Marika struggled, but Jake grabbed her forearm and pulled her free. Pindor and Bach’uuk yanked out weapons: a sword and an iron cudgel.

Jake turned to find a single priest still guarding his pack. The other had gone after the escaping prisoners. The black-robed figure made a grab for the shoulder straps, but Marika flicked out her arm. A dagger flew from her fingertips and impaled the man through the wrist.

With a cry, he fell and landed on his backside.

Already moving, Jake sprinted, snatched the backpack in one hand, and kept running. He headed away from the fighting and toward the storm. His friends followed. The priest tried to call out a warning, but it was lost in the clash and screams of the battle.

Then a sharper note cut through the commotion: a girlish cry of fury—coming from the sky.

Jake looked, shocked to find a brawl being fought ten feet in the air. Nefertiti hung from the claws of a harpy while battling three others with her sword in one hand and a knife in the other. She finally jackknifed up and kicked the one that was holding her in the face. With a shriek, it let go; and she plummeted to the sand, hitting hard about thirty yards away, driven down to one knee.

The harpies dove after her—and more were on the way.

She would not last long.

Pindor slowed, his eyes twitching toward the battle. Jake saw the pain in his friend’s face, caught between two desires.

Jake understood and pointed to Nefertiti. “Go!”

With a look of relief, Pindor turned and ran to help the princess.

Halfway to the storm, Jake risked a glance across the sand. Off to the side, the Skull King had noted their flight. His black-fire gaze fixed on Jake with a malignancy that caused him to trip. Bach’uuk caught his arm and kept him on his feet.

The Skull King took a step toward them, but he had poor control over Kree’s body and would never be able to cross the distance in time. Recognizing that, he waved an arm to Heka.

With a hiss that cut through the cries of battle, she crouched and shot high up in the air.

“Faster!” Jake said, and dug deep into the hard sand.

Marika, as fleet as a deer, passed him, while Bach’uuk kept to Jake’s shoulder. Only yards away, the world ended, rising up into a maelstrom of whipping sand, screaming winds, and crackling lightning. Anyone sane would be running away from that storm, not toward it.

Jake looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see the witch. Facing forward again, he watched Marika lift an arm across her eyes, heard her cry out. She had hit the edge of the storm. Her feet stumbled as she turned away, her cheeks already sand burned.

Then Jake was at her side. He felt the sting of the storm, too. He sheltered her under one arm, and together they pushed deeper, hunched low, buffeted by winds. Bach’uuk panted next to him, looking lost.