“We’re stuck tighter than a hienna in a dragon’s maw,” Xonier says, his eyes taking in the creatures beating against the walls and breaking small pieces of shield off as he pushes cotton against Sir Robin’s shoulder. Robin clenches his teeth, but the sprites tended him as soon as he came in. He won’t die, so long as we can get out of here.

The wounded are quickly shifted to the farthest back while those of us able to fight shift toward the front. Two lines, the ones most capable in combat are in the front, with those who are more ranged melee fighters right behind us.

The wounded are scattered behind us, many groaning in pain. By some miracle, we’ve only lost two souls. I wince, remembering them left behind, unable to save them.

The most able bodied among us stand in front of the wounded. The mages shift from foot to foot, their eyes darting between the creatures pounding against the force-field and the knights who stand in front of all of us, with Hans at the very front.

His eyes rove the creatures with a hint of a predatory narrowing of his eyes. His hand rests on the hilt of his sword, his shoulders back and breathing even. He doesn’t flinch as a flame dissipates against the force-field before his face.

He’s in a different mode down here. He’s no longer my adoptive uncle but the leader of the Honour Knights. I understand why the Knights respect him. Why they stand beside him, their shoulders back and eyes straight ahead, their strength in their trust of their leader and in each other.

The mages don’t have that. I wince, realizing if the king keeps him in their back pocket, this likely is their first time seeing battle.

You can train all you like, but things hit differently when you know its either you or them. When its kill or be killed.

Great. If they don’t calm down and get their heads on straight, they’ll get themselves and us killed.

“Hold,” I say, staring at the mages at they turn to look at me, their hands twitching and some even igniting their Gifts on accident. The knights don’t move. “Help is coming.”

“And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Ash says, his eyes burning with a feverish light. He’s sat in the corner, arms crossed, eyes staring with a hatred gathering in his gaze. The problem is it isn’t just at the creatures outside the shield, but also at me.

“No. You only need to wait. Do you have any other choice?” I reply, meeting his eyes with a look I normally reserve for rapists.

He slightly quails beneath it, but his back is still ramrod straight.

That’s when the first crack forms in his anger. And I see fear. Starch fear. And my Gift keens with empathy. I rub my forehead. For once could I just not understand the people who get on my last nerves? It’d be nice to be able to actually be annoyed at idiots again without knowing why they’re idiots.

“Can you just send them packing again?” Ash asks, looking away, swallowing hard. His face is pale, hands clenched but water still leaking from them.

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Not a bad question.

But the other Empath shakes her head. “We can, but they will scatter. We must punch a hole through if tonight, and all its sacrifices, are not to be in vain.”

I nod, knowing the truth of her words. If help doesn’t get here… I meet her eyes. Hers say the same thing I’m thinking. We both will send them packing if push comes to shove, but then all we will have done is warned the enemy that we know.

This needs to be a decisive blow to Darshius’ army.

We need this.

“We… can’t hold—” Natasha says, her voice shaking. The fairies press against the shield, but it’s so close—

“Arin, the fairies—” I whisper.

The sound of hooves, of squeaks, of sounds which accumulate into something I cannot entirely define. It’s a roar which builds from the right tunnel, opposite the left where the creatures are attempting to beat down the fairy’s semi-transparent shield. Acid, fists, and even lightning hits the shield. A fairy drops to the ground, unconscious, and a mage scoops her up, stepping back.

He nods, lips pursed. “Pick a fairy. They have protected us. Now it is our turn. When the wall falls, we fight for our lives and the lives of every person above us who have no hope of defeating a horde of this number. Think of your mothers. Your sons. Your wives. Your ancestors. The old. The infants. The strong. The weak. We are their last defense.”

A ragged cheer rises from our band. We each step beside a fairy, waiting for when the wall will fall and we fight. Again.

We are worn. We are weary. But we are alive.

Arin’s speech wakes up a hunger in me. The hunger to protect the innocent. To be a shield for the weak.

I nudge his shoulder. “You’re gonna be a great king,” I whisper playfully.

His eyes turn to me, something like surprise lighting his gaze before he turns back into the prince and has a stone-cold face.

But I smile. Cause I saw the break in his emotionless facade. And that means the emotion was pretty daggum big for it to actually show in the middle of battle. And I love that I have that effect on him.

“Just a little longer—” I whisper.

The shield drops—

I hear a sound—

My heart soars.

A low and regal howl echoes from the depths of the earth and shatters the fear of my soul.

My sister is here.

Her howl is joined by the voices of other wolves, of creatures great and small, chirrups of squirrels, hawking of wild donkeys, shrieks of birds, and the wails of wild cats. Rock shatters above us and long appendages shoot through. For a moment, I think it is but the calling of the evil creatures in front of me, but when I duck, the flailing appendage goes right above me and spears a creature through the chest.

That’s when I realize they’re roots.

I drop my arms, gazing in awe as the roots jab and stab and encase and coil and enmesh and down-right pulverize. They are hairy, reminding me of a giant’s gristled arms with pale white skin.

“Tell them what we need,” Arin says, his own voice slack with awe but he’s keeping his head on straight. Unlike me. I left it back with the Bamshee. Who I would give nearly anything to fight at this point. These creatures are just… off. Creepy.

I give a jerky nod to Arin, feeling him at my back, blades poised. I close my eyes, gathering the ones around, and send a simple thought. Please guide us to the surface, I send to the root tendrils, to the animals, and to Ran.

We’ve got you, sis, Ran shoots back, her howl of joy echoing through the tunnels. My heart wells inside me. We are fighting together once more.

It feels a bit like old times.

Who knew I’d become such a ninney that fighting creatures out of nightmares with my best friend would be considered a fond thing to do for old times’ sake?

Get your head on straight, rider. We have things to kill.

I can’t help the huge grin which comes to my face. And if Ash pales to the color of his namesake, surely it wasn’t my nefarious grin which caused it.

Just don’t eat these guys, I shoot back.

No promises, she whispers.