One landed on Hettie and she blasted it in the face with the fireblood, engulfing its entire head. He saw her face wrinkle in pain as its hind legs clawed her legs. Paedrin sliced it open just before the magic of her fire consumed it into ash.
He reached down and pulled her to her feet, seeing her pants stained with blood.
“Hettie!” he gasped in concern.
“Behind you!” she cried.
Paedrin whirled as two confronted him, their yellowish eyes locked in a feral rage. Baylen severed one of them in half with his huge broadsword. Then he went down on one knee and upthrust with the other sword, catching the second Weir in the middle and lifting it up off the ground before slamming its body back down. The look of rage in the Cruithne’s eyes was more terrifying than the Weirs.
Everyone was fighting, struggling to keep from being shoved into the pond. Paedrin used his blind vision to search out everyone quickly, trying to sort through the gyrations and movements. The attackers came at them relentlessly. How many? He could see them mounting like waves, coming in ring after ring.
Where was Tyrus?
Annon was drowning in the brackish water. His back seized up with pain as he felt the claws raking him over. Desperately, he lifted his head to breathe air but could only inhale another gulp of swamp water. His panic reflexes were working and he thrashed, drenched to the bone, as he shoved himself up on his knees, heaving the heavy beast upward. His ears were ringing from the water-muffled screams and he realized Nizeera was fighting the Weir savagely. He had the weight of both cats on him and felt his muscles give. He splashed down in the pond again. The strange gasping fish were all around him and he felt burning pain as their suction-like mouths attacked his face.
The Weir toppled and fell over, and Annon was able to rise at last. He sat up in the water, grabbing the slimy bodies and yanking them off. Little teeth had attached to his skin, which he felt shred as he wrenched the fish away. His lungs were still full of water and he coughed and hacked, trying to expel it all. He doubled over and vomited violently.
Nizeera screamed, standing behind him, facing off against two Weirs who stalked him. He turned and saw them, their glassy pelts shimmering in and out of sight.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas.
He was wracked with coughs again, still unable to breathe. He felt himself blacking out, his vision suddenly narrowing. The queer fish were all around him, faces emerging from the waters, puckered mouths gasping, hungry for his skin. The flesh of his back was in tatters. Nizeera screamed in challenge and launched at the nearest Weir, who caught her midleap with its massive claws and tossed her away like a doll.
Annon blinked, feeling himself starting to totter over. He was going to land in the water. He was going to die.
He saw Nizeera strike a tree and slump to the ground. Already she was twisting to come up and attack. The whole world moved slowly, like some terrible seizure had wrapped everything in mud. A Weir loomed over Nizeera, its fangs sinking into the ruff of her neck. He could feel her panic and her pain.
Annon planted one hand into the muck, steadying himself, willing his eyes not to droop. He saw Nizeera’s gold eyes blink once, connecting with him.
My master—
The Weir jerked its mighty neck, snapping Nizeera’s. He felt the connection with her vanish. The Weir tossed her aside.
Thas.
Blue flames irrupted from Annon’s hands. One of his hands was still underwater, causing a gush of steam and livid bubbles to rise up from the murky pond. Annon leaned forward, bringing both hands together, and sent a wreath of fire exploding out in front of him, consuming the two Weir instantly and ripping bark from the oaks. He rose in terrible fury, unable to remember the pain in his back or his lungs—unable to bear the pain in his heart at Nizeera’s death. Another Weir hurtled at him in the darkness, nothing but two glowing eyes, and Annon snuffed it out with a savage yell. His lungs and brain were clearing from the sensation of drowning and he involved the torc around his neck, summoning life into the blue stones.
He had always dreaded using it because of what it did to Nizeera. He couldn’t feel any black terror coming from her now. Nothing came from her now. Grief ravaged his heart. First Reeder. Then Neodesha. Now Nizeera. A blackness welled inside his soul, deep as a bottomless pit.
Annon could see the effect of the torc’s magic on the Weir. Several snarled and hissed at him, but they dared not come closer, their ears turning back in defiance as they snarled and raged at him. Annon walked forward purposefully, sending blast after blast of fire into their ranks, walking away from the deadly pond and toward the rest, causing a ripple from the ranks of the Weir as they struggled to get outside the range of his twin magics. He blasted them apart, reveling in their destruction. Some part of his mind was aware that the torc’s magic was burning his skin. He felt it like twin shards of pain, but he was beyond pain—he was beyond caring. He staggered forward and the Weir flinched back, some fleeing into the night, gone like smoke.