If the creature's impossible recovery had shocked the duelist, however, it had also spurred his allies into action. Crying out with a single voice, Widdershins and the others who were linked by the spell converged on their enemy, with Sicard, Igraine, and Julien trailing behind, hoping to make themselves somehow useful. The Guardsman brandished his blade, the two priests their amulets sculpted into various holy symbols of the Hallowed Pact.
“Olgun? Let's do this.” The tickle across her skin, the blown kisses of distant candles, wasn't quite the same as she was accustomed to. It felt as though it had picked up an odd current, as though portions of Olgun's power were flowing through her on their way to somewhere else. Again she saw Ferrand's eyes go wide, and she actually shared briefly in his confusion, but for all that, the young monk kept up. His wrists twisted, spinning the bishop's rod of office like a quarterstaff before him.
Iruoch clearly heard them coming; with a creaking of old wood, he rotated his head completely around to see them. And he laughed.
Evrard lunged, but even his vaunted prowess was too slow. Iruoch lifted his knees straight up, yanking his feet off the earth so he abruptly dropped. He landed once again on his fingers, spread wide beneath him. The blade passed harmlessly over his head, and the creature thrust his legs back down, standing straight once more.
But his hands were no longer bare. Long strips of grass and clods of earth clung to his spindly fingers, seemingly stuck fast.
A flick of the wrist, and those globules of soil hurtled toward Evrard's face. The aristocrat craned his neck, flinching away from the missiles, and in that split second it was Iruoch's chance to lunge.
Had he succeeded in wrapping Evrard entirely within his grip, the man would already have been dead, ripped apart in ribbons of flesh and blood. But the duelist was almost quick enough to avoid the attack, despite his momentary blindness. He retreated swiftly, practically leaping, and Iruoch caught only the end of his left arm. Still he screamed, despite himself, and Widdershins winced in sympathy. She'd felt the touch of the murderous fae before, felt her skin rip beneath it. She knew that, lacking Olgun's aid in healing, Evrard would be feeling the pain of that clutch for a long time to come.
Iruoch bent backward at the waist, hurling Evrard over him by that captive arm. Ferrand ducked beneath the living projectile, but as Iruoch had thrown him directly at Widdershins-who had, herself, been rushing forward in a dead sprint-she wasn't quite so lucky. She twisted, so that what might have been a bone-shattering impact was instead only bruising, sending them both tumbling over each other across the grass.
But it wasn't the pain of the attack, or even the undignified sprawl in which she and Evrard found themselves, with his head flopping dazedly across her chest, that disturbed her. No, it was the sudden consternation she sensed from her partner in the bishop's spell. Shoving the aristocrat aside, she looked up just in time to see Brother Ferrand's headlong pace slow so abruptly that he stumbled over his own feet. Iruoch casually backhanded him aside, and it was neither magic nor the monk's skill, but blind luck, that allowed the staff to take the bulk of the blow. Ferrand staggered and fell, but he was merely winded, rather than crippled or dead.
Even before Widdershins could ask herself, or Olgun, why Ferrand had stumbled, why he'd slowed, she understood the answer.
The spell linked him to her, not to Olgun. He shared in her strength, not the god's. And that meant that only when Olgun was actively exercising his divine influence, however limited, on Widdershins's behalf…only then, and at no other instant, could Ferrand himself draw upon the power of the god.
How long could Olgun maintain a constant flow of power, without needing time to rest and recover? A few minutes, at best? Not long enough; not since the hallowed earth of the cemetery didn't seem to be any more than a mild inconvenience to their enemy, not if he had the wherewithal to actually use the terrain against them as he had done. Every advantage they possessed was suddenly taunting, slipping away, promising far more than it could deliver.
Renard had moved past her as she struggled to stand, engaging Iruoch with a display of swordsmanship the likes of which he'd never before exhibited. Blades flashed and Iruoch swayed, sidling from the weapon's path here, parrying with a finger against the flat of the blade there, but Renard continued to press. It wasn't enough to have one chance in a million of beating the creature-odds were it wasn't even enough to survive him for long-but it allowed the others to recover their bearings.
Muttering a brief summary of what she'd just figured out-not because anyone could hear her, but so that Ferrand would remember hearing it, thanks to their peculiar link-Widdershins once again darted forward under Olgun's power. Her own sword glinted in the sun as it darted and struck, but she took only a few small shreds of Iruoch's cloak for her trouble. Ferrand, for his own part, succeeded in landing a brutal knock against the creature's knee, but the resulting limp lasted for only for a fusillade of heartbeats before it vanished.
Time and again the four of them sought to converge on Iruoch, pinning him between them in the hopes of dishing out enough injury to slow him down, if not destroy him. And time and again, he evaded their every effort, either sidling out from between two of them faster than they could react, or even leaping overhead to land some yards distant. Never could they manage to attack him in more than pairs-or, if they were truly lucky, a trio-before he found a way to disengage. Thanks to their inhuman speed, Widdershins and Ferrand had both landed the occasional blow, and even Evrard had gotten in a good thrust while the creature was distracted, but none of the wounds had lingered. Iruoch appeared as healthy, and as fresh, as the moment he arrived, whereas the humans-even drawing on each other's strengths, to say nothing of Olgun's-were growing tired.
The grass around them was trampled flat, the dust kicked up in hovering puffs. Anyone who observed the ground afterward would have believed a pitched battle with dozens of soldiers must have taken place here. But for all they darted to and fro, parried back and forth, ran and twisted and slashed and lunged, it remained meaningless.
Iruoch and the chorus of ghostly children never ceased their cackling and giggling.
Evrard slashed, the creature sidestepped, and Widdershins abruptly dived. Rolling beneath the aristocrat's arcing sword, she came to her feet only inches from Iruoch, thrusting her own blade clear through his belly. For the first time in what seemed forever, the laughter ceased. A twitch of pain racked his face, but Widdershins had no time to savor her victory, however minor. While she easily ducked below the swipe of fingers that she knew was coming, neither she nor Olgun were fast enough to avoid the knee that followed. Her head ringing, blood coursing from a split lip and one nostril, Widdershins tumbled back to fetch up against the side of a tombstone. Iruoch moved as though to follow, but Evrard and Renard closed in, weaving a wall of steel, buying her a moment to catch her breath.
She glanced up, puzzled, as Ferrand reached out a hand to help her rise. “I'm not much good while you're out of it,” he reminded her, smiling through a purple-mottled jaw.
Blinking to clear the spot and splotches from her vision, Widdershins took in the scene before her. The two swordsmen were falling back, step by rapid step, scarcely able to slow Iruoch. Julien and Igraine had reloaded their pistols, searching in vain frustration for a clear shot and all too aware that it wouldn't help even if they found one. Sicard held his silver Eternal Eye amulet before his face in a trembling fist, breathing heartfelt and ever more desperate prayers across its surface.