I let Finna drop from my hug and leap the distance to my bow and quiver. She sinks to her knees, I sink ankle deep in a puddle. I wrench an arrow out from the quiver. The auroras are blazing above, reaching tendrils toward the north and northwest and spiking sharp and jagged bolts of purple and red toward the south.

The mage arrives with a boom. It's not a sound, more like a wave of force that ripples out from the place the figure stops in the sky. It pushes the plants down to the ground and shakes the small trees, while all animals go quiet at the same time. Chittering and croaking cease, leaving the swamp in total quiet.

I lower my bow. The mage is a speck in the sky, above the auroras, far too high to shoot at. Perhaps too high to spot us, as well. "Move," I hiss at Finna.

She glances up, pushes herself into a stable crouch, and freezes. "No. Stay still."

I do as she says. That high, the mage probably can't see us unless we move. I remember Lictor doing something to my eyes and being able to see every single detail even when buffeted by icy winds above the clouds, but even with that eyesight, identifying a still person from a rock or a bush would have been difficult. Just having a clear vision isn't enough. I'm used to spotting an animal trying to keep still, hiding in plain sight. Mages probably do not.

I move as slowly as I can, lowering myself on one knee. I find a position I can hold without straining, but can still fire my bow quickly enough if needed.

Finna does the same, but better. The mage is directly above her head, but she hasn't even turned to look. She just keeps her head still, eyes on me. "Wait it out," she mouths at me.

The mage hovers in place, circling above the auroras. The colors and lights are so thick now, that they obscure my sight of the mage, like liquid or smoke would. They must be inspecting the auroras, instead of trying to hunt us. If what I understood wizards to be like in Tenorsbridge, maybe he doesn't even care if there might be people below here, and just wants to see a novel magical effect from up close.

But if they spot us, it will be the same as with all other Kertharians: boundless rage and trying to kill us without a second thought.

Finna glares at me, shivering and holding her hand in her other armpit to warm it up. I'm not sure if she's glaring at me necessarily, more than just being cold and angry and frightened.

"The mage is just up there," I whisper. "Really high."

The auroras react again, bending inward and then flexing out, as two more mages appear. Following the movements of the aurora, I can see them come this time. Their movement looks impossible and wrong, like they are being pulled around the sky by an invisible hand, instead of flying like anything actually flies. Ripples spread in the water surrounding the spot. The mages stop directly over us and the stake.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Finna asks. "We have the device. We have to get it to the place."

Well, how the tables turn. I lick my lips, gathering my courage. "You have the device," I say, fixing her with my gaze.

"Absolutely not," she says. "What is it with you all? Didn't we go through this already?"

We're keeping absolutely still, only our lips moving as we hiss at each other through clenched teeth. The three mages circle the aurora, floating around it. They are still too high to see what the heck they are doing, but that's just fine with me. They can keep circling and making notes or whatever, as long as they don't spot us.

Finna's eyes go wide. She's looking behind me, and I guess, hope, what she is seeing.

"The fourth stake?" I ask.

Finna nods the slightest of nods. "Yeah. Huh, it looks pretty wild."

I miss whatever it looks like behind me, but the light above changes as well. It stops swirling and turns brighter. The green tints toward blue, almost like the noon sky is cutting strands through the navy blue of the early morning. The tentacles of light snap taut, vivisecting the sky. They reflect from the green water, clear bands of light running to the north, northwest, and west, to the other stakes.

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"Damn," Finna says.

It's light as day. In principle, it should be easy to spot us, huddling in the middle of a swamp, but in practice, with everything going on between us and the mages, I doubt we need to worry at the moment.

Another wave of force yanks at us. One of the mages flies west, yanked away by the invisible hand with speed that seems like it should break something to go suddenly that fast.

"Maybe they all leave?" Finna whispers.

A blue spark floats down, drawing a shimmering line into the air behind it. It lands exactly on top of the place where we buried the stake. The line hangs in the air, leading up and sinking into the water not more than ten paces from where we are standing.

The mages start descending. I run my fingers over the fletching of the arrow. My mouth is dry, and I force my breathing to slow down. They push through the light, low enough that I see them shade their eyes with arms held before their eyes. The light is bright enough that looking at them from below is difficult, so going through it must be even more intense. That should help us. Their dark vision will be shot. If Kertharian mages are anything like the wizards in Tenorsbridge, I'm sure they don't consider things like keeping one eye closed.

I do. I'll need to open it when it's time to shoot, but for now, I watch them float lower. They are below the auroras already. They stand on the air, having a discussion between themselves. Through the rattle of the magic, I can hear snippets and the harsh consonants of Kerthar being spoken.

I inch and inch into a better position to shoot. They are low enough already, but the closer they get, the easier the shot will be and the less time they have to react. If one realizes what is happening and swoops back into the sky and rains fire down on us from above, there's nothing we can do about that.

On the other hand, we're just crouching in plain view. The only thing that has stopped them from seeing us is that they are deep in their conversation, waving their hands at each other animatedly.

They are low enough I can make out some features. The other has a white beard lining his dark face, his expression thoughtful as he talks. The other has their back to us, but I see the tassels and other decorations hanging from their robe. They resemble what the Kertharian tents had.

I nod at Finna. She bares her teeth, tenses all over, ready to pounce into action.

I nock the arrow as I stand up. The string is already drawn when the mage with the beard notices me. He opens his mouth. I let go.

The way the arrow flies is beautiful. No wobbling, no shaking. It glides and punches through the chest of the mage as he is starting to raise his hand to point at me. He sails backward, pushed by the arrow, only the fletching poking out from his chest.

Finna pounces away from me, toward the mages. The water she kicks up splashes my face.

The other mage screams, fear, surprise, and shock in his voice. Then the scream turns into a howl, breaking and cracking in rage. I can hear how his face twists into a grimace, madness taking over. He drops lower and shoots to the side, legs wrenching to one side as whatever magic is moving him yanks him to the other. Not a bad way to dodge, if there had been more arrows coming. I barely got the second arrow nocked, the mage reacting much quicker than I hoped.

The other mage floats backward, unmoving. Blood drips down, staining the moss and leaving a trail of spreading red on the green water.

Finna is halfway to the mage, but he flies away much faster than she can run. The mage spins in the air to face me, but registers Finna when he does. He cuts a single, simple rune into the air, and it flashes. Flames burst out in an arc in the rune's place, the air itself catching fire.

Finna skids to a halt and throws herself aside. The ball of fire flames out as soon as it appeared. It wasn't an explosion, just a burst of flame. Still, running face-first into it would not have been good.

I line up my shot, but the mage zips away again, dragged backward through the air. Everything happens too fast to take in any details. His clothes flap, Finna curses, the last sparks of the flame die out.

He stops maybe a hundred paces out, drawing a complicated rune with both hands. One hand draws the first curves, and the other cuts across it, fingers dragging horizontal lines and flicking barbs into it.

I shoot. The string snaps and sends the arrow flying at him.

He hears or sees it, zipping to the side. The runes are left behind. The arrow flies through the glowing lines, dispersing them like smoke.

The mage's dodge veers him closer to Finna, who throws a dagger at him. It passes his head, almost grazing his face. The mage doesn't flinch, just barks a scream at Finna and shoots up, back to the sky. He begins shouting the Kertharian battle cry every Kertharian has howled at us. The already too familiar howls grate on my soul. I want to squeeze my hands around his throat, bite him, anything to stop the sound.

He's moving, but I shoot. The arrow comes surprisingly close, considering how fast he is going. He ignores the arrow as it whizzes past, but stops and turns to face me. I finally get a look at his face. A young man, not much older than me. There's spittle on his lips, upper teeth bared, bottom lip curling between his teeth, something between a growl and a shout grounding out his throat.

Still, his hands move fast and precise, drawing symbols into the air. I try to get another arrow nocked, but he finishes first and the runes flash.

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