Flamel turned to Sophie and Josh. “Get your stuff. Let’s go; we can be well away before the Horned God arrives.” Before either of them could object, the Alchemyst had caught the twins each by an arm and pushed them back toward the hut. Josh angrily shook off the immortal, and Sophie jerked herself free. The Alchemyst was about to object when he realized that neither Palamedes nor Shakespeare had moved. He turned to look at the smaller man. “Quickly; you know what the Horned God is capable of, and once the Wild Hunt have tasted blood, even it will have little control over them.”

“You go,” Shakespeare said. “I will stay here. I can hold them and give you the time you need to escape.”

Nicholas shook his head. “That is madness,” he said desperately. “You will not escape. Cernunnos will destroy you.”

“Destroy my body, possibly.” Shakespeare smiled. “But my name is and will always be immortal. My words will never be forgotten as long as there is a human race.”

“And if the Dark Elders return, then that might be sooner than you think,” Flamel snapped. “Come with us,” he said, and then added gently, “Please.”

But the Bard shook his head. His aura crackled warm and pale around his body, filling the air with lemon. Modern armor flickered into plate armor and chain mail before finally settling into the ornate and grotesque armor of the Middle Ages. He was fully wrapped in shining yellow metal, smooth and curved, designed to deflect any blow, spikes jutting from his knees and elbows. He pushed back the visor on the helm that encased his head, pale eyes glowing, magnified behind the glasses he still wore. “I will stay and fight alongside the Gabriel Hounds. They have been loyal to me for centuries; now I will be loyal to them.” He smiled, his teeth a ruined mess in his mouth.

“William…,” Flamel whispered, shaking his head.

“Alchemyst, I am not entirely defenseless. I have not lived this long without learning some magic. Remember, at the heart of all magic is imagination… and there was never a greater imagination than mine.”

“Nor a greater ego,” Palamedes interjected. “Will, this is a battle we cannot win. We should go, regroup and fight another day. Come with us.” There was almost a note of pleading in the Saracen Knight’s voice.

The immortal Bard shook his head firmly. “I’m staying. I know I cannot win. But I can hold them here for hours… maybe even until the dawn. The Wild Hunt cannot run abroad during the hours of sunlight.” He looked at the Alchemyst. “This is something I have to do. I betrayed you once; let me now make amends.”