I look at Griffin, my eyes wide. “I can’t hold a knife.” Or a sword. Or even hit—my left hook isn’t worth thinking about.
His mouth thinning, Griffin scans the clouds for the Stymphalian Bird. Not seeing it, he takes the time to rip a strip from the bottom of his tunic and then wrap it around my hand, tying it tightly.
“You can throw with your left,” he says, letting go of my injured hand.
“I’m not as accurate.”
“You’ll still be better than everyone else.”
Tingling, burning warmth climbs steadily toward my shoulder, and a new seed of fear sprouts in my belly.Poison?My whole arm feels heavy.
Jocasta cries out. We both turn toward the sound and start running just as the rain eases back to a steady but not so blinding downpour. I hold my bandaged hand hard against my chest, trying not to jar it. White-hot pain pulses from the wound. Air whistles between my clenched teeth.
The Stymphalian Bird doesn’t intercept us this time, and we get a better look at what’s happening with the others. Carver is locked in a fierce battle with another swordsman, their blades so fast and fluid my eyes can’t keep up. It’s the first time I’ve seen Carver truly challenged in a one-on-one fight, and the whining, sliding, and striking of metal is constant and deafening, even over the pounding rain.
Flynn is farther away, beating back a second warrior wielding a variety of blades. His ax sings a funeral dirge with every ferocious swing, his short sword filling in the gaps. His opponent takes a step back, then another. The man stumbles, his knees buckling under the brutal assault. Fury mottles Flynn’s hard-set face. His eyes are murderous, and the same violent urge rises in me when I see why.
A long knife sticks out of Jocasta’s thigh. There’s another one in her left shoulder. They match the set still on the warrior’s belt. I can see Jocasta shaking from here. Her teeth clatter from shock. Blood turns the sand at her feet the color of wet clay.
Snarling a curse, Griffin starts to outpace me again.
“Trial by fire!” I shout after him. “Look at her. At the knives. She’s okay.” Relatively speaking, anyway.
It’s Kato who worries me right now. He’s surrounded by two men and a woman, all Magoi, and he’s a bloody, blistered mess. The woman is hanging back. She’s the one driving the bird. There’s a circle of fire around her, burning hot and high in spite of the rain. That won’t stop me from getting to her. It won’t stop Griffin, either.
The other two Magoi are wielding different types of fire. One is throwing balls of it from his hands. The other is able to turn his whole body into a weapon. Flame coats his skin and, by extension, his sword.
Fire is the most common type of magic. What makes the difference is how hot it burns, and how long a Magoi can keep it going. Some Magoi have only a few minutes of power in them before they have to retreat and recharge. Others can go on and on. These men are somewhere in the middle, but they’re taking turns attacking, so they never let up.
I head straight for the fire wielders before the bird can drive us back again. I’m going to take their magic, which means getting burned.
My whole body tenses.Once burned. Twice. Three times. Four…
The taller Magoi, a man with long blond hair so pale it’s almost white, throws a flaming ball at Kato’s head. Worn down and slow to move, Kato only twists enough to avoid getting hit in the face. The fireball explodes where his shoulder meets his neck, leaving a ragged circle of blistered flesh. Kato groans and staggers sideways before falling to his knees.
The pain in my hand and arm fades in the face of sudden panic. I start to sprint. Griffin keeps moving toward his sister until a sharp call and a metallic clank ring out behind us. He whirls but shouts for me to keep going, so I don’t stop running as the Stymphalian Bird dives at us again. Behind me, wings beat the air with a tinny sound I’m pretty sure is going to replace my usual recurring nightmare. Then there’s a battle cry I know well, a piercing shriek, and a sickening crunch.
I skid to a stop, turning at the same time. My gut clenches in fear. Griffin is on his back with the Stymphalian Bird squawking above him.He impaled it!But the bird’s lethal wings pound all around him, slicing his skin to shreds. Its tail feathers lacerate his legs, and the bronze beak, sharp and hooked, snaps dangerously close to his face and neck.
Oh Gods!I can’t let it bite him. It’s poisonous. I know because I can barely feel my right arm.
Griffin holds the enormous bird above him. His arms strain. The hilt of his sword presses into his chest, all those sharp, churning feathers not even a full sword’s-length away. Their frantic beating doesn’t give Griffin a chance to shield himself, or even to get a foot up to kick the creature away.
I start back toward him with no idea what to do about a metallic bird that’s as big as I am and a whirlwind of blades. Then Kato calls out for me, a ragged sound that tears my eyes from Griffin. I turn. The flaming Magoi steps in and strikes with his blazing sword. Kato deflects the first blow from his knees, but the second one sinks deep into his abdomen. My heart lurches. Kato’s face drains of what little color it had left as the Magoi shifts his balance and kicks. His burning boot crashes into Kato’s hip and throws him off the blade. Kato hits the sand on his back, and the Magoi raises his sword.
My blood ices over. I have one knife, a left hand, two men, and no time.
I’ll be useless against the bird, so I slide my last blade from its loop and throw, letting instinct take over the motion. The Kobaloi knife hits the Magoi in the neck, just below his ear, sinking straight to the hilt. My aim felt off, but the knife struck true. The man falls, his flames extinguishing.
Kato’s head lolls to the side. His eyes meet mine, glazed with pain, and he says my name. I can’t hear it over the crowd and the rain, but I read it on his bloodless lips.
“Hold on!” I yell back.
Kato keeps looking at me. His throat works, like he’s swallowing the idea of death.
I glance toward Griffin. He’s a mess, but still holding his own.
The fireball-throwing Magoi turns on me. I head straight for him and take a direct hit to the chest. The top of my leather breastplate burns away. Sparks shower my neck, chin, and shoulders, and I hiss. He hits me again, and my exposed flesh blisters as breath-stealing pain sears me in a flash of hot red and angry black.
