The priestess yelled. Runes burned in the air, barely forming a spell before it came launching at Grobitzsnak, the power of the orb of Cnixe as obvious as a lightning strike. He growled, defending, backing up. Magic cracked together like a thunderbolt. It throbbed in her skin, pulsed against Kodanh’s ice.

Caracel turned and leapt, his own power blazing within him. With a single strike, he shattered through the ornate doors holding the gate within. Power boomed, wood cracking and splintering. White light flooded the hall.

The gate’s power washed over her. Ice flooded her veins. Her connection to Kodanh strengthened. She felt the ice lizard move, closer to her than he’d ever been—as if she were both here on Gaia and standing in his great ice cavern in Tir Na n’Og.

“Catrin!” Caracel turned, brandished his sword. “Help the others!”

A second shock wave rocked through the room—Yena, advancing, a keen snarl on her face, her runes blazing white with the orb’s power. Her eyes lit up with a feral gleam for the greater demon’s destruction.

Catrin understood. They wanted to kill him themselves.

That was perfectly fine with her.

She lashed out at his side, slammed twenty hard, thick spears of ice between them—Kodanh roared, solidifying them into one giant mass even as they both flinched away—and then, she was sprinting for the fight with the horde.

Ice crashed behind her. But, by then, Grobitzsnak had something else to worry about as Yena’s magic snapped around him like a noose.

In that moment, with the orb’s power fluctuating through the air like thunder, she took back every sarcastic remark she had ever said or thought about their little quest to get the orb. This was a fight she was happy to limp away from.

But, ahead of her, another fight was swiftly filling the halls with noise.

Her crew had done well. More than fifty corpses lay on the ground in varying shades of dead. Most bore the brunt of Matteo’s shots through their heads, pieces of them riddled and pockmarked with burns, but a few still moved on the ground, disabled by sword cuts but not quite dead.

Doneil and Matteo had backed up to a spot close to the wall, Nales in front and leading.

They were becoming quickly overwhelmed.

It was one thing to say ‘Grobitzsnak probably has around five hundred undead in his army,’ and quite another to actually see them. The entire corridor undulated with movement. Eerie, silent except for the tramp of boots, the jangle of armor, and the smack of moving bodies. The undead didn’t breathe, but they occasionally made grunts when the air was bumped through their lungs and throat.

Catrin stopped in the middle of the corridor. Behind her, the break and crash of magic made a sensation like fireworks in her wake—the shift of light that hit her skin, the pulse of power.

Ahead of her, Nales, Doneil, and Matteo gathered in a small group, rapidly retreating from the undead horde. As she watched, Nales spun out to meet two bodies that launched out from their run, his swordplay the blunt, hard-hitting style she recognized from Treng.

Shaking, gritting her teeth against the relentless scream of pain in her abused arm, she braced herself, drew her mind inward, and pulled hard on her connection with Kodanh.

The great ice lizard answered with an earth-shattering roar.

He had an ancient voice—cold and distant, powerful and unforgiving. The howl of an endless storm screaming through mountain passes and over the cold-hearted ice of the winter tundra.

The atmosphere screamed with his power.

An icy blast flooded the hall. The air froze. Tiny crystals floated like glittering sparkles, perilously cold. A ghost of the great lizard formed above her, a spiritual avatar near as large as Franas had been. He put his thick, massive legs on either side of her, protecting her body with his armor.

Ahead of her, Doneil noticed and gave a shout. His eyes grew wide when he took in Kodanh’s massive, ancient form standing over her.

She winced, feeling the ice lizard’s presence shift above her. This was going to hurt.

Clamping her teeth together, she focused her energy, and pulled harder on her runes.

They burned like hot oil. Cold flooded her system. Kodanh roared.

Shaking, she lifted the single blade she had left, directed his magic, and pushed.

He roared a second time, full of fury, drew his power up, and slammed it into the oncoming horde.

She staggered as pain lanced through her shoulder—Kodanh, already taking his cut. She bit back a scream, forcing her focus on the storm that crashed into the horde.

Gods, let there be some live ones in there. I don’t want to die.

Slowly, she slid her control through his. He shifted his aim. A wall built up, slowly but surely, making those closest to the group into a latticework of ice. It grew like a wave, cresting at the top. More ice smashed down, raining spears on others farther back. She directed it up, pushed it to grow, to thicken.

Then, she directed the entire thing to curl.

Dizziness slipped through her, with a lightness so strong, it made her stagger. Pain glanced through her like lightning.

But, after a few seconds, the wall of ice gave a tremendous crack and rolled forward, breaking bones, entrapping bodies, and crushing them all together. Fire spells beat against it, insignificant and weak. Another surge of cracking ice blew their sources out like name day candles.

She rolled the ice back and crunched it into a large, mangled wall, killing or seriously maiming those inside. Splotches of red burst in the ice like fire seeds, spreading into feathered, crystallized trunks.

Abruptly, the pain from Kodanh’s pull lessened.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Good. This wouldn’t kill her.

After a solid minute of freezing and crunching, the ice wall stopped. Above her, Kodanh shifted. Bowed his head.

She braced herself, knowing what was coming.

The specter clamped down on her arm where the summoning script lay, and her runes sliced with pain. She bit back a cry as the blood began to flow.

All summonings came with the cost, and a power grab that strong couldn’t be sated by energy and pain alone. Fortunately, the blood and death from the demons had fed most of his need, because the great lizard let off after less than twenty seconds. She was aware of Doneil and Matteo gaping, of Nales watching with a serious, shuttered expression. Doneil had his hand on Matteo’s gun, having obviously stopped him from shooting at Kodanh. She was vaguely aware of the fight behind her, of spells being unleashed, the corridor rocking with expended power.

It all seemed so distant with Kodanh over her.

After he’d fed, Kodanh lifted his head, her blood still wet on his lips. A rumble went through the corridor.

Then, he faded from view like the fog drawn by a winter’s wind.

She staggered, dropped to one knee. Doneil sprinted forward, catching her before she fell the rest of the way. Healing magic slammed into her, so bright and thick, it took her breath away for three long, seizing seconds. She gasped, sputtering into his hold as pain spiked through her arm, the magic knitting broken muscles and bones. Feeling sprang back all at once, making her gasp with shock.

He stopped her when she tried to check on the fey battle with Grobitzsnak.

“Don’t worry, rnari, the fey have him well in hand.” His tone curled around his teeth as he worked. “Be still. You’re not fixed yet.”

She complied, taking a moment to recuperate. Her breaths came shallow and fast. Nales stepped up behind Doneil, his sword held at rest but ready, half-angled toward the wall of ice. She felt Matteo flank her other side, a silent, protective presence.

Behind them, her ice wall glittered like a stark, macabre seascape frozen in time. The crystal light at either side made patches of radiance from within, illuminating frozen bodies and blood, cracks and bubbles, swords frozen in the ice.

She could feel the horde on the other side, beating against it like a muffled, chaotic swarm of bees.

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She half rose, intending to strengthen it, but Doneil’s steel-handed grip on her shoulder forced her back down.

“He took his price, didn’t he?” He reminded her, touching his fingers to the blood on her arm. “The wall will hold.”

She relaxed back down. Or tried to, at least.

Then, behind her, something cracked.

The magic battle had raged so long, it had become background noise—like a low, throbbing, never-ending headache.

Now, it stopped. And it felt like everything stopped with it.

She turned just in time to watch Caracel lop off Grobitzsnak’s head.

The demon’s body hung in the air, mid-defense, the spell he’d been weaving still glowing in his hands.

Then, he fell to the ground, and the fight was over.

On the other side of the wall, the blows from the undead stopped.

She let out a slow breath. “Remind me not to piss of the fey.”

It was the first time she’d spoken since she’d been fighting Grobitzsnak, and she’d been through a lot in the last five minutes. The words felt coarse and tacky. She tasted blood in her throat.

“Yes. I can see why the Raidt keeps them as friends,” Doneil said dryly. “That orb gives quite a boost. If she’d had its strength before, I doubt Grobitzsnak would have been able to take her in the first place.”

“I wonder what he was keeping it in his castle for,” she said. “Seems more reasonable to carry it around. He can’t have been corrupting ley lines with it all the time.”

Her gaze flickered briefly up to Nales—gods, even that hurt a bit. The prince was quiet. Not tense, but wary, his attention on the fey.

She read his body language, clenched her teeth, and followed his gaze.

The two fey, bloody and triumphant, stood over Grobitzsnak’s corpse, deep in conversation. Power still shook the air, latent but destructive, and the light of the gate flickered behind them. Yena’s runes burned red on her skin like a northern sun.

After a few moments, they straightened and headed their way.

She patted Doneil’s shoulder. “Help me up.”

Shivery weakness lanced through her as he pulled her up. She locked her knees when a sensation of dizziness rolled through her. The taste of blood came back to her throat. She ignored it and flexed a hand to test the healing of her previously broken arm, her fingers itching for the hilt of a blade. Pain stabbed a warning through her nerves, but faded quickly into a familiar blunt buzz.

By the way it felt, Doneil hadn’t fully healed the break. Just a quick patch job to get her back on her feet.

The fey stopped several paces away. Yena’s runes still burned, the orb of Cnixe clutched in her hand. The air flexed around them like a sheet of hot metal.

Catrin winced at the flickering light of the gate and made a gesture to the orb. “That has served you well.”

“Yes. It has.” A pinched look came over Yena’s face. Then, with a casual movement, she pocketed the orb.

A ringing sound Catrin hadn’t noticed before stopped, and the silence sent a shock through her.

Actually, it was very quiet. Even on the other side of the wall.

“Grobitzsnak’s thralls died with him,” Yena said, either reading her mind or taking an educated guess on her body language. At this point, Catrin didn’t care. “Come. I have something to show you.”

She turned and led the way to the gate.

It felt surreal to pick through the corpses of the fallen, to smell the scent of blood and death and magic around them as the gate threw everything into a sickening, dizzying relief. The gate itself was a maddening pulse. Its light flickered like a storm. The entire scene shivered and danced. The two doors guarding it stood wide open, splintered from where Caracel had flung them into the walls. Old rentac script marked the stone archway, similar to what she’d seen back in the tunnels. Inside, a small cavern bared to the mountain’s naked rock. Shards of crystal light sat in groups and clusters, shining in the black rock like stars. One long vein glowed like a slash of white on the other side.

Embedded below it, encased in a circular, ancient arch of stonework, sat the gate.

It was mesmerizing to look at, flickering and dancing, its surface like bright quicksilver—viscous, bending and weaving, uncertain, catching every last drip of light in the room and glowing with it. It reminded her of the pools she’d seen before, under the floating crystals. With all of the blood and gore coating her skin and armor, it was hard to tell if it had the same scent.

Sometimes, within that light, she got flickers of different worlds.

Yena waved her hand. Magic shifted. A deep rumble shook the room, and the surface of the gate began to ripple in earnest.

A second later, the surface cleared.

A forest glade appeared on the other side of the gate, and a deep part of her relaxed. Her woodcraft flickered, grounding. The scent of soil and sap rose in the air. Birdsong trickled in, along with sunlight, making the forest pathway shiver and dance with the breeze.

She breathed in the scent, felt the touch of her woodcraft respond to it. The doorway pulled at her mind. Something about the lights, the hint of magic that lingered just beyond.

Beside her, Doneil had gone very still.

Yena caught the look on their faces. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

Catrin swallowed hard.

“Your ancestors are from here. Tir Na n’Og calls to all her children.” Yena hesitated. A few whispered words passed between her and Caracel. “Thank you for helping us.”

“We helped each other,” Catrin said.

“Yes, I suppose we did.” Yena paused for a long moment, her young face tense with thought. Then, she reached into a pouch at her hip and pulled out a small piece of paper which she pressed to Catrin’s fingers. A fine, inlaid script flashed red in the light—a name and address. “This is my calling card. Please copy this for the others. If you find yourself in Mel’th, you can find me at the Temple of Ekinye. Ask for me.”

Nales stepped up. “Likewise, I can be reached in Pristav Castle in Lorka.”

Caracel strode forward. He clasped Doneil’s forearms in farewell, then Matteo’s. He hesitated when he came to her.

Her gaze flicked up and down, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “What? Does all this blood put you off?”

Suns, he looked good. Somehow, he’d only managed to get a few touches of blood on him, and all the wounds he had were healing. The rest of it, seeped into his clothes like a large splash of red dye—from taking Franas’ head, most likely—just accentuated his form of godly, wiry-muscled perfection, clothed in the mercari of myths.

Then again, so was she. The mercari on her armor may have done very little against the magic she’d faced, but it did make her look the spitting image of one of the rnari’s founding members—beaten, bathed in the blood of her enemies, her fingers curled into claws and stiff from blade killing.

He eyed her a moment. Then, at long last, he made a move.

Strong arms clasped over her bracers.

“You fight well, rnari.”

The name slipped off his tongue with a lilt. She met his eyes. Liquid obsidian stared back at her. Something in her stirred. The strength of his fingers pressed on the inside of her forearms, the prick of his claws careful against her skin.

“I know,” she said.

He chuckled. His grip tightened once, then let go. “Bright morrow and good hunting, blade.”

“Bright morrow,” she replied.

Beside them, Yena slipped up to Matteo’s front. She leaned in and whispered something, a trace of magic touching the air.

He stiffened, held still.

“A blessing,” Caracel explained to her in a murmur.

Then, they turned and walked into the other world. The gate surface rippled as they passed through.

On the other side, they turned. Yena lifted her hand. Made a gesture.

The surface of the gate melted from existence, the liquid vanishing before it hit the floor.

The rumble of power stopped, and all potential connection in her runes ceased. The light in the room faded. Soon, they were left standing in an empty cavern, lit only by the eerie glow of the crystals.

She took a step back and let it out, closing her eyes.

It was over.

“So, all of the undead are dead, right?” Doneil glanced around. “I heard that correctly?”

She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. “That’s what she said, yes. I think the living ones are still around. I didn’t hear them hitting the wall so hard, though.”

“Maybe they took a good look at it and decided to call it a day.”

A faint smile traced her lips. “Hey, if you don’t like my wall of death, feel free to make one yourself.”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll keep my blood away from ancient summoning spells.” His expression softened, growing serious. “How much did he take? Let me see.”

She shrugged him off. “I can still walk. But I won’t be doing that again for a while. Or any magic, for that matter.”

She felt beaten and bruised. When they got back, she’d see about finding a hot spring in the forest behind Pemberlin. There had to be something.

“Yes. Just stick to knives for now.” Doneil patted her shoulder, then paused. “Where is your other knife, anyway?”

“Somewhere by the wall outside. Probably next to where I left some of my blood.” She knew precisely where it was. Had known it like an itch since it had left her side. She felt naked without it. She took another breath, and fixed Nales with a steady, sarcastic look. “So, can we go now, or would you like to pick up more books from the library?”

Gods, he looked tired. Tired and beaten up. She had to remember that she wasn’t the only one the demon had tossed around. Though Doneil had obviously healed cuts and bruises and broken bones, Nales looked beat. More dirt and blood covered him, some from an obvious split lip. She wondered who had gotten close enough to do that to him. Grobitzsnak, probably.

Gods, she sucked as a bodyguard.

But then, he hadn’t wanted her as one. She’d done the job, and had done it well.

He met her eyes, then slid his gaze away. He rolled his shoulders and let a tired breath go through him.

“No,” he said. “Let’s go home.”