Kamiéra kept the path lit with his Will, neatly dividing his attention between that bit of Wind, carrying Jaira and staunching the deep wound in the girl's side, and tracking the likely movement of the Ontim who'd ambushed them. "Tesliain," he whispered, his Will carrying his voice to his lieutenant in the rear. "Pretend to fall behind with your Fist. Prepare to be a nail." A whispered affirmation came back to him almost immediately.
Tesliain had been the quiet one, but Kamiéra had taken his lessons to heart and so, combined with his natural leadership, had identified her not as soft but as the whisper of starmetal clearing the scabbard. His sister had blossomed and when it came time to name his officers, she was the obvious choice for Second.
He just wished they'd been twice as many on the Ontim-hunt.
The Ontim were brutes, non-human, and therefore didn't have souls; and at any rate, had killed and eaten Patrian and Matrian missionaries for a century before the Empire decided to finish the work of the First Cleansing once and for all. That had driven them into the mountains near the Academy, where their stubborn lack of technological sophistication, crude organizational methods, and complete numbness to both Wind and Flame made them into a training exercise for second-year novices.
Or rather, that's how it usually worked. For some reason, a band of Ontim had organized well enough to anticipate the path Kamiéra's company had taken on the Hunt this morning, and then had shown sufficient tactical awareness to blend against the stone walls with crude stonefeather blankets before jumping the Company.
Kamiéra now had three very good reasons to get his sisters home: Because he owed them that duty; because the Headmistress needed to know that the beasts had somehow either learned or been taught how to act tactically; and because, arguably most importantly, they had somehow anticipated a Path only divined with the Wind mere moments before the Company set out.
None of this was good, but--
Llaha hand-signed to him. The Ontim had turned back en masse to attack Tesliain and her Hand. Good. They were still dumb enough to fall for obvious plots. Kamiéra reached out with his Will and sealed Jaira's wound, numbing the pain and placing her in a healing trance, then made an Illusion that would fool all but the most devoted trackers. He hand-signed back and the remaining Hands cloaked themselves in the Wind so they could sense without light and move faster than the, well, wind.
Ah. The vermin were advancing on Tesliain and her sisters, fangs and crude weapons ready, a primitive war-chant on their lips. The Second and her Hand were clearly preparing to sell their lives dearly.
No need.
Kamiéra reached out and embraced the Wind. Spikes of pure air, forged to the hardness of steel by his Will, shot through three of the creatures' heads at once. Armor formed over his body as he pointed forward and charged, his sisters running alongside him like a gentle breeze.
The Ontim turned, confused but sensing something from their rear, and Tesliain charged. The glow of starmetal blades lit the night and the Dance truly began.
