At its simplest, it was two women, standing on opposite hills in the open land behind the camp. Two dark-haired women with long raven tresses whipping around their heads as they faced off, although that kind of missed the point. The point being what was happening all around them.
I watched as what looked like a hurricane filled the skies, and as tornadoes snaked down, a dozen at a time, snatching men off their feet and sending them flying. As others ignited, turning the burning cinders of campfires into roaring maelstroms of heat and light, which tore through the army on the hillsides and cleaved red veins across the countryside. And as still more filled with water, one of which encapsulated three fey who had almost snuck up behind the princess, dragging them off the hill and threatening to drown them midair.
But they weren’t dragging off Nimue.
A mighty rush of wind boiled around her, an impossible-to-defy act of nature that was nonetheless being defied.
By a shield.
There was a normal one on her arm, a small circle of bronze, barely visible at this distance. But out of it spiraled something huge, and almost the same color as the rain, making it hard to see against the night. Just a shimmering, gleaming disk, like the ones I’d seen Pritkin throw out at times, but far bigger and thicker. A magical shield large enough to cast a glowing nimbus over her and a few hundred of her people, gathered on the hilltop around her.
But it wasn’t doing a damn thing for the rest of us.
The only things shielding us from howling winds and sleeting rain were the surrounding hills, which was kind of a two-edged sword, since they were also trying to drown us. Water was gushing down them in full-on rivers, crashing through the rifts and gullies between the highlands, and pouring into what remained of the camp. To the point that people were actually swimming in the deeper areas now, while the few elevated ones were sticking up like islands in the sea.
It finally dawned on me why the fey would build a camp in a valley instead of on a hilltop like everyone else.
Because everyone else couldn’t drown you if you pissed them off.
Not that drowning was really needed.
“What the fu—?” Rosier screeched, and then gurgled as I ducked us underwater. And watched through the waves as a brightly colored spell streaked through the air where we’d just been standing.
And then more and more, lighting up the night as I surfaced, to see multicolored spells flying everywhere, turning the water in the air behind them into long lines of steam. And causing me to duck down to my neck again and look for cover. But everywhere around us, a battle was raging.
It looked like the covens had arrived.
“What are they doing?” Rosier shrieked.
“Trying to get the women out!” I yelled as a nearby patch of water was vaporized by a spell hitting down.
“They’re going to get them killed! And us along with them!”
He had a point.
I sloshed through the freezing water toward the only part of the house still standing—the tumbled group of rocks that had formed the chimney. It wasn’t much, but at least we were protected on one side. And the rain wasn’t slapping me directly in the face anymore.
Not that it seemed to help.
“We need to find Emrys,” Rosier yelled, straight into my ear. “We need to find him now!”
“No shit!” But I still didn’t see him.
But not from lack of light. Fires were burning everywhere, including underwater in spots, because magical flames aren’t easily doused. But they do follow most other physical laws, like sending bright shadows flashing off bits of palisade and floating islands of tents, and reflecting off the waves, making the whole camp look like it was moving.
Which wasn’t helped by the fact that it was.
Because there were still people in here—a lot of them. Some were huddled together like us, under whatever shelter they could find. Others were in groups, circled by slavers and their private armies, unable to run. Still others were crouched behind the remaining bits of wall, waiting for their chance to make a break for it. Or running around, shouting names in spite of it all, trying to find family members in the chaos.
I didn’t give much for their chances. Not with flocks of bleating animals swimming through the surf, clusters of Nimue’s guards battling witches, and knots of half-human camp followers sitting among floating piles of cookware, looking unsure whether to stay or run. But most had made the latter choice, which meant that there was movement, movement everywhere, and no way to tell in the dark which running form was Pritkin’s.
“We need to stay here,” I told Rosier.
“What?”
“Here! He said he’d come back for us!”
“And if he doesn’t?” Rosier demanded. “If he’s hurt?”
I shook my head. “He isn’t!”
“How do you know?”
“My power would tell me!” It was the one bit of comfort I had. If something I’d done was causing a problem for the timeline, I should get a warning. More than that, I should be jerked to the source of the trouble in order to fix it, much as I had once been with Myra, Agnes’ heir. Who had gone rogue before it was cool.
But my power was quiet, the golden cord that connected us at rest. Instead of thrumming like a harp string the way it should have been if I’d set Pritkin up for harm. And if I hadn’t, he should be okay, because he’d survived all this before.
Right?
“Then where is he?” Rosier demanded.
“I don’t know—”
“That’s not good enough!”
“What do you want me to do, Rosier?” I asked, turning to look at him.
“Get down!” he screeched, full in my face, making me jump.
And to wonder how he expected that to help with three tornadoes suddenly twisting together in the skies above us.
The only saving grace was that they were high, very high. Giving us a perfect view as three savage coils of destruction braided together, becoming a single strand of hell. A boiling mass of fury that ripped through the air a moment later, stabbing down like a great spear, straight at Nimue—
And was absorbed.
I blinked water out of my eyes, thinking maybe I was seeing things. But that was undoubtedly what was happening. The almost colorless shield over her turned black and brooding, taking on the hue and pattern of the violently swirling maelstrom feeding into it. The one it finished swallowing a moment later, the surface of the shield bloating to maybe twice its already considerable size.
And then throwing it all back.
The princess took a flying leap to another hill as the storm’s rage sheared off the crest where she’d been standing, sending a mighty blast of mud and dirt skyward. She also threw a whirlwind behind her, to counter the larger storm, I guessed, and try to slow it down. And it worked—sort of. A dozen small funnels peeled off the larger one, spiraling crazily out over the surrounding hills, ripping apart tents, chasing down groups of guards, and causing a hundred little shields to bloom against the night.
But it wasn’t enough.