He just stared at me.
And then the army was coming again.
It was impressive; you had to admit that. The troops in the front few lines had all but been obliterated by their own weapons, but the rest had barely slowed down. Even worse, some of the manlikans that had been destroyed hadn’t been stopped, because the ruin of their vehicles had simply released a squad of Ancient Horrors onto the field.
And if they hadn’t had bodies before, Faerie had just given them some.
Pritkin blanched, watching as something with a thousand tentacles scrambled into the golden netting and flayed it to pieces. The rest of a combined army of fey and demons surged through after it, moving so fast over the field that they churned up a huge cloud of dust all around them. It looked like a sandstorm boiling our way, with an occasional tentacle or wing or proboscis visible at the edges.
It was terrifying.
“Pritkin?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Pritkin!”
“I’m thinking!”
“Think faster, damnit—”
And then they were on us.
But so was something else.
I heard screeching from overhead, and looked up—
To see the underbelly of a giant . . . something. . . whizzing by overhead. It had the wings of a bird, huge expansive things that must have been fifty feet across, but then, they needed to be. Because they were holding up the body of a lion, and the head of a giant, shaggy feathered bird with a lion’s mane.
And then one of them dropped low and scooped me up, and we were soaring.
“Told you I’d taking you flying one day!” someone laughed, and I turned around to see that I was being held in front of a grinning fey king, only it wasn’t Aeslinn.
Long blond hair streamed behind us on the wind, unbound by anything but a golden circlet on his brow. A dark green tunic and leggings ended in green suede boots, which matched the gloves he was using to hold onto the reins of his strange ride. It was a fashionable choice for a war time ensemble, and typical of the creature, who’d go to his grave properly dressed.
“Caedmon!” My voice blew away on the wind, because we were only going about a hundred miles and hour. “What are you doing here?”
“Lending a hand. Hold on!”
I gripped the mane in front of me and gripped it hard, because we were diving again. Along with about a hundred others, because Caedmon hadn’t come alone. And the fey riders weren’t like me; they were standing up in the saddles of their rides, not bothering with reins because they needed both hands for the huge, glowing spears they were holding. And which they launched at the Ancient Horrors who had reached the city.
But they didn’t get in, because the spears not only cut through the bodies, they exploded on contact, causing the advancing host to pause, to stop, and then to turn—
On us.
“That’s the only problem with a successful volley!” Caedmon yelled.
“What is?”
“It gets their attention!”
And it did. It really did. And, unfortunately, we had to keep it or Mircea’s band was screwed.
I glimpsed Pritkin on a nearby ride, and it looked like he’d finally thought of something. Because he extended an arm and the next second, what looked like all the water in the city came roaring out. A tidal wave poured through the breech and washed the remaining Ancient Horrors backward, sending them away from Mircea’s troops.
And right at us.
Caedmon pulled back on the reins and kicked the sides of our ride, and we went skyward—just in time. Some of the others weren’t so lucky, and I saw several of his fey go down. But most made it. Leaving the space below us free—