Jim Butcher - Cursors's Fury

All of which combined to mean that, as a rule, when the Count of Calderon released an arrow at the target, he expected it to go down. The fact that his target was living stone rather than soft flesh was only a minor detail-and certainly did not qualify as an exception to the rule.

Bernard’s first arrow struck the nearest gargoyle just to the left of the center of its chest. There was an enormous cracking sound, a shower of white sparks, and a network of fine cracks spread over the gargoyle’s stone chest. It leapt from the battlements to the towers roof-and fell into half a dozen still-thrashing pieces upon impact.

Before the first gargoyle fell, Bernard had drawn again, and his second arrow shattered the left forelimb of the second gargoyle, sending it into a sprawl on its side. Another arrow cracked into the gargoyle’s head as it tried to rise a beat later, and the impact sheared off a quarter of the gargoyle’s misshapen head, knocking it down again and evidently disorienting it as it tried to scramble upright again with futile energy.

Bernard leapt for the coach just as the windcrafters began to lift off. He caught the running board along its side with one hand, slung his bow over his neck, and used both hands to struggle to pull himself up as the coach rose away from Kalare, steadily gathering speed.

Amara called to Cirrus and found the fury more responsive, if still more sluggish than normal, presumably thanks to Lady Aquitaine countercrafting against Kalarus’s wind furies. She soared up to the coach, landed with her feet on the running board, twined her left arm through the coach window, and reached down to Bernard with her right.

Her husband looked up, glanced at all the leg she was showing in her scarlet slave tunic, and leered cheerfully at her as he grasped her hand. She found herself both laughing and blushing-again-as she helped him up to the running board, then into the coach.

“Are you all right?” he shouted to her.

“No!” she called back. “You scared me to death!”

He burst out into a rolling laugh, and Amara stepped off the coach’s running board and into Cirrus’s embrace, stabilizing herself before darting ahead of the coach and slightly above. She looked back over her shoulder, cursing that she hadn’t been able to braid her hair for the disguise, and hadn’t thought to bring along something to tie it back with. Now it whipped around her face wildly, in her eyes whenever it wasn’t in her mouth, and it took her a moment to get enough of it out of the way to see behind them.

She almost wished she hadn’t done it.

The gleaming figures of Knights Aeris were rising from Kalare. Rook had warned them of the twenty or so who had remained in the city’s garrison. Amara looked at the four mercenary Knights Aeris struggling to keep the overloaded coach in the air. They did not have the speed to evade a pursuit, and the terrain below them offered them few opportunities to play hide-and-seek with Kalarus’s forces. Without being able to rise to the higher winds, they could not use the clouds as cover, the other favored tactic for evading airborne pursuit, and the only one their slower group might have successfully employed.

Which meant, Amara thought, that they would have to fight.

It was not a ridiculous prospect for them to fend off a score of enemy Knights or so-not with Amara and no less than two High Ladies of Alera there.

But as Amara watched, more Knights Aeris rose from the city. Twenty more. Forty. Sixty. And still more.

With a sinking heart, Amara realized that when Kalarus returned to his citadel, he must have come by air-and that he must have brought his personal escorts, the most capable and experienced of his Knights Aeris.

Against twenty Knights, they would have had a chance. But against five times that number-and, she felt certain, Kalarus himself…

Impossible.

Her throat went dry as she signaled the coach’s bearers that they were being pursued.

Amara thought furiously, struggling to find alternative courses of action. She forced herself to look at the situation in dispassionate, emotionless terms. No foe was invincible, no situation utterly insoluble. There had to be something they could do to at least improve their chances, and that meant that she needed to make some kind of assessment of their foe’s capabilities and resources.

And at once, she saw that things might not be entirely hopeless.

True, there were scores of Knights Aeris on the way, but only twenty had been in Kalare on their regular post. The rest had returned to Kalare with their master-and that meant that they’d already been traveling, probably since before first light, which meant that they might not have the endurance for a protracted chase-particularly if they were forced to pursue through the energy-sapping lower winds.

And then another thought came to her. There had been no slowly approaching roar of such a large group of fliers coming in at low altitude. They’d clearly heard Lady Aquitaines Knights approaching minutes before they’d reached the tower. They should have heard a group with twenty times as many windcrafters coming for three or four times as long as that, before they’d actually entered the citadel. Which meant…

In fact, now that she thought about it, it could hardly have been anything else. Kalarus had most certainly not spent the previous ten or eleven days flying along the nape of the earth as Amara’s party had. His presence would have been absolutely necessary with one or more of his Legions-he could not simply throw away days and days in travel. While he might be sadistic, ruthless, and inhumanly ambitious, he was not stupid.

Which meant that Kalarus and his Knights had come through the upper air in a far-more-conventional approach, after either half a day or a day and a half of travel. The former would give him time to fly from Ceres back to Kalare-the latter would be about right for him to be returning from the forces put in place to stymie Lord Parcia’s Legions.

And if Kalarus could carry groups through the upper air when the rest of the Realm was grounded by the Canim’s unnatural cloud cover, it would give him an enormous advantage in the campaign.

It also meant, she realized with a cold ripple of nausea, that it likely meant that if he had overcome the Canim’s interdiction of the upper air when even Gaius could not, it was because Kalarus was meant to be able to do so. It meant coordination with the most bitter foe of the whole Realm.

Kalarus had made a bargain with the Canim.

The fool. Could he possibly have found a better way to declare to Alera’s enemies that she was vulnerable to attack? Or a way more certain to alienate him from any of Alera’s Citizenry who might otherwise remain neutral?

Not that their lack of neutrality would be of any use to Amara. She and the rest of her company would be long dead by then if Kalarus truly could use the upper air while their party was reduced to low-level flight.

But flight at the upper levels would be both totally concealed and totally blind. Kalarus could no more easily see through the clouds than anyone else. Though he might be able to travel farther, faster, leaping ahead of them if they pulled away, all they would have to do to confound such a leapfrog pursuit would be to alter their course.

A sprint, then, was their best option-a straight bid to outpace the pursuing Knights Aeris, who were bound to be weary after their travel. That should at the very least thin out the numbers of their pursuers. And it was not impossible that the High Ladies might, between them, make it more difficult for their pursuers to continue the chase. Ladies Placida and Aquitaine were already weary from their efforts, true-but then, so was Kalarus.