“Out?” Fenelyus looked puzzled as she eyed the bow. “What do you mean, out?”
Moya held up the shoulder bag. “Only six left.”
The Fhrey narrowed her eyes further and shook her head. “So?”
Moya spread her hands apart in a show of exasperation. “Sooo . . . what do you want me to shoot at the enemy? My dazzling smile?”
“Create more.”
“That would take days even if I had decent wood, which I don’t. How do you expect me—”
“What are you talking about?” Fenelyus’s voice rose in irritation. Then in a scolding tone she said, “Make what you need. You made the bow, now create more of the little spears. How hard is that?”
“For one thing, I didn’t make this bow. People keep saying that, but Roan created it years ago out of the heartwood of Magda.”
“No,” Fenelyus countered. “That contraption is still up in Elan. This one is all you, dear.”
“But I . . .” Moya huffed in frustration. “If I did, I certainly don’t remember doing so. And if that’s true, how am I supposed to make arrows?”
“Do you remember growing a new leg?” Fenelyus asked.
“I didn’t—you did that.”
“I did nothing of the sort. I merely cast my cloak and made it appear as if a bulge in the shape of a leg was beneath. Your sense of self did the rest. You spent the majority of your existence with two legs. You wanted to believe that I had the power to restore you, and that desire was so great that you accepted that I had done so, but it was you who imagined that you had a leg again.”
Moya narrowed her eyes. “That’s not possible.”
“You’re in Nifrel now. Few are the things we count impossible. When I drew back my cloak, you had two legs because you believed you did. Your faith is what made it real. Confidence, conviction, certainty, these are the tools and weapons of this place. You made that bow out of reflex, without thinking about it, the same way you conjured your body and clothes. All you need to do is see that container full of tiny spears, and it will be.”
Moya looked at the bag and the bow thoughtfully.
“Do you have an idea what we’ll be fighting?” Tesh asked. He hadn’t liked how the Fhrey had spoken of his combat abilities, but he also couldn’t deny that ever since entering Nifrel, he had felt strangely heavy. That sensation had doubled once they descended from the plain. Moya was a slim woman, and normally he could have carried her, might have even jogged while doing so to catch up. But he hadn’t even tried. He hadn’t drawn either of his swords since entering Nifrel, and now he wondered if he would be able to lift and swing them.
“Bankors,” Fenelyus replied.
“Ah . . . okay,” Tesh floundered. “What are they and how many will there be?”
“Probably a swarm.” Fenelyus made a fleeting wave with her hand.
“A swarm? So, these are little things?” Gifford asked.
“Little? No, I wouldn’t say that. Picture a bobcat with a twelve-foot wingspan, bigger fangs, and longer claws.” The Fhrey noticed the unanimous looks of shock. “The claws and fangs aren’t a problem—well, not really. They can be painful for certain and take you out of the fight if they ravage you, but the real danger is that they will pick you up then drop you into the Abyss.”
“The what?” Moya asked.
Fenelyus pointed at one of the many crevices around them. She stomped her foot. “This isn’t real. Most of it was put here by the queen. It’s like the flooring in a house. You can break it, change it, and do whatever you want because it is only an idea. Beneath it, however, is a hole, a very deep one that forms the bottom of Phyre. We call it the Abyss, and once you fall, you don’t come back—not ever.”
“What’s down there?” Brin asked.
The ex-fane shrugged, but the look on her face was grave. “No one knows. Rumor says that’s where Eton imprisoned the Typhons, and it’s where Trilos fell. But no one has any proof. Like I said, no one comes back.” She allowed herself a long sigh. Straightening up, she pointed ahead. “I suppose there’s no sense in granting Ferrol any more time.”
The snow had neither let up nor grown heavier. The icy grains continued to hurtle down, slamming to the ground, where they bounced and built up. Drifts formed, which Tesh couldn’t understand, since there was no wind. Then he noticed that they were forming in front of crevasses, hiding traps. Tesh didn’t need any more fears of falling, and he realized Fenelyus was right. There was no way he could fight. He would be as helpless as Sebek had been when Tesh butchered the Galantian in his sickbed.
Fenelyus instructed, “Everyone stay close and be ready to run. And, Moya, don’t shoot your spears until the blue light fades.”
“What blue light?”
Fenelyus didn’t answer. Instead, she took three steps forward and extended her arms.
A moment later, noise emanated from overhead. It started as a buzzing, became a beating, and finally a growl. Looking up, Tesh saw that the sky, which had never been bright, had darkened further.
“Oh, great Grand Mother!” Brin gasped.
“Mother of Tet!” Moya shouted.
A moving cloud—discernible only by the gaps, of which there were few—circled above them. Within that veil, there were so many flying beasts that they blocked the fall of snow.
Thousands.
A host of two-hundred-pound locusts with fangs dove. Locked in disbelief and horror, the party watched as the multitude descended. Tesh had expected feathered wings, but the bankors’ consisted of thin leathery skin stretched over bone. Their faces weren’t at all catlike. They looked more like bats with flattened noses and saber-sharp teeth. Most of all, Tesh was disturbed by the tiny red dots that were their eyes, which glowed ominously.
Down they poured.
Moya raised her bow, and Tesh saw that she had an arrow nocked, but she held it, waiting. Gifford drew his blade, and Tesh pulled out his swords that, just as he feared, felt heavier than ever before.
We can’t survive this.
Darkness grew as the swarm continued to speed downward.
“Where are these lights?” Moya hissed in frustration and fear.
Brin and Roan thrust arms upward to fend off the impact. Tressa fell to her knees. Tesh aimed both sword points up.
Then with a grunt, Fenelyus spread her hands.
A sound like thunder rolled as the bankors impacted a dome of shimmering blue light. As they hit, the beasts burst into pebbles, dust, and stone. So many of the bankors hit the shield that the sound turned from a rapid drumroll to a horrific roar, a constant drone with no break.
Fenelyus shook, her arms wavering and jerking. Sweat glistened on her brow. Her teeth locked as she groaned. Gasping in false breaths, she pressed her lips so tightly that they went white, and her face turned red. “Get ready,” she growled.
Brin pressed herself against Tesh. She was so close that she’d be in his way, but he didn’t care. It felt good and lightened the weight.
What difference can it possibly make?
The downpour lessened to an intermittent staccato, then Fenelyus collapsed to her knees. The bankors that had pulled up or held back now swerved and came in. The ones already on the ground hopped awkwardly on two feet, their big wings hindering their movement. With a flutter like a tent flap in a high wind, they attacked. Clearly not their preferred method of assault, because they, too, were slow. Tesh stabbed and slashed, happy to discover that a single solid hit caused the creatures to burst into dirt clouds.