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Grunts and cries swirled around her as forgings and bodies crashed together. The animals, tied on one side of the clearing, let out sounds of distress.

She raced for the strongest of the dual-forged, leaping into the air as she neared him, swinging her staff over her head. The Keeper held up his sword to block her, but her staff cut right through it, the forging shattering instantly and throwing the Keeper to the ground.

Iryana landed beside him, frozen for a moment by how quickly that had worked. It had taken much more effort to shatter Karvek’s forgings.

The Keeper stirred, and Iryana jabbed the end of her staff into his head, not knowing if she’d killed him or merely knocked him out before launching herself at the next enemy.

Iryana caught glimpses of Pepha and Hadima slipping out from behind piles of rock—Pepha leaping on Keepers with her long knives and Hadima throwing sky-blue darts at others. Hadima’s victims looked only agitated at first, but within a few steps they’d collapse, screaming and coughing up blood. It was incredibly gruesome.

Pyetar and Vabihn ended up beside her, providing cover and giving her space as Iryana fought with an intensity that she had never had before. Each swing of her staff brought cracks of breaking bones and screams of pain.

But despite how quickly she brought the Keepers to the ground, the agony inside her grew. Pain stabbed beneath her ribs, growing sharper with every moment.

“Damn, little guardian,” Vabihn hooted as Iryana knocked two Keepers to the ground with one swing.

But Pyetar shot her a worried glance. “Don’t overdo it,” he ordered with a grunt, blocking a sword and knocking it out of the way.

“I’m fine,” she gritted out, turning quickly to meet a pink-tinged lavender axe barreling toward her head.

As she dispatched the next enemy, Lidishta threw herself at the Keeper she’d claimed, one sword pinning him to the ground through his stomach, while she slowly carved the other one down his front. Her pupils were blown wide with rage.

Iryana made herself focus. There were still two Keepers pulling magic from the well and into the large, huddled shape on the ground. She knew they needed to stop it, and fast. Before it was too late.

“Lidishta!” Iryana hollered as she raced past the few fighting Keepers and toward those still trying to form the monster.

Keepers jumped in her way, trying to slow her approach, but Iryana cut through them quickly until she reached Lidishta, joining her in swinging their weapons down on the Keepers’ shields. She grunted, pushing her staff down as hard as she could, but they held their shields so tight. Unsure if it would work, Iryana pressed her hand against the semi-transparent white outline and tried to push her dagger’s magic to form into her hand.

With a great tear and flash of pain, her dagger took form, mostly inside the shield and inside of the Keeper. He gasped, blood pushing out of the wound as she released her dagger, nearly dropping to her knees as her magic roiled at its return.

“We did it!” Lidishta gasped in relief.

Thank the gods.

No, the gods could thank them.

Iryana leaned all her weight onto her staff, looking down at the smooth blue, usually the color of the winter sky. Except now the sky was tilting into dawn with hints of violet. She heard the others cheering, but Iryana couldn’t yet, not with what was ahead of her. She had to release her forging. And it was going to be bad.

Before forcing herself to her feet, Iryana let out a groan of anticipatory pain and prepared to pull the magic back inside her. Prepared to be ripped apart. The shouts stopped her.

“No!” someone behind her cried, followed by another yelling, “We were too late!”

Iryana turned, eyes landing on the mass of blended magic taking form.

The nemak.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The monster pulled itself to its feet, standing three times the height of Mezhimar.

Iryana could only gape, horror filling her. It was so much more terrible than the painting on Scholar Alar’s scroll, but something was wrong with it.

One wing was much smaller than the other, the feathers cracked and broken. Half the whips on its tail were shriveled and lifeless. One of the pitch-black eyes drooped. But still, it bared long, sharp fangs at them as it stretched out wings made of feathers so sharp they glinted in the light. Taloned feet dug into the earth. The colors weren’t the bright blues, reds, and oranges of the scroll, but more muted indigo, maroon, and burnt orange.

The creature snapped one of the tethered goats into its mouth and swallowed with one gulp. It moved onto another.

She saw Mezhimar’s arrows and Hadima’s darts arching through the air toward the nemak, watched as Pepha dashed out toward its legs to cut in with her long knives. Vabihn launched himself at one of the waving whips, slamming his war hammer down with a grunt.

None of it seemed to have any substantial effect. The darts, though water-forged, were a mere annoyance.