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similar to hers.
    â€œBut I can fight, Molls.” Kholburran unslung his warpick. As deadly as it looked with its lacquered dark wood, Malli gave it the same sort of glance one might give a sproutling’s dolly.
    â€œI know you can,” Malli cooed. “Of course you can. I spar with you, and you’re not bad, but if you die here we’ll have lost two Root Trees.”
    â€œIt’s not fair that I can’t fight just because I’m a boy-type person.” Kholburran regretted the words as soon as he’d uttered them.
    â€œThat’s not the only reason, my prince,” Arri interrupted. “It’s that you are a royal boy-type person. If you were anyone else I’d happily petition Queen Kari for an exemption. But, and it pains me to say this—”
    â€œI’m more useful as a Root Tree,” Kholburran snarled, dental thorns bared.
    There it was, the irkanth in the shadows, now out in the open for all to see. Of course, they ignored it. They were girl-type persons. Girl-type persons always got their way.
    â€œI’m just trying to say—” Kholburran began. He stopped. Only Malli was bothering to look him in the eye, the others seemed . . . embarrassed by his outburst, looking at the walls, the floor, the door, or his bare chest. He let it go.
    â€œWe’ve got to leave!” Faulina shouted as she burst into the room bringing with her the scent of burnt roses. Scorched green sap ran across her smoldering breastplate from a nasty wound to her left shoulder, the pauldron hanging loose where something had sliced through the strap that secured it to her armor.
    â€œThe rest of the Root Guard?” Malli asked.
    â€œThey can’t make it, Captain.” Faulina shook her head. “There are hundreds of Zaur and some of them . . . I’ve never seen Zaur do what some of them are doing. I’ve never seen Zaur as big as some of these. They have troops that spit liquid fire that won’t scrape off and others who—”
    *
    <> Tsan pounded, <>
    A volley of crossbow bolts peppered the moonlit sky. Heartbow-wielding Weeds scattered, some avoiding the barrage, many crying out as the cruel shafts pierced armor and bark. Tsan didn’t care whether the archers hit the flying Weeds or not. He was far more interested in the layout of the Vael city. So far, this one seemed astonishingly basic. He’d counted six outposts—glorified tree forts by his assessment—in the largest of the Redwoods and Grove Oaks surrounding the Root Tree at their center.
    Four of the six were already burning, and the natural wooden walkways where branches from different trees merged together to form an easily navigable overhead route linking them to the Root Tree were engulfed in flame. He and his cavalry had already charged twice into the fray but were hanging back now until they were needed, resting the deep walkers. Tsan had been prepared to lead the charge up any one of the trees if needed, the six long-splayed toes of their mounts granting them access to routes not available to more traditional land creatures, but it had proved disappointingly unnecessary.
    A great hissing cheer went up amongst his soldiers as the Root Tree shifted, dropping several feet to the base of the tunnel beneath it then falling northward with a loud creaking thump that shook the forest floor.
    â€œRoot Tree down,” one of his guards laughed.
    Was that one second hatchling of the Twelfth Brood of Ixxant or first hatchling of the Second Brood of Naxxint? Tsan couldn’t keep them straight with all the competing battlefield odors obscuring their pheromones.
    Kuort, Tsan’s most senior guard, drummed his claws along his Skria to get Tsan’s attention. Once he had it, Kuort wordlessly pointed a sap-slick foreclaw at one of the still-standing outposts where a squad of Sri’Zaur with mottled scales and light armor clung to the bark of the