did they get the boat on its side than a hideous growling filled the air. Nelle heard Sam catch his breath. He hadn’t seen what was coming, but that sound was more than enough warning. They stood, holding onto the boat as though clinging to their very lives.
Nelle watched the narrow crack of light on her side of the cave. Was it too small for the dog-things to get through? She had to hope. There was nothing else she could do. Or . . .
She felt the satchel slung across her shoulder and the weight of the little spellbook inside. How would creatures like these react to a flaming sword? Could she remember how she’d managed the spell yesterday and conjure up a weapon? These dogs were much larger and more formidable than harpens, but presumably they would cut and burn just the same.
The first of the dogs arrived at the cave. The bulky shadow flickered past the opening.
Then she saw a nose—a bone-white nose, a skull nose. Was it a mask? There was flesh farther up the snout, but it seemed half peeled away, like a partially rotted carcass. It snuffled eagerly. No lips covered the grotesquely exposed fangs, and saliva dripped freely in long, shimmering ribbons.
The snuffling turned to a growl, then an enthusiastic, roaring sort of bark. The dog lunged at the opening, and the whole boat rocked wildly. Nelle grabbed hold and felt Sam on the other side do the same as both sought to hold the boat in place. Their only chance for survival was to keep that entrance blocked, and it was a slim enough chance.
The dog lunged again and a third time. The boat creaked. Would it break? Shatter into kindling under these attacks? If she were to write a spell, it had to be now. But how could she let go of the boat? Sam couldn’t hold it on his own, but if she waited even another second, there wouldn’t be time, there wouldn’t be—
A sudden cacophony of noise filled the air, drowning out even the bloodthirsty roars of the dog-thing.
At first, Nelle couldn’t think what might make such a sound. Then she realized: the wyverns! Those were wyvern battle cries! Her heart leapt as the light streaming through the cave mouth broke up in the flickering shadows of many dozens of wings.
The dog uttered a furious roar and pulled back from the opening. A series of chilling sounds followed, rasping wyvern shrieks and bellowing howls. The tearing of flesh. The breaking of bones. Nelle’s courage shattered. She collapsed to her knees in the shallow water on the cave floor, covering her ears with both hands.
But the storm of horror abated at last. Nelle pulled her hands from her ears, her limbs trembling so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if her whole skeleton rattled apart. She tried to rise but couldn’t, so she remained where she was while a painful, expectant sort of silence rang in her ears.
Summoning what small dregs of courage remained to her, Nelle crawled to the cave opening and peered out. She saw a pile of . . . of something. Lying not many yards away. At first she couldn’t recognize what it was, couldn’t understand what her eyes saw. Then it came to her like a thunderclap: the dog-thing’s carcass. A bloodied mass torn apart, bits of skeleton exposed, lumps of flesh strewn across the beach.
Her stomach heaved. Nelle pressed a hand to her mouth, only just stifling the sickness trying to rise. Trembling, she gripped the stones at her side and pulled up onto her feet. Again she peered out through the narrow opening, gazing back along the beach to where the fae man stood.
He was in exactly the same place she’d last seen him, his fists planted on his hips. The wind played through his hair, billowing the dark locks into an ominous storm around his head. He seemed to be looking at the smear that was all that remained of his dog-thing.
Then he took a step in their direction. Nelle cowered back, terrified.
“Kyriakos!”
A crisp, clear voice rang out across the beach, carried on the wind. Nelle’s heart surged in fear, hope, and surprise commingled. “Soran,” she whispered.
Peering from her hiding place, she saw the mage step from the cliff path onto the beach. He wore no robes, only a loose, tattered shirt that did nothing to protect his scarred body from the elements. His hair flowed white behind him, and he raised one