“Shield wall!” she shrieked as the maul rose high into the sky.
Eight arms went up into the sky and green light nearly blinded her as the maul struck the barrier a second later. The force of it nearly dislocated her arm and she cried out with pain, as did most of her team.
He was too powerful.
Fire blazed on the ground around them as Berith leaned onto his maul. The green dome shuddered and was pressed downward, stopping several feet closer to the heads of the witches.
Christine struggled mightily, her arm trembling. She didn’t dare give up. If one of her team faltered now, they would all die.
A mighty roar caught her attention.
A dragon with scales as white as snow launched itself from the ground. It was the same shifter who had relieved her on the line earlier. Christine watched as it flung itself at Berith, a cone of frigid ice spewing from its snout as its claws dug at the demon.
The beast from the Abyss stumbled back and roared in pain.
Its maul also whipped up and around, crushing the dragon’s chest and flinging it through the gremlins and the line of witches, scattering them.
Then Lord Berith lifted a leg and brought it down, spilling Christine’s team to the ground as the earth ripped in half.
“It’s too strong,” she gasped. “We need to regroup.”
She started barking orders. The witches all backed away.
Lightning cracked and a tremendous bolt of thunder slammed into the ground at Berith’s feet.
The shockwave spilled the creature to its back as it lost its footing, stepping in one of the cracks in the ground that it had created.
“Now!” Christine shouted. “Go, go, go!”
Her team rushed back to the line as Berith roared in anger. They hit the gremlins like a runaway freight train, spilling them back to the portals, momentarily stemming the tide and blocking the exit for those that came behind.
Witches and dragons gathered up their wounded comrades, leaving the bodies of the fallen behind, and they took to the air as fast as they could.
Berith shook his maul at them as they went the one place he could not follow. The skies.
“We’ll be back!” she screamed as they turned tail and fled back toward Winterspell.
Christine might not be a part of the team that came back after her disastrous performance today, but the witches would be back. Perhaps with Circe at their head.
She was last in line as they rose higher into the air, headed over the mountain, leaving the dreaded Lord Berith behind.
Once she was certain that everyone was safe, she allowed herself to relax ever so slightly. They were going to be okay. They were going to—
Agony sliced through her side with such force that she wobbled mid-flight. Looking down at her right side, she noticed for the first time that it was a mess of open wounds and chewed-up skin.
How?
Her fingers pulled out a long gray tooth. Gremlin. One of them must have gotten her at some point, but the battle adrenaline had pushed the pain aside. Now that she was coming down from the high though, her body was telling her she was hurt.
Bad.
The cushion of air she was riding shivered as pain shut down more and more of her body.
“Help,” she whispered, sensing she wasn’t doing well. But the wind stole the word away. Nobody was going to hear.
Darkness closed in rapidly after that.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Altair
HIS WINGS FLAPPED SLOWLY, keeping him aloft as the group headed back to Winterspell.
Altair was tired, exhausted even. The fight with Lord Berith had taken more from him than he’d believed possible. The demon lord was stronger than anything they had gone up against in training. It was faster too.
He cursed the loss of Jarri, the frost dragon who had sacrificed himself to save Christine and the others. Even Altair had been shocked at the speed of the response. The demon’s attack had been so quick. They had left Jarri’s body behind. There was no way they could have brought it back.
Wistfully, he glanced behind him at the valley, hating to leave the brave dragon behind, but Jarri had been killed instantly by the blow. There was nothing he could do.
As he looked back, his eyes picked up the trailing figure of their flying caravan. It was Christine.
Of course, it was.
Despite his dislike of her, the pain of her betrayal, Altair had to give credit where credit was due. He still wasn’t sure what had overcome Madison, but the other witch had played only a small part in the fight. It had been Christine who had organized the response team and deployed them to help Altair and the rest of the watch.
Not a moment too soon as well.
He had done his best to help distract the demon lord, while also ensure that the other witches were safe. His ability to move them out of the way of the maul, including reflexes that were much closer to those of Lord Berith’s than normal humans, allowed him to stay safe.
But the demon had been getting closer and closer. During the last attack on Becca, the one that had sent her flying, Altair had only been able to cushion her landing and not prevent the strike from hitting home at all. The witch was flying with them now, shaken, but seemingly none the worse for wear. She had exchanged a nod in his direction when their eyes had met, a silent thanks.
It was Christine who had led the attack. Who had organized the Outpost detachment to handle the attack of the gray creatures. Christine was the one who had hurt Lord Berith, deploying part of the team as best she could, given the chaotic situation.
No, as much as he disliked her personally, Altair had been impressed. She was a strong witch, and in his opinion, she should have command of the team going forward. If there even was a team.
One of the membranes closed over his eyes as he blinked, watching the woman still,
