He was surrounded by at least thirty mages, who were pounding on his shields with spells and, in a few cases, fists. Meanwhile, the damned goat was making a run for it—at least somebody had some sense—and Mircea was chasing him, so was not available to help with said pounding. Pritkin’s shields were the strongest I’d ever seen, but they wouldn’t hold up to this much longer.

Damn it, why didn’t anybody ever listen?

“Here, Lady,” Grace said from behind me.

“Shut up! You’re not even supposed to be…” I began, but stopped short at the sight of her. Because she wasn’t looking so ladylike, anymore. She wasn’t even looking human. She was… “What the hell?”

“It’s an illusion. I was always good at them in school,” she said, which sounded really weird coming out of a horse’s mouth. Only, that wasn’t a horse, was it? That was…

God, I was losing my mind.

“Climb on!” she whinnied.

I climbed on. Why the hell not? If I was going crazy, might as well go all the way.

And then we were off, charging into the fray and—yeah. Pritkin’s eyes went wide. See what you made me do? I thought. I’m crazy because of you.

Then we left the ground, with the great, white feathered wings of every little girl’s favorite horse beating heavily enough to have knocked a few mages over, had we really been there. Since we weren’t nothing happened, but I guess the wind spells hid the fact that they felt nothing from our passage. Because, once again, the barrage they were throwing found a new target.

And, okay, maybe the bolts were doing a little damage, after all.

A sizzling burst of red exploded against one of Pegasus’ wings as we banked and turned, ready to come around for another pass. It didn’t leave a mark exactly, but part of the wing became hazy when the spell hit it. And after the bolt passed through, to impact against a tank on the other side of the room, the feathers stayed that way, as if an eraser had been briefly applied to a pencil drawing, smudging it.

“The attack is doing something,” Grace said, echoing my thoughts. “I can feel myself slipping away.”

“Then let’s make a dramatic exit,” I said, pointing. “Over there!”

Over there was a cluster of five large tanks, still full of whatever was being cooked up in those things. They were pristine, having not been touched by the fight. And, together, they probably had three, maybe four times as much liquid as the squid tank.