The impact tossed Rimush into the air. He flipped head over feet and landed gracefully on his toes. The second boulder rolled by him, straight at us.
“Eibur uru atamet!” Conlan screamed.
Golden light shot out of his hands, forming two big translucent shields, each fifty feet across and twenty-five feet wide. They hung twenty feet in front of us, in midair, mirroring the angle of his hands.
Conlan lowered his palms, thrusting the slanted shields in the path of the boulder.
The stone missile smashed into his magic and bounced off, over our heads, into the hole.
He had done it!
“Good job!”
He grinned back at me.
The others gaped at my son. Too bad Curran had missed it.
A third boulder flew overhead and crashed into the far end of the bridge. Shit.
The translucent plank cracked.
Hold. Hold, damn you.
The end of the bridge fractured and shattered, the cracks running toward us.
“Run!” I screamed.
The archers scrambled to safety, the cracks on their heels as the bridge melted into nothing. Rimush and Owen grabbed them and shoved them out of the way, flinging them to the sides and the safety of solid ground.
The cracks accelerated.
Heather was the last one on the bridge. I caught a glimpse of her face, her eyes opened wide, her mouth ready to scream. The bridge fractured under her feet. She leaped, a desperate jump that would fall short, and then Rimush caught her, hanging off the edge, one hand holding Heather’s shoulder and the other gripped by Owen. The werebison grunted and heaved them both out of the pit.
Conlan exhaled, his shields dipping a little, following his hands.
“You did so well. Can you walk with the shields?”
He nodded. “I’m good.”
“You’re doing great. Everyone, stay behind me, four people per line.” I started toward the fortress. Rimush and Owen flanked me again.
The boulders crashed around us, some aimed to land on us and others dropped in the middle of the battlefield to roll into us. No other direction. We were the only target.
I could see the Pale Queen now without binoculars. She’d slumped against the parapet, watching me advance, hatred plain on her face. That pit had cost a lot of magic. She was trying to recover.
“In range!” Heather announced.
We halted. The archers aimed as one. The arrowheads glowed green. Explosion bolts. Nice. Penderton had dug deep into its budget.
“Turn the shields!” I ordered.
Conlan raised his hands and turned his palms toward each other. The shields in the air above us turned sideways.
“Fire!” Heather barked.
The arrows whistled through the air and bit into the hunters atop the tower. Magic splashed with bright green sparks.
A man screamed, and a body toppled and plummeted to the ground. A priest-mage. Good hit.
Darin smiled.
“Stay here and fire just like that.”
I resumed my trek forward. I was close enough, but I wanted to put a little distance between me and the archers.
The ranks of enemy shapeshifters ahead and to my left had thinned. Bodies littered the ground, most still alive and groaning, others still and silent.
Owen made a strange noise, half bellow, half roar.
“What?”
“They’re elderly,” he snarled. “And children! Look at them.”
What?
Oh. He was right. At least a third of the enemy shapeshifters had gray fur, and not the darker healthy gray of adult wolves or jackals. No, it was the silver gray that came with age. Their bodies were thin, without the heavy bulk of shapeshifters in their prime. Of those who weren’t gray, some were clearly too young. Their bodies were clumsy, their attacks unsure. She must have emptied her citadel and sent anyone with a heartbeat against us.
This had to end now. I was close to my limit, but I still had some magic left.
I sent my power into Sarrat, spoke the incantation, and let it rip. A slash of light tore from my blade and carved its way up the hill, plowing through the dirt. The bitch on top of the tower jerked her arms up, screaming. A wall of smoke blanketed the wall. My sword strike bit into it and sliced through, gouging the tower.
She threw herself against the rampart, her face shocked. I pointed my sword at her. She blocked that one, but she wouldn’t block the next one, and we both knew it. She was almost out of juice.
The Pale Queen screeched. It sounded like a command.
Nothing happened.
I shrugged my shoulders. I would have to make this next one count. She was close to her limit, but so was I.
A shutter slid open in the tower, and a dim figure, half hidden in shadow, appeared in the new opening.
The Pale Queen thrust her hand at me and yelled, her words as jagged as shards of glass.
The figure stepped into the light and dropped to the ground behind the line of shapeshifter defenders.
A roar rocked the battlefield, a wall of sound that burst through the air like a shockwave.
I knew that roar. Oh no.
Bodies flew out of the way. Something was coming, bulldozing its way through the lines of fortress defenders, knocking them aside like they were bowling pins.
The front line of enemy shapeshifters parted as they scrambled out of the way, tripping over themselves. A lion burst into the open. Enormous, gray, striped with black, a mane crowning his huge head.
I knew Curran’s maximum size. I knew exactly how far he could push his body. This lion outweighed him by at least two hundred pounds.
The lion’s golden eyes sighted me. The alpha stare burned me, heavy, commanding, difficult to hold. Not just any lion. A First.
Oh my God.
The lion charged.
Owen jumped in front of me, bellowing a challenge. I lunged around him, and saw the lion coming as if in slow motion, the massive paws striking the ground, the eyes glowing with deep, furious amber. He was unstoppable. It was as if the Ice Age itself, brutal and savage, was bearing down on me.
The burning eyes locked me in place. I knew I had to move, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…
Curran smashed into him from the side, knocking him off course. The impact staggered the hulking beast. He whirled around, shocked, and roared in outrage.
Curran roared back.
The two male lions, one a beast, the other in warrior form, glared at each other and collided. The enemy First reared up on his hind legs and slapped at Curran’s neck and head, his knife-long claws slicing through the air. I’d seen Curran kill a feral bull with a single slap. A hit like that would crush a shapeshifter’s skull like a walnut. Instant kill.
Curran leaned back, let one giant paw slide by him, stepped in, and drove a straight right hand into his opponent’s face. The enemy lion’s head snapped back.
I was halfway to them.
Curran turned to me. “No!”
I stopped. It nearly killed me, but I stopped.
The enemy First snarled and charged again, lifting up, swinging his left forepaw, trying to knock Curran to the ground. If he managed to pin him down with all that weight, it would be over.
Curran danced out of the way. The claws rent the air in front of him. The momentum of the strike pulled the lion to the right, exposing his flank. Curran turned his body and drove a short, vicious hook into the lion’s ribs. Bone crunched. Before the other lion could react, Curran thrust his hand into the same spot and dug a bloody chunk of flesh and bone out. Blood poured from the wound, the yellow shards of ribs stark against it.
The other lion whirled, lunging.
Four clumps of dark smoke appeared in a ring around the lions and coalesced into priest-mages.
Oh no, you don’t. If I don’t get to help, you don’t either.