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I grab Rosalina’s hand and tug her forward, following at Kel’s heels. Ezryn and Dayton flank us on either side. Chancing a glance behind me, I see Caspian press Wrenley’s back, urging her on.

We sprint down the ridge, back toward the river. My breath is ragged. I'm unable to get a whole lungful with the smog. I don’t know where we’re going, just that we can’t stay near the ruins of Castletree.

The river appears in view again.

“Across the dam,” Keldarion says. “We’ll find a spot to hide in the briar husks on the other side. Hurry⁠—”

A jagged arrow cuts straight through his shoulder.

10

Dayton

Kel rips the arrow out of his shoulder with a furious scowl. I’m more afraid of him than the archer. Gods, I should be grateful the massive icy bastard never found his way to the Sun Colosseum. He’s already rolling his shoulder like it’s nothing more than a bugbite.

“Take cover!” Ezryn roars, and I spin in a circle, trying to source a hiding place. But there’s nothing. Caspian’s giant briars lie limp on the ground, and most of them have turned into piles of ash.

But I spot our new friends. A troop of about ten goblins mingles on the riverbank, feasting on the bloated fish carcasses that litter the shoreline. I guess one’s got keener eyes than the rest.

Piece of cake—which I’ve actually become quite adept at making.

My muscles sing and a smile crawls up my face. All these months in the human realm, Farron’s been lamenting about missing his magic. I understand completely. It’s like having a missing limb.

But the rush of battle, locking eyes with an opponent…

This is what I need.

I slap Farron on the arm, then hold out my hand. “Alright. Let’s do this. Give me a weapon.”

Nothing finds its way to my palm.

I look to Farron with an exasperated expression. “Come on, Fare, time is short.”

Farron’s looking back at me with an even more exasperated expression. “Weapons? What, do you think I just went to the blacksmith in Orca Cove and got a set of dual blades forged? Hilts carved with the majestic bug-eyed orca mascot?”

“You said you packed the bag!”

A metal handle finds its way to my palm. “You’re going to have to kill things with this.”

I heft it up. George’s cast-iron skillet. “Oh yes. This’ll do.”

Then with a roar I’ve kept contained for months, I charge the riverbank.

The goblin archer, a grotesque little thing with flesh stuck between his teeth, notches another arrow and draws.

I smile as the arrow whizzes at me, then draw the skillet back and smash the arrow out of the sky. The goblin hisses, then screeches. His companions turn toward me, dropping their fish corpses and drawing blades.

Oh, they have no idea how cooped up I’ve been.

I crash upon them like a wave against the rocks. My skillet cracks open the skull of the archer before I spin, smashing the ribs of the next. A kick sends another one falling backward into the sludgy river.

A blur of motion surges at my left side, and I turn, expecting to see Kel or Ez. But it’s Wrenley ducking under my arm to slit the throat of a goblin coming right for my kidneys. Guess she’s always been quicker than the others. And more vicious.

“Hey, what have you got?” I ask, not able to keep the jealousy out of my voice as she barely avoids the douse of blood after slitting open a goblin’s belly.

She slows for half a second so I can see. Several small knives in tight sheathes are held between her knuckles, reminding me of claws. “They’re called box cutters. I stole them from the bookstore.”

I throw a glance over my shoulder. “Fare! You got anything else in that bag?”