Can you take me to Mirrowen? Can you bring me to the Seneschal? Phae asked.
There is no Mirrowen. The gate closed long ago. The Fear Liath will kill you. It was made to kill you. Give me your promise and I will shield you from it. Quickly, Sister!
Phae brought up one leg, trying to steady herself, and reached for the next branch higher up. She saw Shion charge at the Fear Liath again, jumping at its head while pummeling its muzzle with his clenched fist. His look was wild with desperation. The Fear Liath snapped at him, snarling, wrenching him away with claws and throwing him away again. Phae balanced on her feet and coiled to jump for the next branch.
The Fear Liath shifted its weight and snuffled toward her, the clicking sound right near her feet. Phae heard a cracking sound. She tried to jump but suddenly was falling as the branch broke off and crashed to the ground with jarring force. She landed on her stomach, dazed, a sharp pain in the side of her head. Her ears were ringing with the impact and she felt dizzy.
The Fear Liath snarled, sniffing toward her amidst the debris of the shattered branch. It would be on her in moments. Phae reached into her pocket and squeezed the stone hard.
Annon sent another blast of the fireblood into the attacking Cockatrice, shielding Khiara as she tried to heal Tyrus. He could see Paedrin lying on the forest floor, his entire front soaked in blood. Hettie was trying to stanch the bleeding, her expression desperate. Paedrin was dying. Annon could not see the Cruithne’s chest rising at all. He was probably already dead. He intensified the fireblood against the Cockatrice, spreading it wider and burning to ash all that swept down on them.
This was nothing like the test in Drosta’s Lair. This was nothing like what they had faced previously. The Arch-Rike’s defenses inside the Scourgelands were beyond anything he could have imagined, even with Tyrus’s multiple warnings. The Fear Liath would hunt them down, one by one. Its only weakness was sunlight, but there was no sunlight in this place, only the frigid mist. His own wounds bled and itched, but he knew the others were a priority, that Khiara was the only one who could heal them.
Kiranrao appeared suddenly, emerging from the smokelike magic imbued in his cloak. “Is Tyrus dead?”
Khiara did not look at him, her head bowed in concentration.
“Leave him alone,” Annon warned, his fingers burning blue with the fireblood.
Kiranrao snorted. “I don’t need to kill him, Druidecht. This place will do that by itself. We should flee while we still can. Khiara, you are important. I will make you very rich if you come with Hettie and me. You can come too, Druidecht. I have no bones with you. The Fear Liath will keep hunting, I assure you. Best to flee now while it’s distracted with the others. Come, Khiara. You’re wasting your energy trying to save them. They’re dead men.”
Tyrus began to choke and cough, his head lifting. “I’m well enough. Save another.”
Khiara nodded and rushed over to Paedrin, where Hettie was crouching, using her fireblood to join with Annon in keeping the Cockatrice away. The birdlike creatures scattered back to the treetops, cooing and rustling and escaping the devastating flames.
Hettie, panting, lowered her hands, though her fingers were smoking.
Kiranrao’s eyes burned into Tyrus’s. “You brought us here to die.”
Tyrus sat up, his face still showing a chalky complexion. “I never lied about that, Kiranrao. You came willingly.”
The Romani snorted. “I could kill you so easily. Your Prince fled into the mist to save your daughter, but what can he do? You’ve failed again, Tyrus.”
Annon watched Tyrus wince as he rose to his feet.
“Give me the Tay al-Ard,” Kiranrao demanded.
“You can’t kill me with the blade,” Tyrus said hotly. “I already warned you.”
“I can kill you just as easily with my bare hands.”
Annon straightened, facing the Romani, glowering at him.
Kiranrao smirked. “Boy, don’t even think of unleashing the fire on me.”
Annon knew that he was facing his own death. Deep down, he did not even care. Khiara was trying to heal Paedrin. It was as if they had walked into the deepest part of the Arch-Rike’s trap deliberately. If only Erasmus had survived Basilides. He was the smartest man Annon knew. He would have probably solved the problem already.
Because the solution is so obvious, sheep-brains.
Annon blinked, his stomach lurching. Erasmus’s voice was clear in his mind. The Fear Liath was invulnerable to blades. It was faster and stronger than a human . . . than all of them combined. But its weakness was sunlight. When he had encountered one in the Alkire, it had made its lair behind a waterfall so that there would be a perpetual mist. There was no waterfall here. So what was causing the mist?
Annon.