It was what she had been charged with by the King of the Silver River. It was what she had been given to do, and even if she wasn’t certain how to go about it, she had to try something. She had been struggling with her sense of inadequacy from the moment the King of the Silver River had told her what she must do, but there was no time left to think about it. The battle was raging back and forth in front of her, the combatants fighting their way across the killing field, the dead lying all around them, the earth bloodstained and scarred. Panterra was being pushed back, slowly and steadily, by the demon’s attack. He was still protecting himself, but she could tell that it was only a matter of time until the attack broke down his defenses and left him helpless.
She felt a wave of despair sweep through her. Pan still wasn’t experienced enough for a battle of this sort. He wasn’t trained to fight it. The black staff was still too unfamiliar and the magic too strange. He was wielding it the way he would any new weapon— tentatively, defensively, uncertainly. Though he did his best, it was already clear that his best might not be good enough to save him. If she didn’t intervene in a way that would shift the momentum in his favor, he would die.
But still something held her back, preventing her from intervening.
Do something!
Then abruptly the scarlet dove left its roost and began to soar through the skies above the fighters, spiraling blood red against the grays and blacks that colored Prue’s world.
Prue’s gaze shifted instantly to track its flight. It had taken on a distinctly different look now, more fierce and warlike, more hawk than dove. She watched it bank and straighten, gain altitude and then descend. What was it doing? She could feel its fluid movements in the beating of her heart. She could feel them tugging at her, the bond between them stretching.
She came to her feet in response, left her place of hiding and strode out through the shadows into the early-morning light. “Stay where you are,” she whispered to Aislinne as she did so. “Don’t let him see you.”
She kept walking until she was clear of the pass and standing fully exposed in a patch of sunlight. She saw Pan glance her way—a moment only, because that was all he was allowed before being forced to return his attention to the demon. But it was enough. He knew she was there. He was frightened for her, she could tell, but he was uplifted, too. It reflected in his eyes before he was forced to turn away again.
She lifted her face to the morning sky and watched the scarlet dove sweep toward her, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and the last of any real color. She wanted to
reach out and touch it, to feel its soft body and silky feathers in her hands. She could almost feel them now, but it was only the morning breeze caressing her skin.
The demon had thrown Panterra down yet again, and this time the boy did not seem able to rise. Sprawled on the ground, he held the black staff protectively before him, struggling to sit up as the demon’s magic forced him back down. The demon approached in a leisurely fashion, taking his time, using a steady flow of magic to pin the boy in place. He was speaking to Pan, but Prue couldn’t hear what he was saying. Pan thrashed and fought against the bonds being layered atop him, but he could not break free.
Prue knew it was the end for him, and that almost certainly meant the end of her. She tightened her resolve. She would not allow it. She would not stand aside and watch it happen. If it were to end for them, it would not end without a fight.
“Ragpicker!” she screamed at the demon.
The demon turned at the sound of her voice, surprise reflected in its strange red eyes.
Then the scarlet dove dropped straight out of the sky and onto its face.
PANTERRA WAS FIGHTING for his life, staggered by the onslaught of demon magic, when Prue appeared suddenly out of the entrance of the pass. He had only a moment to decide that it was really her, and then he was forced to turn away again as the demon’s attack intensified.
When he went down for the final time and found himself pinned to the ground by his attacker’s magic, he was hoping for only one thing—for Prue to get away, to flee what was happening before the demon saw she was there. But then she called to it, using a name he did not recognize, drawing its immediate attention, and his hopes faded. He tried again to rise, to take advantage of the momentary distraction. But the demon’s focus was back on him almost instantly, the magic lashing him, holding him down, squeezing the air from his lungs and sapping the strength from his body.
It drew closer, talking to him all the while in an almost casual fashion, speaking as if to an old friend, as if nothing odd were happening. It reached out its hand as if intending to help him to his feet, even as its fingers were stretching toward his head.
Then for no discernible reason that Pan could determine, the demon went completely mad. It threw up its hands, clawed at its face, twisted its body this way and that, and screamed in a voice that was filled with pain and rage. It spun about like a scarecrow blown loose in a great windstorm; it thrashed as if a thousand bees were stinging it all at once. Its attack on Pan ceased altogether, and although weakened and battered by the demon magic the boy managed to scramble back to his feet.