Rowena gave it another shot of power, and the fire roared, clinging to the lizard and spreading along the lithe form. It screamed and fell, writhing and shrieking. She turned her attention toward the other cries but saw nothing in the falling darkness. When she heard the roar of the yeti, she knew why.

  The lizard things were everywhere.

  Camille guided them into the open, and Rowena winced. It would be full dark in moments, but right now, there was too much open sky, too much air. She couldn’t keep the cloak tight and her arms free, so she pulled the hood down far and tried to focus anywhere but the openness.

  Just above them on the slope, a spider stumbled over the lip of the trail, a lizard thing clinging to its back and tearing out hunks of flesh. Other animal shrieks echoed through the dimness, punctuated by the howls of the yeti.

  “What in the seven bells?” Camille said.

  Through it all, a human scream drifted on the wind.

  Rowena’s heart plummeted. “The village.”

  They ran, Rowena’s courage growing as the light continued to fade. Lanterns burned in the village, guiding the way. Rowena could imagine they were all in some massive cavern, the comforting stone rising just outside the circles of light.

  The screams grew in number. As Rowena reached the village, a pair of shadows tumbled in the street. Rowena took a jar of needles from her bag and dumped some into her hand. She whistled sharply, and a small shadow broke from the larger, flapping its wings to stay aloft.

  Rowena added a dragonfly wing to the needle pile, blew across the lot, then as the dragonfly wing took flight, she wrapped them all in her life force, connecting them. The needles lifted into the air, she added another jolt of force, and they flew as a blur to punch into the lizard’s body. It screamed and floundered. Gaping holes dotted its wings, and it fluttered to the ground. Rowena charged and kicked it in the head until it ceased moving.

  More people were stumbling into the street amid sounds of breaking glass. The lizard things seemed to be everywhere, but the villagers were fighting back with whatever they had to hand. Camille ran to someone lying in the street and pulled them out of the chaotic mix of running feet and shrieking lizards.

  Rowena continued into the fray, flinging needles or fire. There wasn’t time for any larger spells that required symbols or circles, and at one point, she had to pick up a broken broom handle and beat one of the creatures away from a group of people trying to take shelter down a cellar door. Camille was shouting, directing villagers to carry out the wounded, and Rowena felt a swell of pride at how coolly she kept her head.

  Rowena’s foot caught on something, and she pitched forward. She flung her arms out to catch herself and rolled away from an impact that left her head pounding. She almost expected to see the face of that village boy staring down at her with his rake in hand, her hair dangling from the end.

  A lizard thing rushed for her face. Rowena put her arms up and tried to kick away, but the teeth sank into the flesh above her elbow. She yelped and then screamed as the creature pulled; she could have sworn someone dipped her arm in acid. She slapped at its head until it let go, and she fought the urge to pant for breath.

  Get up and run, her body cried, but she couldn’t find purchase on the churned ground, and the thing wouldn’t stop coming, snapping and scratching at her legs, nearly tearing through her thick hose.

  “Help the witch,” someone cried, and a few shouts answered him. Shadows rallied around her, one grabbing her under the arms and pulling her away while the others surrounded the lizard thing and mobbed it under staves and tools and boots.

  “You all right?” a villager asked, the face a mere shadow. “Did it get you?” Before she could answer, the speaker touched her arm. She yelped as waves of pain and nausea tore through her body. The villager wrapped a piece of cloth around her elbow and pulled it tight, making the wound sing anew and robbing her of breath.

  “Go, go,” the villager said. “There aren’t many left, and you’ve done enough. Go. See the healer.”

  Rowena stumbled away, grateful beyond words that no one clubbed her over the head, that someone saw her value, but she also feared that someone might see a wounded witch as an opportunity. As the villagers passed, though, they touched her shoulders or muttered thanks, and one took her unwounded elbow and sought to help her along, but she shook him off and headed for light and voices.

  Inside the largest structure, light spilled into the street, and people hustled back and forth, carrying or helping the wounded inside, then going out to look for more. Rowena had a stray thought about this healer. Many people in the village knew home remedies, but the place wasn’t large enough to attract a doctor or anyone whose primary job was to heal.

  When she saw Camille directing the wounded and bending over bloody bodies, she almost laughed. Camille did sound as if she knew what she was talking about while offering solutions and courses of action. Rowena began to think she must have read every book in creation.

  “Rowena,” Camille said as their eyes met. She rushed over, reaching for the bloodied bundle of cloth.

  “Healer?” Rowena hoped for a calm, sarcastic tone, but her voice shook, and she had a brief memory of snapping teeth.

  Camille barked a humorless laugh and led her to an empty chair. From the size of the place, she guessed it was some kind of way station, maybe a tavern, but the furniture was too disheveled to make anything out. Camille unwrapped the cloth and hissed at the sight of blood soaking the sleeve of Rowena’s dress. After a grim look, she grabbed the fabric and ripped the sleeve apart.

  “Hey,” Rowena said. “I could have pushed that up.”

  Camille didn’t respond and kneeled to inspect the wound. “Several puncture marks,” she said vaguely. “We need to clean it.” She reached for something, Rowena turned her arm, trying to see the marks, but she only caught the glint of a bottle as Camille dumped some kind of clear alcohol over the wound.

  Rowena sucked in so hard her throat ached. She wanted to scream, but she bit down on her other fist instead.

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Camille said. “But it’s the best they have.” Her eyes flicked to Rowena’s. “Here comes one more.”

  “No, find some water or—” Another slug of liquid fire sloshed over her arm. She kept her teeth closed but let out a garbled cry of pain. She grabbed the bottle out of Camille’s grasp and downed some of it, not even tasting, just seeking a balm.

  “That’s for wounds.” Camille grabbed it back and rewrapped Rowena’s arm. “Did that creature bite you anywhere else?”

  “Some scratches on my legs.” She bent to look, but those weren’t as bad as she thought. The creature had mostly shredded the end of her skirt and hose. “They’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll take you at your word but only because I think you might kill me if I douse you with liquor again.”

  Rowena brayed a laugh. Camille rose, bottle in hand. When she tilted it back and took a drink, Rowena cried, “That’s for wounds,” but Camille was already moving away through the crowd.

  Rowena knew she should help. She knew a few magical remedies, but magical healing was only temporary. And her arm throbbed. Still, as the number of wounded grew, and Camille seemed overwhelmed, Rowena moved among them, digging in her bag for needle and thread. She had a good deal of anatomical knowledge, but as she began stitching wounds, she hoped no one recalled that all her knowledge came from a homunculus or the dead.

  * * *

  Camille studied the body of the flying lizard and wondered when she’d become an expert on everything. Probably because she was the most well-read person in this village, but that didn’t automatically make her an animal doctor or a people doctor or an anything doctor. Still, the villagers had heeded her small amount of medical knowledge, but when Rowena proved better at doctoring than her, they’d shepherded her to this barn where they’d laid one of the creatures. They were waiting outside for answers.

  Well, she couldn’t disappoint them, even if she didn’t know what in the blazes she was doing.

  She bent over the body and slid the lantern closer along the scarred worktable. The creature was as long as her leg and had the scaled and pebbled skin of a reptile, but its color was burnished gold. It had wings and talons like the fabled dragons, but the front claws had an opposable thumb and looked too much like human hands. A long neck led to a face dominated by a snout filled with sharp, curved teeth, but there was something about the eyes and the forehead that strayed from reptilian and looked almost human again. When she examined the stomach and chest, she found a patch of smooth golden skin that looked anything but reptilian.

  “Urgh. What are you?” Part human, part reptile? Even Miss Fogerty never conceived of something so macabre.

  The creature was fascinating from an intellectual standpoint but didn’t give any clues about where it had come from or if its fellows had any aim beyond attacking everything they saw. Even the oldest villagers had never seen the like.

  A scuffing sound came from the barn doors, heralding Rowena. She must have finally noticed Camille was no longer in the tavern and sought her out. A pleasing thought, even in such dark times.

  Or wishful thinking.

  “I hardly know what I’m looking at,” Camille said. “Reptile characteristics, human-looking bits, and wings that could have belonged to a dragon. They certainly aren’t bat or bird wings.” When Rowena moved up beside her, gaze locked on the creature, Camille asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Like something bit me on the arm,” Rowena said, her voice scratchy. “Thank you for seeing to me.”

  Camille turned to hide her smile. The sarcasm she expected, but the gratitude was still new. “Welcome.” She gestured to the creature. “Any ideas?”

  “There are spells to encourage growth in animals,” she said. “That’s how I created the spiders, but to change an animal so completely?” She shrugged. “If they exist, I don’t know them.”

  “There were mythical creatures who were supposedly well-versed in magic.”

  “Fairies,” Rowena said, “according to literature. Pixies, goblins.”

  “And dragons.”

  Rowena sighed. “A dragon survived the purge of its fellow magical creatures and is now making little copies of itself with human components? If Miss Fogerty was alive, she’d be doing a jig.”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “Which leaves us where?” Rowena asked.

  “Asking ourselves if this can be connected to the Kells or the witchstone or Sir Robert.”

  “Hmm.”

  They didn’t have any evidence that the situations were connected, but Camille didn’t know for certain that they weren’t. Feeling the wideness of the world, of possibilities, she understood a bit of Rowena’s fear and took her hand.

  Rowena didn’t pull away, didn’t even glance at her, just turned her hand so their fingers laced. “We don’t know how many of those creatures got into the mountain. I don’t know if we can drive them all out by ourselves. I don’t want to ask the villagers for help. Enough of them have suffered already.” She looked at Camille, her expression pained. “If these creatures are connected to everything else, then they were looking for me, possibly us, and I don’t want to put these people in any more danger. I have to”—she swallowed visibly—“go find the problem.”

  Camille felt a rush of affection. She kissed Rowena’s cheek, bringing out a pink blush, but Rowena still didn’t pull away. “Wherever we’re going, I’m with you.”

  Rowena’s smile turned sly. “I didn’t ask you to come,” she said, tone teasing.

  Camille resisted the urge to pinch her and shrugged. “Oh, all right. I’ll just stay here.” She started to pull away, but Rowena tugged her back in and kissed her soundly.

  * * *

  Sydney had found a stream the night before, but even when relatively clean, she couldn’t think about doing more with Ember than holding her tightly. She had a guilty thought about doing what she’d pledged she wouldn’t, bringing romance on a mission. It was a boundary she wouldn’t cross with Camille, another point of guilt. As she fell quickly to sleep with Ember’s warmth in her arms, she hoped Camille was safe and warm and happy and not fixated on Sydney.

  The last part was just her own selfishness talking.

  In the morning, they began their walk toward the mountain again. The landscape had become more forest since the village, but through gaps in the trees, Sydney was happy to see that Ember’s home seemed much closer. In another day or so, they’d arrive. Then Ember could make sure the Hawk was all right, and Sydney would convince her to use her magic to find Camille and the other knights.

  Fantastic. She was so looking forward to it.

  Ember had talked more about the Hawk that morning, certain she could and would help. Sydney had turned away to roll her eyes. Using magic even when she knew it was the root of all their current troubles? She was as bad as Sir Robert.

  When the ground dipped into a shallow valley, Sydney spotted dark shapes among a patch of trees where the ground sloped up into a larger hill. Her heart began to pound again. It could be anything, but something about the way they were haphazardly strewn caused her stomach to churn. When she caught more than a few hints of red, she broke into a run anyway, her body protesting after days of walking and fighting and sleeping on the ground. Ember stayed at her side, firing off questions, but they seemed almost directed at the air around them, and she spoke in a worried, rushed tone.

  Sydney caught the metallic tang of blood as she pounded up the slope. Ahead, she saw churned earth, crushed bushes, and some low-hanging limbs torn from tree trunks, but the harsh pine scent wasn’t enough to cover the smell of a battlefield.

  When she saw a knight-issued boot sticking forth from a pile of leaves, she couldn’t hold in a moan of pain. She willed herself to run faster, and when she fell in the mud, she used the pain and anger to push off with hands and feet and throw herself at the boot owner’s side.

  “Sergeant Masterson,” she said, rolling the limp body. Masterson’s gray eyes stared upward without a spark of life. Her chainmail had been sheared through, and the jade pendant she was so proud of sat in a puddle of blood.

  Sydney choked back her grief and pushed up, taking in the rest. She stumbled from body to body, ten in all, scattered among Kells and lizard creatures. Each name bombarded her until she thought she might scream.

  Instead, she stood and ripped a nearly severed branch from a tree and beat the ground with it, screaming her rage. She should have been here. She could have helped them.

  “Sydney.”

  She turned to face Ember, who kneeled on the ground, pointing to something. “There are others.”

  It took a moment for the words to make sense. Ember pointed up the slope. “More knights?” Of course there were. The order had set out with a thousand, and these were only ten.

  “The footprints go up, but there’s something—”

  Sydney ran up the slope, following a path of broken foliage. She’d been blind not to notice it before. Gratitude and hope grew within her. It wasn’t too late to save some of her comrades.

  * * *

  Ember had never thought that so few days could have so much crammed into them. Feelings everywhere, one fight after another, more feelings, a kiss, some cuddles, and now even more feelings with another fight soon to follow.

  And Sydney was once more lost to emotion. She nearly glowed with heartfire and would pitch herself into danger as soon as it showed itself. Ember almost admired that. She’d done it many times, but her eyes had been open every time. She’d been calm and confident. Stupid, Rowena would say, but Sydney was angry and sad and worried and crying, and she would be even stupider if she got the chance.

  Ember had to slow her down.

  “I saw another footprint,” she called as she ran. “Not from a person.”

  Sydney didn’t even glance at her, but she’d never seemed keen on talking and running.

  “It was big. There were probably more unless the thing that made it only has one leg, but I couldn’t tell with all the torn-up ground.”

  Still nothing.

  “It was even bigger than the biggest footprint I’ve ever seen, which was from a bear.” She took a breath, ready for Sydney to scoff or tell her she was crazy. Whatever was going on, Sydney didn’t want to believe what the Kell had told them. “It looked like a bird’s foot or a lizard’s. Or a dragon’s. I’ve never seen a dragon print, but I’ve never seen a dragon before, either. I don’t know what else could have feet that big with really long toes like a bird. Unless it was a really, really big bird.” She remembered the beaks of the raptors on the mountain and shuddered. “But the Kell mentioned a dragon, not a big bird.”

  Still nothing.

  Ember sighed as she ran. Sydney seemed to get winded so easily. Maybe she’d respond when she got her wind back. But when the sounds of combat echoed from the summit of the hill, Ember knew that wouldn’t be the case. Sydney picked up speed even though her breath already came in short, hard bursts through her open mouth. Oh well, if she wanted to throw herself into danger, Ember would just have to make sure she stayed alive.

  Above, through the trees, a group of knights stood along the crest of the hill, fighting against a host of Kells with a few cloaked lizard people thrown in. The Kells had pushed them back in places, breaking their line and taking away the advantage of the high ground. The lizard people were faster than any human but didn’t seem as skilled as the Kells. As she watched, two went down under the knights’ blades.

  Sydney rushed the Kells’ backs. Her mouth was still open, but her teeth were bared as if she would have uttered a battle cry had she the breath. Something in her seemed to want to warn her enemies before she engaged. Only the unarmed Kell had been different. Rage had Sydney, then, and Ember stayed at her side in case that same rage had her now.

  One Kell pitched forward as Sydney sliced him behind the knees. Another turned to confront her, and Ember blocked that blade with her own. These Kells all had the same shaven heads as those before, but this one lacked a beard, had piercing blue eyes and chubby pink cheeks, a face built for laughter. It was laughing now as the Kell tried to kill her.