Logan Tom climbed to his feet carefully, making no noise at all.

Praxia was standing right next to him, a long knife in each hand, crouched and ready.

“How long was I asleep?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Not long. Get inside the transport.”

From somewhere off in the distance, back the way they had come, a series of high-pitched screeching sounds broke the silence. It reminded Kirisin of the cries of hunting birds, large and fierce predators, and it sent a chill up his spine.

“Go!” Praxia hissed at him, gesturing urgently with her long knife.

He had only moved a couple of steps when he was struck from behind, a hard blow to his head and shoulders that sent him sprawling. Fire lanced across his back where claws had raked through his clothing to tear into the skin, and he could feel the blood running freely from his wounds. As he struggled to his feet, he saw dark forms swopping down out of the night, a gathering of shadows that completely surrounded the Elves and the Knight of the Word. Sharp, piercing cries filled the night, mingling with shouts and cries of warning.

“Kirisin! Run!”

Praxia dodged and weaved as the night fliers came at her – one, two, three of them, claws ripping at her head. But she was small and quick, and they missed their target, catching only air. Her knives flicked out at them as they passed, and two shrieked in pain and anger, one rising only momentarily before falling back, wings beating uselessly. Kirisin saw it clearly as it landed, a human-shaped form with leathery wings and a reptilian spine and tail.

Human once, he thought, scrambling away. Reptile now. Changed into something monstrous.

A flock of them had fallen on the two Elven Hunters and both had gone down, buried in a mass of beating wings and ripping claws. The boy heard them scream as their lives were torn out, their efforts at defending themselves too little, too late. Others were coming at Ruslan and Que’rue, but both had backed themselves against the AV and were using short swords and long knives to keep their attackers at bay. Three of the skrails died right in front of the boy, cut to pieces. Others escaped with deep cuts and slashes. Blood flew everywhere from the injuries, some of it spattering his face.

Logan Tom had turned away from his work to summon the magic of his black staff, had called it up and sent it arcing across the night sky. It illuminated the darkness and revealed dozens of skrails. The Knight of the Word spun the magic out across the flats, into the darkness, and more of the skrails, revealed in its blue blaze, were caught up in its sweep and incinerated. Shifting his stance, Logan Tom raked the skies overhead, and another knot of attackers was beaten back.

“Get into the AV!” he shouted at the Elves.