Pyricanthas. Sericanthas.
He was wracked with coughs again, still unable to breathe. He felt himself blacking out, his vision suddenly narrowing. The queer fish were all around him, faces emerging from the waters, puckered mouths gasping, hungry for his skin. The flesh of his back was in tatters. Nizeera screamed in challenge and launched at the nearest Weir, who caught her midleap with its massive claws and tossed her away like a doll.
Annon blinked, feeling himself starting to totter over. He was going to land in the water. He was going to die.
He saw Nizeera strike a tree and slump to the ground. Already she was twisting to come up and attack. The whole world moved slowly, like some terrible seizure had wrapped everything in mud. A Weir loomed over Nizeera, its fangs sinking into the ruff of her neck. He could feel her panic and her pain.
Annon planted one hand into the muck, steadying himself, willing his eyes not to droop. He saw Nizeera’s gold eyes blink once, connecting with him.
My master—
The Weir jerked its mighty neck, snapping Nizeera’s. He felt the connection with her vanish. The Weir tossed her aside.
Thas.
Blue flames irrupted from Annon’s hands. One of his hands was still underwater, causing a gush of steam and livid bubbles to rise up from the murky pond. Annon leaned forward, bringing both hands together, and sent a wreath of fire exploding out in front of him, consuming the two Weir instantly and ripping bark from the oaks. He rose in terrible fury, unable to remember the pain in his back or his lungs—unable to bear the pain in his heart at Nizeera’s death. Another Weir hurtled at him in the darkness, nothing but two glowing eyes, and Annon snuffed it out with a savage yell. His lungs and brain were clearing from the sensation of drowning and he involved the torc around his neck, summoning life into the blue stones.
He had always dreaded using it because of what it did to Nizeera. He couldn’t feel any black terror coming from her now. Nothing came from her now. Grief ravaged his heart. First Reeder. Then Neodesha. Now Nizeera. A blackness welled inside his soul, deep as a bottomless pit.
Annon could see the effect of the torc’s magic on the Weir. Several snarled and hissed at him, but they dared not come closer, their ears turning back in defiance as they snarled and raged at him. Annon walked forward purposefully, sending blast after blast of fire into their ranks, walking away from the deadly pond and toward the rest, causing a ripple from the ranks of the Weir as they struggled to get outside the range of his twin magics. He blasted them apart, reveling in their destruction. Some part of his mind was aware that the torc’s magic was burning his skin. He felt it like twin shards of pain, but he was beyond pain—he was beyond caring. He staggered forward and the Weir flinched back, some fleeing into the night, gone like smoke.
He sensed a creature of magic in the dark waters of the pond. He could sense it approaching, could feel its thoughts reaching out to his mind hungrily. It was aware of him. It was lurking beneath the waters, all tentacles and sludge and iron sinews. Its thoughts were enormous, like some giant toad the size of a boulder. He could feel it creeping toward the group.
Hettie grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. He could not hear her words. The look in her eyes was desperate. She was trying to say something, pleading with him. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Why was she crying?
Annon turned and saw the others. They were illuminated by the fire raging in his hands, most gathered around Tyrus, each one clutching his outstretched arm. In Tyrus’s fist was the Tay al-Ard. Paedrin stared at Annon in shock, his eyes wide with desperation. He was nearby but he had not grabbed Tyrus’s arm yet. There was Prince Aran and Khiara looking at Annon with concern as well. Kiranrao’s expression was one of deep respect, but he also gripped Tyrus’s arm. So did Baylen. Why were they gathered around Tyrus?
He saw Phae. She pushed away from Shion and her father and approached him, shaking her head no.
Then he understood.
Tyrus had uttered the command to gather, that he was going to use the Tay al-Ard to flee that place and the approaching danger. Annon had not heard it. The others had gathered but Annon had not, lost in his revenge and his inability to hear through the water in his ears.
Annon let the fireblood go, taming its magic instantly, and he grabbed Hettie around the waist and pulled her with him toward Tyrus. Phae reached for Annon’s hand and all three rushed to join the others. Annon saw a spark of hope in Tyrus’s eyes. Together, they gathered around Tyrus, each one clinging to another. With Hettie included, Paedrin joined his hand too.