At the last moment, Rucrius raised the staff and caught the blow. The sword bit into the wood with the jarring sound of steel on stone. The blow rocked the Wizr back on his heels and gouged a chunk out of his staff. His eyes widened with sudden panic as he realized his magic did not and would not work on Owen Kiskaddon.
Then he vanished before Owen could strike at him a second time.
Trynne felt her mother grasp her hand.
“Protect the king!” Sinia called out to her husband. Then she invoked her magic and yanked Trynne with her down a ley line.
They emerged in an instant on the island of the sanctuary of Our Lady. The hurricane was hitting the structure full force. Debris from the city gusted past them—wooden shingles, laundry linens, pennants, and shards of broken crockery. They stood at the rear of the sanctuary, near the docks, and Trynne gaped when she saw that the herald’s words were true.
The river had turned on its back and lifted like a raging beast.
It was shocking to behold: the mighty river was being blasted back by the fierce winds. It was like staring into the maw of some otherworldly giant, its teeth of foam gnashing and biting to devour the city below. The water was expanding and filling like a giant lake above the city. Her knees knocked together as she took in the impossible scene. With a word, Rucrius had turned her world upside down.
“I need to release the spell before more water builds up,” Sinia shouted over the wind. “Or the city will be flooded!”
“We need to evacuate the bridges and the island!” Trynne retorted, still clinging to her mother’s hand.
“There is no time. I won’t be able to hold the water for long. Stand by me in case the Wizr tries to stop me. His magic won’t work with you near me. I need you to raise a shield.”
“A shield?” Trynne gasped.
“Yes! Now! Siopa! Pephimoso!” Sinia cried out, her hands held forward, fingers splayed, her head bowed.
At her mother’s words, the gale blowing at the river was silenced.
When the wall of water came rushing down the dry riverbed to flood Kingfountain, mother and daughter stood to face it. Sinia’s eyes were fierce and determined, her fingers tensed and hooked like talons.
“The shield!” she reminded her daughter.
“Aspis!” Trynne stammered. Her well of power was still so depleted from the trials she’d faced in Brugia that she knew it would not last very long. Magic gushed out of her, as if she were a broken jar spilling water. Then she felt her mother’s magic weave inside hers, filling up her stores so that the supply wouldn’t be emptied. It would drain her mother twice as fast, but she felt the lake of her mother’s power compared to the pond of her own.
The avalanche of the river rushed toward them, and Sinia began a complex weaving with her arms. Some of the waters diverted and struck the docks at the shores of the palace, crushing them into splinters. Another wedge of water was sent smashing into the trees on the far bank. But the brunt of the flood Sinia summoned toward where they were both standing, and Trynne started to scream with terror as it rushed them.
At first she thought that she was going to drown as the river flooded the island sanctuary. But it smashed into Trynne’s shield instead. She had always wondered what it would feel like to be inside a waterfall—and now she knew. It was all surging foam and chaos and raw, menacing power. The noise was louder than the thunder of a thousand horses. Her store of magic would have been depleted in less than ten seconds if her mother hadn’t latched her power to Trynne’s.
In the maelstrom of the flood, Trynne sensed her mother’s spells at work. Somehow the sanctuary itself was swallowing the river. The force of it made Trynne’s knees buckle, and she felt blackness tear away at the edges of her vision. Her shield started to crack.
Hold it longer! Sinia pleaded with her thoughts.
I can’t!
Trynne was sinking, starting to black out. The strain against her mind and her power was agonizing. She would have collapsed earlier if her mother hadn’t been sustaining her. The stress and fear of failure kept her struggling.
It’s almost over, it’s almost over! Hold on!
Trynne could see nothing through the waves. She could hear nothing but the roar of the waters. She couldn’t hold the shield. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Her strength was failing.
Another thought joined theirs.
Aspis!
Suddenly there was a third well of magic. It was strong and determined and supplanted Trynne’s as hers guttered out. She sank to her knees, trying not to vomit, trying not to weep at her failure.