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“It smells like your cooking,” Paedrin replied, trying halfheartedly to lighten the mood.
“It’s over there,” Hettie said. “Some kind of bird killed. Two more over there. Already dead.”
“What kind of birds?” Paedrin asked her, approaching one.
“Don’t look!” Khiara suddenly shrieked. “Annon! Calcatrix!”
Phae heard the flapping of wings in the trees above them, like huge crows bobbing from branch to branch.
The music of the necklace died away.
“One look in their eyes turns you to stone,” Annon said. “They’re roosting in the trees all around us.”
Tyrus stood stock-still for a moment. Then his arm jutted out and blue fire exploded from his fingers as a hailstorm of Calcatrix swept down on them.
Annon remembered facing the Calcatrix—or Cockatrice, as the Druidecht lore called them—in the Arch-Rike’s temple Basilides. How fitting that he guarded his inner sanctum with the same monsters that guarded his Scourgelands. He remembered their poisoned claws and how the light emboldened their attacks. It was daylight now and they would all be easily seen with no orbs to crush to bring on darkness as Khiara had done.
The gout of flame from Tyrus was broad and expansive, an impressive shield of fire that was more than anything Annon had ever summoned before. The first wave of Cockatrice was incinerated in the flames, but the attack came from all around them, dropping down with flapping wings and hissing beaks. Annon shut his eyes. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas!
He felt one land on his back and he reached up and blasted it away with the fireblood. Memories of the fight in Basilides hummed inside of him, bringing a panic of dreadful emotions. There was no way to call off the attack, no way to distract the birdlike monsters or keep from being found. Darkness was the only ally and that protection had ended with the new dawn. Surely Tyrus would call on the power of the Tay al-Ard, but would it work so soon? Had enough time passed?
“Hasten!” Tyrus called, answering his premonition.
Keeping his eyes shut, Annon surged forward, reaching Tyrus quickly but butted into by Baylen, who knocked him over. Clawing back to his feet, Annon rushed forward and they all encircled the Paracelsus, much more swiftly this time. Dread filled Annon when he felt the grip of the Tay al-Ard around his middle squeezing him.
But they did not move. The magic failed.
“It’s too soon still! Don’t look at them!” Tyrus bellowed. “We must fight our way through this. Paedrin! You are our best hope. You have the Sword and can see without your eyes. This is your purpose. Direct us!”
“I will,” Paedrin answered, stepping free from the others and vaulting into the sky, the Sword of Winds slicing a Cockatrice in half as he lifted. Annon felt one pecking at his shoulder, tearing away strips from his cloak as it tried to shred his flesh. He grabbed the flapping wings and sent flames into its body. Hettie was also using the fireblood, as he could sense her drawing deep into her powers.
“There are hundreds!” Paedrin shouted from above them. “Maybe more! Another wave is coming this direction. I’ll meet them in the middle and try to scatter them. By the look, it’s a swarm!”
Annon felt them all around him, flapping and hissing and ripping at him. He invoked the power of the torc and the Cockatrice fled from him. He needed to find Phae so that he could help be a shield for her. The frenzy of the battle grew hot and fierce. Cockatrice were everywhere. Dead ones littered the ground. There was nowhere safe to turn his eyes, so he kept them clenched shut.
He could hear the slashing of blades, the spray of blood. This was butchers’ work.
“Phae!” Annon shouted.
“Over here!”
He listened to the sound and rushed closer to her, trying to endure the pain flaring at his neck as the magic of the torc seared his skin. His presence near her drove off the attacking Cockatrice and they flapped away, only to attack someone else. He could hear their wings beating over his head and sensed their will pressing against his to look up at them, to gaze into their terrible eyes and turn to stone. Annon raised his hands and sent up a whirlwind of flames.
“Paedrin, how many left?” Tyrus yelled.
Annon could hear the Bhikhu’s weapon as it sliced through another one. His voice was panting with exertion. “So many still! So many!”
There was another sound. A huffing, coughing growl. A deep snort, gruff and thick and menacing. Annon heard the snapping of branches and felt something looming from the woods. Its breath he could smell from quite a distance, the cloying breath of an animal that had been devouring the Cockatrice.
