The wind howled.
Quinlan cut through the clouds at the front of the formation. Air folded around him in clean lines, not turbulence, not drag. The pressure bent outward as if the sky itself had learned how to move aside.
Behind him, the others flew in a tight cluster, held together by controlled currents that never quite touched the ground below. Rivers. Forests. Roads. All of it slid past in a blur of color and shadow before their eyes.
He concentrated and called upon even more.
The wind obeyed.
Ahead, the land soon darkened. Smoke traced thin lines into the sky. Siege towers. Barricades. Cannons.
A city wrapped in tension and steel.
Quinlan's mouth curved.
"We've arrived."
He dropped.
The wind followed his intent, carrying the group down in a sharp arc before flaring outward at the last moment. They landed on a hill overlooking the battlefield.
Bows snapped up at once.
