Red Hood's Revenge

Muhazil.
    In the distance to the right, the sand began to swirl, growing higher as Talia watched. Soon a pillar of whirling sand danced toward them.
    The warriors whispered among themselves. Talia could smell their fear, like sweat and piss. A second whirlwind joined the first, then a third. All around them, the desert reached up, raising towers of sand that seemed to pierce the sky itself. They writhed like living things, bending and bowing as they crept closer, swallowing all in their path. Entire hills were torn to nothingness faster than Talia could see.
    Talia raised her sword. She ignored the whirlwinds, concentrating only on the Wild Hunt arrayed behind the fairy wall, waiting. “Help me pierce their lines. If I can reach Zestan—”
    He stabbed his weapon into the sand and stepped close, gripping her arm. “Princess, your ghosts are beaten. Our people cannot survive another battle with the Hunt.”
    “You don’t have to survive! Just get me through. I won’t let her take Arathea.” She stopped herself. Muhazil was right. All she wanted was to fight until either she or Zestan lay dead. She couldn’t even distinguish the wolf’s anger from her own anymore.
    “If you flee, your cape’s magic might allow you to escape,” Muhazil said. “The speed of the wolf—”
    “I’ve been running and hiding since I awoke.” Talia touched her throat. All that held the cape in place was a thick tie of folded velvet. “Zestan wasn’t afraid of me,” she whispered, frowning. “Or of Roudette. But she worked to turn the rest of Arathea against you. She sent the Wild Hunt to attack your tribes. We thought it was because she was a deev . . . Muhazil, I need your knife.”
    His face tightened. He knew which knife Talia meant. “That weapon has been passed down for more than fifty generations.”
    “ Why does Zestan fear the Kha’iida?” Talia handed him the glass sword without waiting for an answer. “This sword belongs to my friend Danielle. It’s as precious to her as your knife is to you. Please see that she receives it back.” Unspoken was the assumption that any of them would survive.
    Muhazil reached into his robe. Talia moved so her body would block Zestan’s view as she took the crystal knife from his hand. She tucked it away, then drew Snow’s knife.
    Talia flipped open the mirror at the crossguard. “I hope you can hear me,” she whispered. “I need your help.”
    “I offer you one final chance,” Zestan shouted. Flames the color of blood grew within the whirlwinds. Smoke darkened the sky overhead.
    “Dammit, Snow, wake up or we’re all dead.”
    “Stop yelling at me.” Snow’s voice was strained. “What’s happening out there? It sounds like thunder.”
    “You don’t want to know. Are you strong enough for one more spell?” If Talia hadn’t already known how drained Snow was, the lack of an indignant response would have told her. “If I had any other ideas, I wouldn’t ask.”
    Snow gave a weak laugh. “You see? All that fighting, and you still turn to me and my magic in the end.”
     
    Talia held her cape shut as she approached the palace. The hood blocked her vision to either side, shutting out the burning whirlwinds of peri magic that threatened the others. That threatened Faziya. She stopped herself from turning back. Why hadn’t Faziya had the sense to stay behind? If Talia failed—
    If that happened, at least she wouldn’t be around long enough to wallow in guilt or grief.
    The Wild Hunt waited to escort her inside. Many were still mounted, mostly those in older armor. Talia wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that the original hunters would be destroyed if they ever dismounted. She fought the urge to drag one from his horse and find out.
    Instead, she stopped at the doorway to the palace, reaching out to touch one of the old statues. The stone was rough, cracked and pitted from age. As a child, she had named the statues Qazella and Anil, “Big Nose” and “Ugly.” Her father had not been pleased when he overheard those nicknames.
    Talia followed the hunters up the staircase. She and her brothers used to compete with one another to see who could jump from the highest step. She smiled again, remembering the day those games had come to an end. She had been seven years old. It was the first time she learned her fairy gifts couldn’t protect her from her own stupidity. Her broken leg had eventually healed. More important to young Talia, none of her