ALONE
“Get back!” Amar bellowed. “We need to get Tove’s sword! Nora, over here! Now!”
Nora whirled her weapon and fought her way to the knights.
“I can’t do anything without my sword!” Tove was almost crying.
“Can we run up to the post? What do you think?” Amar wove his sword in a figure eight, puffing Aranea umbrae into lavender mist.
“Let’s go!” howled Eve.
Nora threw herself into the mob. She made a mist so thick, she couldn’t see.
At last, they reached the post—where Murdo’s helmet was still lighting the scene. Tove grabbed her sword. With a roar, she cut a whole line of Umbrae.
“Schiltron formation round the post!” shouted Amar. “Don’t get distracted!”
They took their positions.
“It’s strange!” cried Eve. “It’s easier because there are so many! They can’t grab us!”
“They’re nothing but a hairy wall to cut down!” Cyril laughed.
Then an Aranea umbra latched onto his ankle and jerked him forward—
Nora had it—and the one behind it, the one about to jump, and the one on the side—in one swing, then seized Cyril’s hand and helped him up.
“Don’t pretend it’s easy,” Amar panted. “And don’t stop moving.” He ducked, and cut upward, slicing through the Umbra leaping onto him.
They fought, never pausing, their senses alert, their energy pulsing through them for a full hour—
The flow of beasts ebbed: from a sea to a river.
The fewer numbers meant they had room to grab.
Nora plunged into a beast that had latched its legs onto Eve’s and thrown her back against Tove, who fell. Two Aranea umbrae tried to lower their furry mandibles onto them, but Nora’s axe rattled through them and they puffed into mist.
She didn’t stop moving. And then—
An Aranea umbra faltered in front of her.
Amar slashed it. “They’re starting to behave normally.”
Aranea umbrae—without the lure of a Legendary.
No one had ever seen anything like it in the field.
They faltered often and were easy targets. Many seemed to be staring at the knights’ ugly caps. Soon they backed away. A scatter of giant wicker spiders crawled off over the snow.
The five knights leaned over, panting hard.
“Is it done? Is it dawn?” Eve gasped.
“Not even close.” Then Amar put his hand to his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
He sank to his knees.
“Have you been bit?” Nora fumbled beside him.
“No, I—just need to rest. That—was too much.”
“Nora! By your ankle!” called Tove.
An Aranea umbra claw was creeping close.
“Get out of here.” Nora leaned forward and slashed it.
“I’m sorry, but I need to lie down.” Amar collapsed on the snow.
Tove stumbled over to him. “Is there water?”
“I think there’s some in Murdo’s case.” Eve knelt and pulled out a bottle. “Yes! And an antidote!”
“That’s one of the ones I used. That’s its shell.” Tove choked out a sob. “Murdo.”
“He’s going to be all right. Thank goodness you’re so tall and strong; no one else could have carried him.” Eve patted Tove’s shoulder as she stepped around the post to Amar. “Amar? Wake up. I’ve got water.”
Cyril huddled next to Tove. “Is Murdo going to die?”
“It felt like he was dying.” Tove began to cry softly. “I can’t believe he got bit.”
“I can’t believe Sophie left,” whimpered Cyril. “She wants to get rid of us.”
Eve propped Amar with her arm and held the bottle to his lips. “She left to take Murdo to the hospital so he’ll live. She knows we’re the best and can handle this.” Her gaze flicked around, fierce. “And we are the best. And we can handle this. And they’ll send a car in the morning.”
The night was long. Without Murdo it felt dire.
The Aranea umbrae came, sometimes in a wave of fifty, sometimes just three. Twice, Cyril’s sword dropped from his sweaty hand, but each time the Aranea umbra reaching for him faltered at the sight of the wet-eyed boy in his cap with its lumpy horns.
They were all tired, weak, and trembling after the onslaught.
Amar wobbled. Eve tripped. Tove missed. Everyone needed someone else to save them.
Except Nora.
Her muscles were limp, as if they’d been pulled to their limit and then let go. Yet each time an Aranea umbra neared, she was ready, axe swinging. Muscle memory, terror, and all the bosses she’d defeated in Warriors of the Frozen Bog—that combination kept her going.
As her body did its job, her mind ran an endless track:
Murdo’s going to be all right. Sophie took him to the hospital.
Then a horrible thought came to her: The nearest hospital was in Cairnmouth, a good two hours out.
Could Murdo last for two hours? Or would he die from the venom first?