What kind of creatures are the Weir? Annon asked.

Nizeera was quiet.

Nizeera?

They are much larger than the hounds of Aunwynn, the Vecses. They are powerful and subtle, able to blend their coats with glass-like magic that can render them nearly invisible. They are strong and swift, natural predators. The dust from their pelt is poisonous to mortals, making wounds difficult to heal. They will often disable their prey and then drag them to their lair to feed.

Annon stumbled over a tree root, his mind filling with terror. Truly, Nizeera?

It is better to die quickly than be dragged off to their lair. I will protect you, Druidecht. I will protect you as well as I can. I sense your fear.

A loud wail came from the distance in the dark, discernible to all.

“They come,” Tyrus whispered hoarsely. He stopped, straining to listen. The echoing sounds of their adversaries started up in a chorus as other Weir began to yowl and moan. “They were waiting for daylight to fail,” he added angrily.

The sound of a cracking branch startled them. A huge limb crashed to the ground behind the group, as if some heavy animal had climbed into the trees. The sound of the crash was so near that they all started.

Mirrowen save us, Annon thought bleakly.

“Run,” Tyrus ordered and plunged into the darkness ahead.

The sound of their pursuers rose up in a cacophony of yowling, mewling sounds, the cracked leaves crunching and hissing. Shapes loped into the shadows, gone in an instant. Annon was unable to see them fully, but he could sense them closing in from behind, and he stumbled after Tyrus in the darkness, dreading to face the creatures hunting their steps.

There was a sound of warning, a shout of surprise, and then splashing.

Annon’s boots plunged into brackish waters. They had reached the edge of a pond, the surface covered with so many dead leaves that it hid the expanse of waters like an illusion of ground. Tyrus had stumbled into it first and warned the others, but Annon was quickly behind him and had plunged in next unwittingly.

“Hold!” Tyrus bellowed, his face dripping. “It’s a swamp. They’re herding us right into it.”

“And we have played into their intentions,” Kiranrao snarled. He wheeled back to face the pursuers. “They can’t come at us from behind. Are we going to hold our ground here or use the Tay al-Ard?”

Annon felt something brush against his boots under the water. He took a wary step backward and used the Vaettir words to summon fire. His fingers glowed, spreading a cone of blue light over the dark waters. The pond was full of ugly black fish, their mouths puckering as their faces emerged from the waters, sucking the air. Little appendages of flesh stuck out from the mouths, and he saw many of them coiling around his legs, the faces coming out of the water to gasp on the air. The sight revolted him.

“There’s some sort of fish in the wat—” he said as a huge, catlike beast landed on his back, shoving him face-first into the muck. He felt the claws digging into his muscles and he screamed soundlessly in the water in pain and shock.

“The trees!” Paedrin shouted, sucking in his breath and vaulting upward with the Sword of Winds. He could not see the Weir with his natural eyes, but he could see them with his blind vision and stabbed the first one he encountered right in the heart. The blade sliced through fur, skin, muscle, and bone, impaling the monstrous cat. He felt the shuddering weight of the creature as it slid backward off the branch and fell with a crash onto the ground.

Many more were slinking in the trees, maneuvering through the twisted limbs with grace and agility. One launched itself at him and Paedrin used the blade to go higher so that it fell short and also landed on the ground. But it was not disabled and struck at Baylen with a vicious scream.

Paedrin felt his blood respond to the noise and he wanted to fight. He wanted to avenge the death of Aboujaoude. He heard the ping of arrows and watched Hettie stick several into a single Weir, but the arrows did nothing to injure them. The creature vaulted at her and she managed to duck low so that it sailed over her head. Instantly fire streamed from her fingers, ripping into the creature’s hide and turning it into ash.

The commotion of the battle stretched all along the edge of the pond. Snarls and ripping claws came in a rockslide of fury, the Weir bounding into the fray with supple grace and fluid motions. Paedrin dropped down from above, stopping one with his sword, but another ripped into his side with its claws, opening up ribbons of flesh that stung and burned with heat.

He yanked the blade free from the carcass and whirled around, catching its throat before it could sink its teeth into his arm.