Isaiah was a being many millennia old, and he had witnessed more things than most who had lived, but he’d never before experienced anything like being carried a-wind with the Lealfast.
He decided later, once he’d had some time to think about it, that it was very much like flowing in a river, save that the river the Lealfast used was air rather than water. He could feel all about him the strange, mysterious souls of the Lealfast riding the air currents beside him, and feel deep within him the tug of their strange magic. Isaiah knew the Lealfast used the Star Dance as the source of their power, but this…
This, he thought, is going to cause Axis some troubles.
They arrived at the southern end of the Salamaan Pass by late afternoon of the day they’d set out. The speed of their travel was extraordinary. Nonetheless, Isaiah could see from the gray lines on Bingaleal’s face that it had also been exhausting—the Lealfast had been traveling here and there for many weeks, and had covered an astonishing amount of territory within only the past few days.
There was a moment when Isaiah could feel the transition from whatever state the Lealfast had put him into back into his fleshed form, and then he was standing on pebbly, sandy ground, and he could feel the soft breeze wrap about him, and smell his land, stretching away south before him.
There was a soft sound at his side and Bingaleal appeared.
“Thank you,” Isaiah said simply. He and Bingaleal were standing just inside the entrance to the Salamaan Pass, against the western wall, and Isaiah turned to look south.
“Oh my gods…” he whispered.
Before them the pass was filled with a jumble of disordered people, children, animals, carts—the panicked flotsam and jetsam of a population fleeing rumor and terror. Even though the gloom of dusk had enveloped the Pass, Isaiah could see that hundreds of thousands were abandoning Isembaard.
On the one hand he was glad that so many had escaped; on the other the thought of what might be happening further into the land appalled him.
“Where are the other Lealfast fighters, Bingaleal?”
“On the ridges of the pass where the gloom shall, for the moment, disguise them. I thought it best that they not land within the pass itself and panic the refugees. Isaiah, what do you want of us?”
“To rescue as many of the Isembaardians as you can. There are two escape routes—north, through the Salamaan Pass, and south, through the Lagamaal Plains, to something called the Lost Chasm.”
Bingaleal raised his eyebrows. “The Lost Chasm?”
“It lies on the borders of the Eastern Independencies, and is where the mortal Isaiah met his fate,” said Isaiah. He grinned. “It is an abyss, Bingaleal, and likely to be a mystery that even you have yet to know about.”
“And a chasm can somehow shelter,” Bingaleal waved a hand at the mass of people moving north, “a crowd this size?”
“Even more,” said Isaiah, “although I think there will be few left alive in the south of Isembaard.” He paused, staring at the mass of people trudging north. “Gods, where do we start?”
Bingaleal sighed. “In the morning, Isaiah. If we start now we will just create panic.”
In the end, the fleeing refugees accepted the Lealfast more easily than Isaiah had imagined. It was likely, he thought, that the Lealfast were a great deal less terrifying than what was at the refugees’ backs.
They started early the next morning. Isaiah commandeered a horse from someone, then rode up and down the lines of refugees as they approached the pass, waving overhead at the Lealfast in the skies and saying simply that they were here to help the Isembaardians escape the Skraelings.
At midmorning Isaiah waved Bingaleal down.
“Any signs of Skraelings?” he asked.
Bingaleal shook his head. “I believe they are still very far to the west, although I have no doubts they will be moving this way swiftly. Currently, it is rumor and fear more than anything else driving these people.”
Isaiah thought a moment. “Your fighters are all still here? In the Salamaan Pass area?”
Bingaleal nodded.
“Then divide them up. Send ten thousand to the southeast. I am certain there will be refugees moving to the south, as these here move to the north. The ten thousand sent south need to help them reach the Lost Chasm.”
Isaiah spent a few minutes giving Bingaleal some idea of the route the refugees would be taking, and the path they’d need to take to reach the Lost Chasm.
“I wish your Lealfast great luck down south,” Isaiah finished. “The Skraelings will be thick on the ground there, and your comrades shall need to be careful not to be outnumbered if they get into battle.”
“That won’t happen,” Bingaleal said.
Isaiah frowned, not understanding. “They won’t be outnumbered?”
“The Lealfast will never attack the Skraelings,” said Bingaleal. “Not under any circumstances.”
“What? For all the gods’ sakes, Bingaleal, why can’t you—”
“They are our kin. We will not harm them.”
“Then what good are you? My people need the aid of swords!”
Bingaleal gave Isaiah an inscrutable look at that, but did not otherwise answer.
“Shetzah!” Isaiah muttered, turning aside in order to quell his frustration.
“We will do what we can,” said Bingaleal, “but we will not attack our kin.”
“Then if you can perhaps ask them nicely to stand aside,” Isaiah ground out, “and allow my people passage to safety, then I would be most profoundly grateful.”
“We will do what we can,” Bingaleal repeated.
“Does Maximilian know this piece of information?”
Bingaleal shrugged.
Isaiah barely restrained himself from hitting the birdman. He gave Bingaleal a long stare, then walked away, fuming.
The next day, Isaiah took a small bag of supplies and a sword and set off by himself for the west. There was little he could do for the refugees, and he was still so angry with the Lealfast he wanted to spend as little time with them as possible. Once he reached the River Lhyl (or whatever was left of it) he would follow it south to DarkGlass Mountain.
Perhaps he could do something, if not the cursed Lealfast.