Their foes wilted before them. Some were running, some were trying to fight, and a few were attacking their own forces in the confusion and chaos. Trynne charged ahead, swinging her blade on both sides of her horse as she went, fighting her way through the ranks.

Trynne’s magic enveloped her as she fought her way toward the beleaguered soldiers. Attacks from the glaives glanced off her hauberk, but she countered viciously and fast, and so did her sisters. The ranks of Gahalatine’s soldiers broke apart, and the warriors began to flee, creating an opening to the stranded knights of Ceredigion. There was a cheer from the men of Glosstyr, a throaty roar of triumph.

In that moment, Trynne felt the urge to invoke the ring of disguise she still wore on her finger. The power came over her, almost without her bidding it to, and she felt it transform her and her steed. She could see the illusion of it—she was wearing the armor of the Maid of Donremy, disguised as the Painted Knight—even though she knew it was not real. In the commotion, she butted forward, using her sword to carve a path through the dense melee.

Finally they reached the haggard knights, their black tunics drenched, the white boars now crimson. She saw Severn, ashen-faced, bleeding from multiple wounds, barely able to stand. He leaned against a spear, gripping a battle standard in one hand and a bloodied sword in the other. Men had fallen all around him. There were perhaps less than fifty remaining.

Trynne saw the duke’s eyes on her. He had no Fountain magic left. His stores were completely depleted. But she felt the presence of another Fountain-blessed. A Wizr.

As she approached Severn Argentine, the man she had sensed stepped out from amidst the fleeing soldiers, his face twisted with rage. He was brimming with magic—until now, there’d been no reason for him to use it. The only armor he wore was a helmet buckled beneath his chin. His robes were ornate, in keeping with the customs and fashions of his people. He was dark-skinned, nearly coal black, with a nose ring and jeweled bracelets. The eyes of the Wizr were full of wrath as he stared at her, although she knew he saw the Painted Knight.

He gave a cough of command, the word of power to dispel magic and reveal that which is hidden. “Apokaluptis!”

She felt the blast of it strike her, radiating from him like a rock thrown into a pond. The Wizr’s eyes widened with surprise and realization when it did not affect her. Had her very immunity to the magic revealed her to him?