The wagon was cramped and hot. The heavy cloak Jorvanultumn was wearing did not help matters any, either. Not only did it make him hotter, it cramped his wings, which were already cramped by the wagon’s benches being right against the side. He had to sit leaning forward, bent almost fully over. Then there were the constant bumps along the road.

Jorvanultumn hoped this ride would be over soon.

Still, at least he was out of the cellar, and he would not have to remain in the wagon for too long. Unfortunately, the cloak had to stay, though.

He was one of a dozen people, along with several crates, packed into the back of Ses-Izel’s covered wagon. One of Ses-Izel’s people, Ses-Abet, was driving it and the boy Ervin was riding at the front with him. The rest of the Resistance were already in the City, positioning themselves in areas close to the Palace, waiting for the wagon’s arrival.

The wagon came to a bumpy stop. This was not the first time. It had happened multiple times as they had tried to manoeuvre through the cramped and crowded City. Jorvanultumn hoped this was the final time. As usual, it was not, and after a moment, it jolted forward again, shook, and tilted a bit to the side as it made a tight turn.

“Who planned the layout of this stupid city anyway?” Garet grumbled.

No one answered him.

Jorvanultumn wished Meleng were there, but Meleng, Quilla, and Ses-Inhuan had remained at the ranch. As they had little weapon or combat training (except Ses-Inhuan, who went wherever Meleng went), they were helping Fra-Mecatl and Fra-Tepeu prepare to take in the injured, of which there was likely to be a lot.

“Remember,” Fra-Tepeu had told them, “the warriors you will face are not our real enemies. They are merely doing their duty, misguided though their loyalty may be. If possible, try to incapacitate rather than kill. This might put you at more risk, and if there is no other choice, then by all means, do what you need to survive. However, if we want to gain and keep public support, people must not think of us as butchers.”

A few minutes passed before the wagon stopped again—the longest length of time since they had entered the City.

Ses-Ihuicatl, seated beside Jorvanultumn, whimpered. “I’m scared.”

“It will be all right,” Jorvanultumn told her.

“How do you know? What if Ses-Xipil is there? What if she finds out I’m alive?”

“Then she does,” Garet said. “It makes little difference now.”

Ses-Ihuicatl whimpered again.

A full minute passed without the wagon moving again. Three knocks came from the front—the signal to be ready.

“What’s going on here?” a woman outside said. Her voice was muffled, but the words were still audible.

“We’d like to set up in the market,” Ses-Abet said.

“Are you serious?” the woman replied.

From what Jorvanultumn had been told, this very rarely happened.

“You bet. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“No one ever sets up here.”

“That’s because you charge so much,” Ses-Abet replied. “Most people can’t expect to make enough to pay off the price.”

“And you can?”

“We think so. See, we’re part of Ses-Izel’s crew. People will be lining up to buy our stuff.”

“Who?”

“You haven’t heard of her? Wow, we thought she’d be famous by now. She’s a guest at the Palace, invited by the Queen herself.”

“The Queen has a lot of guests,” the woman said. “No reason why I should remember them all.”

“She’s been invited to stand with the Queen at the New Year’s sacrifices. The one who brought the horse last month?”

“Oh, that one.”

“See? You have heard of her. Anyway, we’re sure our association with her will bring out more than enough people to pay the fee.”

“What are you selling?”

“Exotic goods from beyond Ninifin.”

“This really isn’t a good time, you know. There was a murder in the Palace last night, and they’re chasing down the perpetrator right now. Things could get dangerous.”

“Don’t worry,” Ses-Abet said. “We’ll stay out of the way.”

“Fine. You got the money?”

“We do.”

There was a pause as, Jorvanultumn presumed, the money was exchanged.

“All right, set up over there,” the woman said.

The wagon began moving again, but only for a short time before coming to a stop once more. Another series of knocks came from the front. Kianto and Acat, who were sitting at the back, got up and untied the canvas that covered the back, but did not pull it open. They lifted it just enough to slip through, then dropped it closed again.

Ses-Patli and another Resistance member—a one-armed man, Fra-Mecatl’s son—started sliding the crates to the back, and pushed them through just far enough for Kianto and Acat to collect them.

Jorvanultumn found this part of the plan to be the riskiest. Anyone watching was bound to wonder why Kianto and Acat did not remove the canvas completely, and might become suspicious. However, it was too soon to reveal just how many people were in the wagon, so they had to keep the canvas in place.

Once all the long crates were off-loaded, Ervin began his role.

“No! You can’t make me do it! I won’t!” His words became harder to hear as he ran out into the courtyard, although Jorvanultumn knew what the boy was saying next. He was calling for help from the guards and complaining that his uncle was making him wear a “stupid outsider costume”. The idea was to keep making a fuss until none of the guards (or any other non-Resistance present) were looking at the back of the wagon.

Jorvanultumn moved into position. He needed a clear view for this to work, and so they needed to pull back the canvas all the way. After several more seconds, the canvas moved aside and Jorvanultumn took stock of what he could see.

The back of the wagon faced the south wall of the courtyard. Beyond it, the forest trees rose above it, several of which Jorvanultumn estimated were large enough for the task. This was going to take a very powerful gust of wind. He hoped he could still manage it in his weakened state.

Everyone else still in the wagon had crammed themselves to the front to give him enough room.

He circled his right arm around, catching on to the currents of air. With his left, he began to stir those currents up, coagulating them together into one larger mass. With both hands and arms working together, he sent the new-formed wind past the tree, then drew it back in in one quick motion. For a brief moment, a swirling funnel of air materialised around the tree, tore it from the ground, and hurled it at the courtyard wall. It hit with a loud bang, smashing right through the wall.

There were startled cries and yells from outside as Jorvanultumn collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. They had wanted something big enough that all their allies would recognise as a sign to begin. Jorvanultumn was confident he had given them just that. He felt sorry for the tree, though.

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Garet was the first past him, leaping out of the wagon. Jorvanultumn moved aside to let the others out. Acat and Kianto were already ripping open the crates, which contained mostly spears and daggers, along with a few axes, crossbows, and bolts—and Garet’s sword. The Resistance members grabbed what they could and rushed into the courtyard.

Jorvanultumn sat where he was for several moments. He had warned them he would need a short time to recover. He was worried now that it would be longer than he had expected. Ses-Ihuicatl remained beside him.

From outside, he heard yells and cries, a scream here or there. Occasionally, the wagon shook from someone falling against it.

After a minute, he stood up, and adjusted the cloak. They wanted him to do his best not to reveal his features. He was not sure that the cloak did a very good job of hiding his bulkiness compared to humans, though it did cover his wings—if somewhat painfully—so in the heat of battle, people might not notice.

He raised his head, said a quick prayer to Power, then held out his hand to Ses-Ihuicatl. “Come.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she said. “I’ve never been in a battle before.”

“I will protect you, but I also need your help. Please come.”

There were tears running down her face, but she nodded and took his hand. Together, they climbed out of the wagon.

Things were going well for the Resistance so far. There were a couple dozen members in the courtyard now, all wearing white tunics or feathers to mark their allegiance. A couple guards had been tied up; a couple others lay on the ground in pools of blood, as did a few Resistance members. There did not appear to be any more opponents for him to help with.

“You missed the fun,” Garet said, coming over to him and Ses-Ihuicatl while wiping blood off his sword with a cloth. “Still, pretty impressive with the tree.” He slapped Jorvanultumn against the wing, causing Jorvanultumn to gasp. “Oh, sorry. Forgot that’s not your back.”

“They’re coming!” someone yelled.

“Now the real task begins,” Garet said. “This was just the warm-up.”

Ninifin warriors were running down the steps of the upper courtyard. Others were already spreading along the edge of the middle courtyard, raising bows and nocking arrows.

“Look out for arrow fire!” Garet yelled.

“I will take care of it,” Jorvanultumn said. He waited for them to release. Then, with a much simpler variation of what he had done to the tree, he sent a strong gust of wind which drove the arrows off path. A cheer rose from the Resistance.

The warriors raised their bows and fired again. And again Jorvanultumn sent the arrows spiralling to the ground far from any potential target. They tried one more time. Then they tossed their bows aside and joined the other warriors rushing down the stairs.

Perhaps emboldened by Jorvanultumn’s actions, the Resistance charged forward to meet the oncoming warriors. Garet roared and ran forward with them.

Jorvanultumn began gathering air around himself. He would need a ready supply. The wind had a welcome cooling effect, but also blew the edges of the cloak up. No matter. With the other elements mixed in, his form would be blurred anyway.

“Ses-Ihuicatl, water and fire please.” Fire was the only element he couldn’t easily gather from the environment, although water was only in limited supply, so he and the young conjurer had agreed that she would keep him supplied with both.

The expected supply did not appear.

Jorvanultumn looked to Ses-Ihuicatl. She was backing away, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I’m so sorry.” She turned and ran from the courtyard and into the City.

Jorvanultumn shook his head. He did not blame her. What they were doing terrified him as well, and she was so very young.

He could condense water out of the air. It would not be a large supply, but it would be something. There were rain clouds in the distance. Too far to use right now, but maybe they would come fast. They would be very useful. For fire, there were a few torches about the courtyard. He could draw from those. For now, though, he would make do with air and water, and add earth in as necessary.

A supply of air ready, he began condensing water and looked to see where he could help. The Palace warriors were pushing forward, overpowering the Resistance members in their path. Garet opposed three warriors. The Arnorin prince tried to swing at the one in front of him, but did not have the reach. The two warriors to either side did have the reach though. They thrust their spears forward, but Jorvanultumn sent a gust of wind to knock their blows aside. Garet backed away.

Jorvanultumn turned his attention to helping others in the same way. Anywhere he saw a Palace warrior bearing down on someone who looked unable to block, he sent a gust of wind to help.

He was not fast enough. Wind knocked many aside, but there were just too many. He could not watch them all. He was also tired. The tree had taken a lot out of him. The heat had taken more. Resistance members were falling.

He had not condensed much water yet. It might help though. He sent the water in a small wave along the bottom of the steps where warriors were still arriving. A burst of air made some of them slip on the now-slick ground. The water would dry fast, though.

“Blasted spears!” Garet yelled. He sheathed his sword, and picked up a spear from one of the fallen.

The Resistance was falling back.

There were yells from farther up. More warriors arrived at the top courtyard and began hurrying down the stairs. Isolated from the rest of the battle as they were, perhaps he could disrupt them.

They were different though. They wore the outfit of the other Palace guards, but they had white feathers tied to their arms. Leading them were three people. Two wore red jerkins and black skirts, but also had white ribbons on their arms and in their hair. The third wore a white jerkin and white feathers like the others. Jorvanultumn recognised her.

Ses-Izel.

“In the name of Eleuia!” she yelled.

“Eleuia!” the Resistance chanted. “Eleuia! Eleuia!” Even Garet joined the chant.

Why not? Jorvanultumn thought. He joined in too.

“Eleuia! Eleuia!”

The Resistance pushed forward again, and the new arrivals came in to flank the Palace guards.

Jorvanultumn searched within himself for every bit of strength he could find. Then he began to draw more air in. The rain clouds were still too far, though maybe he would not need them now.

Again, he used air currents to knock spears aside. Then, as the Resistance moved in from two sides and forced closer combat, people drew blades and axes. Those would be much more difficult to blow aside.

Garet yelled in triumph. He was again wielding his sword. As Jorvanultumn watched, he took down one Palace guard and then another.

Jorvanultumn needed a new tactic. There were so many people in close quarters now. It was difficult to tell friend from foe. He looked around for something else he could use.

The collapsed portion of the wall. The stone.

He clenched his fist and twisted his arm slowly round. Stones and gravel rose from the wreckage. He only wanted the smallest. The gravel he kept. The tiny pebbles and pieces of stone he kept. The rest he let drop to the ground again. Then he guided it across the air.

Wherever he spotted an enemy, he used a small puff of air to blow gravel into their eyes. One after another. They stumbled. They rubbed at their eyes. The Resistance knocked them to the ground. Or grappled them. Sometimes killed them.

The Palace guards began dropping their weapons. One after another called for surrender.

Jorvanultumn relaxed and the remaining gravel and stones dropped to the ground. The air swirling around him dissipated. The water splashed on the stone floor. He dropped to the ground himself. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but he contented himself with sitting there. As an afterthought, he pulled his hood down lower to keep himself hidden.

Resistance members tied the surviving guards’ hands behind their backs and led them aside. Others checked who amongst the fallen was still alive, then called others over to tend to them.

There were people at the gate. People from the City, presumably. Come to investigate the commotion, no doubt. Jorvanultumn looked to see if maybe Ses-Ihuicatl had returned, but there was no sign of her.

Ses-Izel came forward, followed by the two girls in red tunics. They had to be from the same group Ses-Inhuan was part of. “Bring me some of those boxes!” Ses-Izel called.

Acat and Kianto rushed forward with the crates that had transported the weapons. Jorvanultumn was glad they had survived. They stacked the boxes on the ground in a small pile. Then Ses-Izel climbed on top, the two Youth Guards to either side.

“People of Ninifin!” she cried to the crowd gathering at the gate. “For too long, we have lived under the rule of a corrupt priesthood, one that sees to its own needs over the needs of the people. They keep us half-starved. They over-tax us, and they execute us for the smallest of offences. They manipulate our queens, isolate them from the people so they do not know the truth of what is happening in their own kingdom.

“This is not the first time we have endured such treatment. Two hundred years ago, we lived under the thrall of Elooria. They enslaved us, and beat us down. But then one rose amongst us, who said, ‘No more!’ She gathered the best of us. She stood up to the Dragon and his cruelty. Her defiance brought her death, but even as she burned at the stake, she remained committed to our freedom. Through her, we were inspired to rise up. We said, ‘No more!’ We fought and gained our freedom.

“To this day, she continues to inspire us. Once again, it is time to follow her example. We say, ‘No more!’ Today, it ends! The rule of the priests shall be no more!”

She raised her spear above her head. “For Eleuia!”

“For Eleuia!” the two girls at her side cried.

“For Eleuia!” the Resistance joined in.

People in the crowd joined in as well. Soon, the sound was almost deafening.

“Eleuia! Eleuia!”