Two were unsuccessful, and the howling wind caught their cloaks and yanked them into the air. One hardened the air around himself in a counter spiral and used the wind’s own power to slingshot him back to the stair. He crashed onto a step and grabbed hold to keep from sliding.

The other, a heavyset fellow, was not so clear-headed. He thrashed and screamed until he slammed into the slope and bounced. His cries turned into howls of pain as he tumbled into the waiting arms of the mighty Ujutus. Its uncaring waters sucked him under.

Wayra could not see what had happened to the tornado. Something had changed, but she had no idea if it was beneficial. “Hurry!”