A minute stretched into two, then three. With patient trepidation the four of them held their place, not a one among them moving, barely daring to breathe more than was absolutely necessary. The sounds of the night grew deceptively loud as Declan’s ears sought beyond them, straining past the soft hiss of the wind against the cliff and trees, marred only by the very few insects and frogs foolish enough to brave the cooling air.

  Of course, it was Ester who heard the shuffling scrape across the rock-strewn earth first, her breath of warning lending itself to the more general awareness of the footsteps some time later.

  Hold, Ryn’s voice told them cautiously. Hold…

  No one answered, the beasts too close at hand to voice their consent aloud. The sound of their approach was easy to make out now, the scraping noise of claws crunching over stone, unmuffled and quick. They couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away, along the edge of the crags. Now ten. Now five…

  And then, nothing more than a blot of darkness framed against the night, a figure appeared at the edge of the overhang, the sound of its movement almost echoing in the numb silence that took hold of the four within, their own heartbeats suddenly the only other things they could hear in the dark. Declan made out the shape of thick, looping horns and broad ears on a narrow head perched atop what might have been a man’s body. The thing stood upright, but its legs were odd, twisted with the illusion of an additional joint, like the limbs of a horse. It stopped as it realized it had walked across the mouth of a deep, open space, and from behind it two more shapes loomed against the moonlight, one recognizable at once, the other as corrupted as the first, but equally different. The former of these trailing pair was the warg, a low, lumbering figure, moving on all fours, wide head crowned by a pair of narrow ears with a broad tail held stiff behind it. The other was bipedal, with no horns to speak of and what looked to be the unassuming limbs of a naked human. Declan might have thought this last one was a man, in fact, until it turned its head to snuffle at the air, and the outline of a long, wolfish muzzle played against the evening glow.

  Ester’s bow twanged crisply just as the beast’s mouth opened to snarl out a warning, arrow taking it through the throat with terrifying precision.

  Declan charged with all silence, then, out of the shadows and into the somber light. At his side he heard Ryn’s clawed feet pounding the earth, along with the screaming sound of steel being drawn from its sheath. Together they moved, powering forward.

  Unfortunately, neither of them was fast enough.

  Demonstrating animalistic instinct, the remaining wereyn and warg leapt back from the mouth of the overhang even as the other beastman fell, each of them bellowing out in surprise and warning. Their calls did not complement one another—the warg Ryn barreled towards roaring while the horned figure before Declan gave a growling bleat—but the sounds wailed out through the forest all the same. The two turned to flee, but the wereyn tripped on a rock and didn’t make it two stumbling paces before Declan’s blade caught it a vicious slash across the back of the legs, spraying blood over grass and stone. The blow brought it to the ground with a piercing shriek, silenced almost at once when the sword came around to drive down into its back, taking it through the heart.

  Ending the thing’s violent thrashing with a twist of the steel, Declan wrenched the weapon free and looked around. Ryn’s prey had gotten farther, it appeared, vanishing westward into the tree line, but its lumbering pace could hardly have matched the dragon’s. The shearing cry of metal cleaving into flesh rang out from the woods, followed by the uneven crash of something heavy falling and tumbling across the underbrush under its own momentum. For three seconds after this, there was silence again, not even the animals of the forest daring to make a sound now.

  Then, almost expected, Ryn’s voice rumbled out.

  Back! Back to the cave! They’re coming!

  Declan—knowing very well who “they” were—turned and bolted without waiting into the looming cover of the outcropping. He nearly crashed headlong into Ester, who’d moved to the mouth to see what was going on, sidestepping her just in time. There was a curse, and from the depths of the space Bonner’s face bloomed into existence, illuminated by a faint, blue glow he was clutching at with both hands.

  Ryn came tearing in behind them, taking Ester unceremoniously by the arm and hauling her back, deeper within. Declan barely caught a glimpse of the azure light of the mage’s weave shining against broad, bloodied steel before it was blocked by their retreating bodies.

  The opening! Bonner—!

  “And what do you think it is that I’m doing, exactly?” the mage cut in with a strained growl, obviously putting every ounce of his focus into the packed, swirling blue between his fingers. The magic had grown into a maelstrom of smoking, crackling energy. It hurt to look at it directly, brightening with every moment, but Declan forced himself to watch as best he could with his free hand brought up to his face to shield his eyes even a little bit. He noticed, as he did so, that his breath was misting against the outline of his fingers, and with a shock realized that the air was suddenly frigid, burning at his lungs like all the heat and moisture had been sucked from the space around them.

  Abruptly, he thought he knew what Bonner yr’Essel was planning, and he leapt clear of the entrance just as the old man took the gathered spell in one hand and slammed it against the closest wall.

  With a sound like shattering glass, ice formed in a thick, crystalline sheet from the place his palm lay against the stone. It ran up the wall and across the ceiling, following the arc formed by Bonner’s other hand, like he was guiding a kite across the sky. Reaching the edge of the overhang, the mage brought the motion down, slower now, his face twisted in concentration.

  With an open mouth Declan watched in stupefied fascination as the ice crept earthward, first in thin, frozen stalactites, then solidifying into a wall an easy foot thick as the protrusions broadened and molded into each other.

  By the time Bonner was done, a vast majority of the opening had been blocked off, leaving nothing but a two-foot space at the very edge of the outcropping where the stone angled down into the earth, just broad enough for a single, stooped body to squeeze through. Unfortunately, no one had time to ogle the incredible sight, the marbled sheen of the ice glowing blue with the light of the night sky outside.

  Even from only that limited opening, the thunderous sounds of gathered howls and barks and snarls had coupled with the rolling beat of a hundred clawed feet hammering in their direction.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Declan, with me! Ester, as far behind us as you can get, but stay in front of the firestones! Bonner, when I say so, give us as much light as you can.

  Ryn took charge with practiced efficiency, black outline sliding forward against the distorted surface of the ice beyond him like a shark through clear water. Declan didn’t argue, the plan falling into place easily enough as he set himself some ten feet to the dragon’s right, as close as he could get to the uneven opening left to them while staying well out of Ryn’s range.

  He had seen, silhouetted against the blue, the monstrous length of steel held in the dragon’s right hand.

  Behind them, he heard Ester and Bonner scrambling to take their positions, but he didn’t dare look back. The sound of the approaching wereyn and their warg was nearer now, coming quickly, and he cursed the creatures’ speed.

  “How many are there?” he asked, eyes not leaving the opening.

  Two score and more, Ryn answered calmly. A good number of them are armed, too. Good steel. He paused, focusing for a moment before continuing. Vigil blades…

  Declan clenched his jaw, knowing what that meant. If they survived, it would be worth confirming, but there was nothing to be done about it for the moment. He set himself back to waiting, listening to the growing howl of the approaching beastmen. He knew that they were closer than they seemed, even now, the sound of their charge muffled by the trees. Sure enough, not half-a-minute later the noise erupted exponentially, and suddenly twisted shapes loomed out at them beyond the heavy barrier of the ice, dancing eerily through the spellwork against the light of the moon. There were howls of anger and dismay as the wereyn found themselves blockaded, then the first of them found the entrance Bonner had left, and with a roar of triumph ducked into the cavern at a run.

  It barely made it two feet before Ester’s arrow took the creature between the eyes, accurate even in the limited light.

  The next two fell in the same way, bending to come through only to go down the moment they could stand. The fourth, smartening up, came in crouched but stayed low, and Ester’s shot went wide over it, thudding instead into the shoulder of the creature closest on its heels. Unable to nock another arrow in time, Ester could offer no support as the pair barreled inside, the crouched wereyn taking the opportunity to rush at Ryn with clawed hands outstretched, the injured one bellowing as it charged Declan.

  NOW!

  There was an explosion of brilliant, rippling orange-yellow light, Bonner answering the awaited command with gusto. Even with his back to it Declan had to squint against the sudden illumination.

  Their attackers weren’t so lucky.

  The beastmen screamed in panicked pain, hands instinctively thrown up in an effort to shield their eyes. Declan could see them clearly now, could take them in with the familiar distaste their kind had always elicited of him. They were corrupted things, ugly, disproportionate moldings of man and creature. The pair before them stood upright, on two legs, but that was the gross extent of their similarities. One—Ryn’s opponent—was covering its face with thick, hairless arms ending in clawed hands. Its head was that of a bear, with blinking yellow eyes the same rotten taint as the vile, disorganized fangs filling its broad maw. Nothing more than a filthy strip of animal skin covered its waist, and its bare legs and feet were humanish, if dirty and scarred. The second, on the other hand—Declan’s—was further disturbing. Its head was that of a stag, antlers broken and sharpened to cruel tips, but its teeth were of a shared kind, carnivorous and curved, the fur about its mouth stained with dried blood. It was wielding a longsword in clawless fingers, clean steel gleaming in the sudden light, but its arms were shaggy with ragged hair running over its shoulders and down its sides to cover double-jointed legs, like the scout’s had been. It stood on black, muddy hooves, without even the barest hint of clothing to speak of, and it was bellowing deeply and without language, merely howling its discomfort and anger out to echo about the space.

  Ryn’s fell first.

  The bear-headed wereyn went down in a single blow, its roars cut abruptly short when the massive claymore the dragon had taken up cleaved it in two from shoulder to hip. Declan wasn’t long after him, leaping forward and ducking under a blind swipe from his own beast’s longsword to come in low, catching it a horrible blow in the gut that sheared halfway to the thing’s spine. It fell with a choking retch, weapon clattering to the floor, grasping at the putrid innards that spilled from its opened abdomen.

  Declan left it to die without a second glance.

  More of the things had followed on their comrades’ heels, pouring in faster now as they realized they needed to overwhelm the narrow entrance if they wanted to get at their prey. Ester let off shots as fast as she could, but she had to be more careful now that Declan and Ryn were engaged. The beastmen fell in singles and pairs, some to swords and some to arrows, but just as quickly were their places taken up by others. Soon Declan and Ryn were being pressed back, forced to retreat step by step. The creatures started to pour in in truth, then, taking advantage of their gained ground.

  There was the snick of fluidly drawn steel, and Ester was there, between the two of them, having abandoned the bow in favor of her new saber.

  The battle held, for a time, their three blades enough to equal the wereyn’s press, choking them through the corner between the wall of the cavern and Bonner’s summoned ice. The beasts screamed and roared and died, often tumbling in pairs at Ryn’s feet, and nearly as quickly at Declan’s and Ester’s. Steel cleaved in arcs and lanced through furred hide and humanish skin alike, parrying away rough blows from stolen Vigil blades and that of old, rusted weapons long-pillaged and well-worn. Before long the three of them were stained in blood, the black ichor splashing against the floor and walls and ceiling to steam and freeze in the frigid air. It made footing precarious, and eventually even three-strong they were forced back another step, then two, and the press began in earnest again.

  “ESTER! AWAY!”

  Bonner’s bellow broke over the brutal sounds of the exchange, and out of the corner of his eye Declan saw the half-elf respond at once, riposting one last overhead blow from a driving club and allowing herself to drop to one knee. The onyx-pommeled saber flashed twice, cutting deeply into the tendons above the kneecaps of two separate beasts, and using their staggering forms as cover from the comrades behind them she rolled left, coming up sharply behind Ryn, well outside the reach of the great blade.

  There was a flash, and with a familiar roar of fire the icy coldness of the space was swallowed by a broiling blast of searing, devastating heat.

  A jet of ivory flames cut the gathered body of the wereyn almost in half. It was narrower than true dragonfire, a twisting, raging pillar maybe two feet in diameter at most. It burned, on the other hand, with the same intense hunger, and struck with no less force than Ryn’s breath, splashing over the chest and bodies of the foremost beasts to spread like a cone through their shrieking ranks. Limbs and bodies and weapons vanished into ash and melted metal. Corpses fell half-devoured, and the creatures pushing Declan shrank away from the magic with howls of fear, vile eyes wide in terror. He took the advantage to glance back, seeing Bonner bent over cupped hands, exhaling into them as if he were blowing away gathered dust so that the fire spewed out overtop his fingers.

  Then the flames died away, and Declan’s focus was on the fight again.

  The enemy was split, now, those who tried to trample into the smoldering lane of embers and smoking corpses screaming and leaping to one side or the other when their feet contacted the superheated stone with a hiss of burning flesh and hair. It made it easier to control their direction, Ryn on one side and Declan on the other, holding the two alleys of assault, and Ester took up her bow again to start loosing arrows rapid-fire through the space between them, downing creature after creature. Still, it made the press of the wereyn that much more intense, and while Ryn looked to be managing well with nothing more than his size and the sheer reach and weight of his massive blade, Declan could feel the fight start to pull at him, pushing him back inch by inch. The discipline born of so many years spent with a sword in hand kept him from dissolving into panic, but all the skill in the world could only do so much when they came at him again and again and again. With every passing breath the practiced, cutting patterns of his long blade—the only thing between him and a sudden, wretched death—grew more and more wanting under the flow of the onslaught.

  When he went down, therefore, it wasn’t completely unexpected.

  The launching form was blocked initially from view by the coupled beasts that came at Declan barehanded and teeth bared. With a shearing blow he severed the reaching arms of one before back-stepping to be clear of the claws of the other. As the first screamed and the other stumbled under its own impetus, he darted in and brought the heavy bastard sword up and across in two arching swings, striking both heads—a wolf’s and goat’s—from their shoulders one after the other. As the bodies fell he started to pull the blade back into a defensive position.

  The lumbering form beyond the slain pair didn’t give him the opportunity to set himself.

  With a roar that might have matched Ryn’s, the warg broke through the tumbling corpses, dark eyes and yellowed teeth gleaming. It lunged with the force of a battering ram on broad, clawed paws, the bristling fur along its back of a height with Declan’s chest. Before he could so much as think to bring his sword down between its exposed shoulders, the thing slammed into him, using its heft to send his smaller mass flying. The blow stole his wind, and he hit the ground heavily, head bouncing once against the stone. The thin hood of his cloak saved him from a truly ringing impact, muffling the back of his skull, but all the same he saw stars and slid several feet across the cleared space behind him. He came to a stop bare feet from the blazing pile of firestones, their outlines white-hot and flickering with real flames now as Bonner continued to pour his energy into them for light. Declan had managed to hold onto his weapon, but before he could bring it up before him the warg was overhead, pinning him to the ground by his sword arm with a clawed paw. Declan felt the bones of his forearm strain, and his shout only got lost in the sound of further fighting and Ester screaming his name. He scrabbled with his left hand even as canines bore down at his neck, finding and drawing his hunting knife from his side. With a defiant yell he lifted and drove the thing down at the creature’s twisted face. The warg jerked its head aside at the last moment, accepting the blow in the shoulder, howling in furious agony when scarlet blood welled from the wound, washing over Declan’s already splattered torso. Tearing the knife free, he made to drive it down again. This time, however, the warg was faster, gnashing at his hand. Nothing but luck had the savage teeth close around the blade of the dagger rather than flesh and bone, but cold fear flooded Declan’s chest just the same when he felt the weapon pulled from his grasp. He scrambled with his now-empty hand, yelling and kicking up at the thing’s underbelly as it tossed the knife aside in irritation, seeking anything—anything—that might buy him even a moment. His arms strained, the tight skin of his scars stretching beyond their comfort.

  His fingers closed around the first solid object they came across.

  There was the barest moment of searing, terrible heat, then it vanished, replaced by a strange, tingling warmth washing up his arm. Declan’s mind didn’t bother trying to make sense of the conflicting sensations, registering only that something heavy and hard had been taken up in his hand. With another yell he brought the object swinging up, aiming to land a solid blow to the side of the warg’s head.