Page 187 of The Demon Tide

She looks to Fyon, horrified.

The purple moonlight glinting on his emerald-patterned face darkens, the chiseled edges of his features cast in ashen shadows. They look back out the circular window to find the Xishlon moon turned into a Shadow moon and an avalanche of darkness barreling down the rune-marked Vo Mountains toward the tent city just past its base.

“Vogel’s invading.” Fyon’s jaw ticks as he points toward the second line of misty runes forming in the storm band above the mountain’s apex, a strange, dark lightning now coursing through it. He sets his piercing gaze back on Mora. “He’s taken hold of the storm band. To keep our forces trapped west of the Vo Range.”

The pieces assemble themselves into terrible clarity inside Mora’s mind. How the Mage forces appeared to be gathering at the Central Desert’s western edge to draw Noilaan’s forces west to meet with them, the East now essentially unprotected and caught up in Xishlon...

“Holy gods, Fyon...”

“We need to get the children and anyone else we can fit onto this ship,” he says. “Then we need to take them to the sublands.” He jabs his finger toward the borderline. “Then we’ll fly out there and help get everyone trapped behind the border to the sublands, as well.”

Mora nods, her resolve gaining a steeliness to match Fyon’s as they swing into action.

He throws on his emerald pants and tunic, then rapidly fastens his Smaragdalfar rune blade and stylus onto himself before grabbing his crossbow and quiver. Mora yanks open a side-table drawer and pulls out her rune stylus and dagger, the varg runes imprinted on her blade casting her in a green glow as she fastens her belt sheath around her waist and secures her weapons.

Fyon reaches out to grip her arm as she moves toward the door. “Mora, listen to me. We’ll need to get to the fyyl’vor’in subland entrance, since it’s warded with varg runes. Get the ship ready to launch and I’ll connect a stronger varg ward to its power. Those runes are the only runes in this city likely to survive.”

“Which means we’ll be the only ship left in the skies,” Mora warns. “So we’ll have a giant target on our backs.”

Fyon narrows his gaze, emanating lethal calm. “We’ll deal with it.”

Mora nods, no time left to deliberate the odds as Fyon throws open the door and they rush onto the starboard deck.

Nym’ellia and Ghor’li are gripping the ship’s railing, along with Nym’ellia’s blanket-wrapped mother, Emberlyyn, and her little sister, Tibryl, their eyes stark with fear as they watch the incoming Shadow tide.

Cold panic ices Mora’s spine. “Where’s Olilly?”

Thumping footsteps sound, and relief flashes through Mora as Olilly and the teen from across the street, Kir Lyyo, race around the ship’s stern, hand in hand. A wreath of glowing purple flowers adorns Olilly’s lilac tresses, a few petals scattered in Kir Lyyo’s short black hair.

“Nym’ellia,” Mora says with measured calm as she meets the black-haired teen’s stunned gaze, noticing that the metal points Bleddyn gave to Olilly are now on Nym’ellia’s ears instead. “We’re evacuating to the sublands. Go untie the ship from our moorings.” Nym’ellia nods and runs off as Mora looks to the teen’s mother. “Emberlyyn, please bring Ghor’li and Tibryl inside and keep them there.”

Emberllyn nods and gently ushers the two whimpering children away.

“Olilly,” Fyon says to the obviously fear-struck teen, Ollily’s amethyst eyes wide as Xishlon moons, “I need you to bring all the copper and aluminum kitchenware to the ship’s stern. And I’ll need two of Mora’s large ceramic pots and a mixing spoon.”

“We’ll get them to you,” Mora affirms as Fyon briefly meets her gaze then makes for the ship’s stern, crossbow in hand.

A chorus of terrible shrieks rend the air. Everyone’s heads snap toward the mountains as Mora takes in the broken dragon horde that’s launched itself from the faraway crevasse, her throat momentarily clogging with fear. She shakes it off, setting her gaze back on Olilly. “You need to be strong, Olilly. Can you do that for me?”

Olilly jerkily nods her assent.

“Thengo,” Mora urges.

Olilly and Kir Lyyo exchange an urgent look before Olilly bolts toward the kitchens.

“My father...” Kir Lyyo manages in a ragged voice as a battle breaks out over the Wyvernguard, explosions flashing.

“Go get him and as many other people as you can on my ship,” Mora orders.“Right. Now.”

Kir Lyyo shakes his head. “My father won’t get on a Smaragdalfar ship...and he’s against the sublands...”

“Then he’s going todie.” Mora bites out as a deeper gray washes over the world, the moon darkening to the color of slate.

Kir Lyyo’s expression hardens to flint. “I’ll get him,” he says. “Even if I have to drag him on board.”

“Do it,” Mora urges, and Kir Lyyo breaks into a sprint toward his family’s restaurant while Mora makes for the ladder leading to her ship’s glass-walled control room. She scrambles up it, glancing through the glass toward Nym’ellia, who is swiftly untying their rope moorings.

Good girl, Mora thinks, grateful for Nym’ellia’s calm under pressure. Then Mora unsheathes her glowing green rune stylus and powers up the control board, taking in the panoramic view in one sweeping glance. A sizable dragon horde is zooming straight toward Voloi, Mora’s ship smack-dab inside that target.

---