Zeyra flicked the blood from her daggers with a cold, disgusted expression, immediately falling back into step behind Sol.
"Beasts," Zeyra spat. "They don't even spare their own tribeswomen."
"When a tribe is built entirely on cruelty and fear," High Shaman Zephyra observed softly, her robes billowing in the draft of the fires, "the moment the fear at the top vanishes, the cruelty turns inward. They know no other language."
High Shaman Zephyra raised her staff, sending razor-sharp blades of emerald wind down the main street, slicing through the weapons and armor of any warrior who dared to turn and resist.
Beside her, Kira drew her short hunting bow, sending feather-fletched arrows through the eye sockets of rogue spearmen trying to leap the outer fence.
Within minutes, the violent, chaotic noise of the riot in the outer perimeter was entirely replaced by the clean, rhythmic sounds of Veynar weapons doing its work.
