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give way.
    Sura shook her head. Surely the soldier had been told that Mali’s Wasp defenses allowed little injury and even less pain. She was a warrior in body and Spirit. He might as well be punching a tree.
    Grunting in frustration, he struck her in the gut, then the side. Mali laughed.
    His punches turned flailing, yet he refused the others’ offers of help. By now, Sura knew, his knuckles would be raw, maybe even broken from the impact against Mali’s tough exterior.
    Finally he tottered back and raised his arm, then lost his balance and tipped backward into the mud. The others laughed—at least, the two who weren’t still curled up on the ground in agony.
    The large soldier rolled over and lurched to his feet. He tugged down the end of his red-and-yellow jacket, as if a crooked uniform were the most embarrassing part of the situation.
    “Let’s take her in and be rid of her,” he said. “Let her plague the prison guards.”
    The two injured soldiers were roused, reluctantly. They all proceeded down the lane, and Sura noticed that even after the beating, her mother walked taller than the rest.

03
    Tiros
    R hia tugged her hood farther over her forehead against the rain sweeping the Tiron streets. The wind was harshest out here at the end of town where no buildings stood to block it.
    Lycas’s horse grunted and shook her head, jerking Rhia’s arm. Drops cascaded from her forelock onto the broad white stripe on her face.
    Tiros needed the rain—the cisterns were nearly empty—but no messenger pigeons from Kalindos would arrive in such weather. The birds would hunker down in a tree until the storm passed. Rhia wished she could attach a message to a crow, who would fly undaunted through a hurricane if it meant finding a sure source of food.
    “Speaking of undaunted…” she murmured as her brother appeared, striding down the street to the place where the horses waited. He wore no hood and didn’t even hunch his shoulders against the rain slashing his face.
    Four Tiron Wolverines flanked him, looking slightly more daunted by the storm, though they did a fair job of imitating Lycas’s effortless swagger. Behind them strode four Bear men with swords at their waists; two second-phase Cougars (a male and female) with bows strung over their shoulders; Sani the Eagle woman, who needed no weapon but her own eyes; an Otter with a healer’s pack strapped to her back; and lastly a young Horse man, lugging a pair of large covered cages, each containing two Tiron messenger pigeons.
    Looking past them into the town, Rhia saw most of the Tirons standing on their porches to bid the travelers farewell. She was glad she couldn’t see the pain in the parents’ eyes as they sent their children off to battle.
    When Lycas reached her, Rhia hugged him goodbye, taking care not to stab herself on one of the five daggers on his belt and sash. At least one more lurked inside each of his boots. For all she knew, he had one hidden in his long, thick black hair.
    “I hate the thought of you traveling in this weather,” she said.
    “Me, too, but only because I’d rather be fighting in it.” He let her go, more quickly than usual. “You sure you won’t let Nilik come to Velekos?”
    She looked away and tried to sound like a worried mother, instead of a death-glimpsing Crow. “It’s too dangerous.”
    “It’s his calling,” he said, for what seemed like the thirty-seventh time in the last four days. “It’s his destiny.”
    If only you knew how true that was. “I realize he’s a warrior now,” she said through gritted teeth. “He can be a warrior right here, defending Tiros.”
    Lycas gave a harsh sigh. “I don’t mean just any kind of fighting. He cared about Lania. Wolverines live for vengeance.”
    “Not all Wolverines.” He started to turn away from her, and she grabbed his arm. “You treat every Descendant you meet as if they personally killed Nilo. Nineteen years’ worth of corpses, and it’ll never be