Two of the huge human-faced wolves pushed past the Horned God and slunk into the barn. They spread out to come at Josh from either side, and he backed up until his legs hit the ancient tractor. He could go no farther. Planting his feet firmly, holding the sword in both hands in front of him, he stood and watched the wolves of the Wild Hunt creep toward him, and saw the Archon ready another arrow.

“How fast are you, boy?” Cernunnos bellowed. It shouted an unintelligible word as it loosed the arrow and the two wolves launched themselves, jaws wide.

Gilgamesh came out of the shadows, the heavy curved Persian sword whistling as it cut through the air. The first wolf didn’t even see the immortal, but the moment the cold steel touched its flesh, it dissolved to dust.

The second wolf darted at Josh. Clarent moved, stabbing outward, and the creature exploded into grit. “Gilgamesh!” Josh shouted. “Look out!”

But the Archon’s arrow took the immortal high in the chest, spinning him around, dropping him to the ground. Cernunnos grabbed another arrow, leveled it at the king and fired.

Sophie’s scream was terrifying: fear and loss and rage wrapped up in one sound. Jerking away from the Saracen Knight, she pushed back through the broken wall, silver aura hard and shining around her flesh as she raced to the fallen king and threw herself on top of him. Cernunnos’s arrow hit her in the center of the back, its flint head shattering to powder against her armor, but the force of the blow broke her concentration and her aura faded and fizzled out, leaving her defenseless.

The Archon flung the bow aside; it had no more arrows. Then it started to rip the front of the barn apart with its huge hands, bellowing, stamping and roaring in delighted rage.

Sophie knelt beside Gilgamesh, lifting his head off the floor, cradling it. Josh placed himself between the Archon and his sister, eyes darting, looking for an attack. He planted his feet and his body automatically moved into a battle stance: weight shifted slightly to one side, sword in both hands, tilted up and across his chest. He felt a sudden sense of peace settle over him, and he knew that this was nothing to do with the sword buzzing and sizzling in his hands. It was the recognition that there were no choices, no decisions to make. There was only one thing he could do: he would stand and fight the Archon, and he was prepared to die defending his sister.

Gilgamesh’s lips moved, and Sophie bent her head to hear his words. “Water,” he whispered, his breath warm on her face.