Tedros.

Where was Tedros?

She whirled to see him, Excalibur in hand, charging towards Rafal, whose back was turned. Agatha held in a scream as Tedros raised his sword—

Rafal spun just in time, shooting a bomb of black glow which Tedros barely deflected with his blade.

“Always so impulsive, little prince,” the young School Master snorted. “And now you’ve taken yourself into battle against someone who can’t be killed.”

“When I’m done, you’ll be in so many pieces, I’d like to see you try to put yourself back together!” Tedros roared.

As the two clashed viciously, Rafal firing more death spells and Tedros repelling them, Agatha could see her prince already losing ground. The School Master was rifling spells so fast and blasting away trees with such force that Tedros was diving behind stumps to avoid being toasted alive.

Agatha couldn’t breathe. Her prince was going to die. She had to help him! But how? The School Master was invincible. There was no way to save Tedros unless—

The ring.

She looked up urgently and saw Sophie, crimson with rage, firing spells at stymph birds and crashing them with their riders to the ground. Sophie sensed something and froze still, before she turned and saw Agatha glowering at her . . . at the ring on her finger . . . her jaw set with determination. Slowly the two friends locked eyes.

Sophie took off, fleeing through the Forest.

Agatha started chasing, then heard Tedros cry with pain. She whirled and saw him crawling through flaming bodies, clutching his singed arm, as he tried to dodge Rafal’s spells.

At the same time, the Dark Army was starting to regain a foothold in battle, thanks to Jack’s giant, knocking down stymphs with his fist, while Captain Hook slashed his weapon, sending students careening to the ground. Merlin’s gestures were increasingly frantic, and he had the same anxious look that he’d had when he’d lost control of his fairy-dust train.

Agatha swiveled to Tedros and saw him using a stymph corpse as a shield against Rafal, as the School Master closed in. Petrified, Agatha spun and saw Sophie getting farther away—

Either she went to help Tedros or she went after the ring.

She looked up to the sun’s glow sinking in the dead-east. There wasn’t much time—

“Let me free!” Lancelot’s voice ripped through the chaos. “The boy’ll die without me!”

Agatha’s eyes veered to him, speared to the tree. The knight was caked with blood, his hair ragged and beast-like, his face filled with primal rage.

“I fight,” he snarled at her. “You go after her.”

Agatha knew there wasn’t an argument. In a heartbeat, she hurdled over burning bodies and yanked the sword out of the knight’s shoulder.

Lancelot howled in agony and relief before he stumbled forward and snatched the sword out of her hands.

“Get her back here,” he panted, squeezing her arm hard.

“But Tedros . . . what about Ted—”

“He’ll be here, safe and sound, with Excalibur ready to destroy the ring when you return. I promise you, Agatha: I will keep the boy safe. But we need you to bring Sophie back,” Lancelot pressed. “Don’t fail me and I won’t fail you. Understood?”