I notched an arrow and took aim at that leader, shouting something I can’t remember to this day at Thordin—probably identifying the leader to him, if I were to guess. I barely had time to get my bow up into position before I caught sight of a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye. I spun, more slowly than I would have liked, the tip of my arrow tracking the source of the blur.
One of the skinchangers bounded past Thom and Cameron and headed for the wardline. I held my breath.
Then I was blindsided.
Another of the Hamrammr tackled me to the ground, its claws slashing deep through the sleeves of my jacket. It snarled at me, breath hot on my face before it used me as some kind of platform to launch itself onward in its fellow’s wake.
Both hit the ward-lines and screamed.
I started to shove myself back to my feet, gasping in pain as the muscles in one leg refused to respond properly, having been raked by the leaping skinchanger’s claws. Blood slowly soaked the leg of my jeans as I forced myself up onto one knee, fingers tightening once again around the shaft of my bow.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Thom was shouting something that I couldn’t quite hear. My brother was swearing. My vision swam for a moment before it righted itself.
Hell. What just happened? What are they—
They were going after Phelan, I realized suddenly. He was their primary—their only—target. The rest of us were just incidental, an obstacle to overcome.
Thordin was throwing himself into the ravine after the leader as Thom and Cameron pounded toward the pair of Hamrammr that were trying to fight their way through our wards. It was as if the two creatures were trying to muddle their way through frozen gelatin, not quite able to push through to the otherside.
It was only a matter of time, though—and pressure. It was just like anything else.
Just like the last time. No wards could hold forever.
Even as I released the arrow I had notched and watched it speed toward one of the pair of Hamrammr that were trying to force their way through the wards, more came pouring over the lip of the ravine, bypassing our first line of defense. Their numbers had thinned from our gunfire, but not nearly enough.
Phelan stepped toward the edge of the ward lines, his knuckles white against the wood of his staff, his jaw tight, eyes blazing. Faint green light twined around his arms and wreathed his eyes, which seemed to flame with the power he drew either from himself or the land—which, I couldn’t be sure. There was anger there, anger he was trying to keep under control.
His words carried to me on the wind. “These are my people under my protection,” he said softly, “and you’ll not harm them today or any other day.”
His staff thrust forward through the wards and the world erupted in bright green light.
