“And the Woods doesn’t have anything like the weeping tide,” Barclay added. “Gravaldor only rose in the Woods because of Midwinter. This isn’t the same—”

“Then I don’t care,” Tadg spat. “Even if he’s at full strength, I don’t care.”

“But the Sea needs Lochmordra,” Barclay said desperately. “Without his Lore, the Beasts won’t remain in the Wilderland.”

“If he’s allowed to live, there won’t be a Wilderland much longer.”

“I understand why you’re angry. You know that I understand. But the two of us aren’t going to stand by and watch you get yourself hurt.”

At first it looked like Barclay’s words had gotten through to Tadg. He sagged his shoulders, and his gaze drifted out to the murky white ocean as though his thoughts had taken him somewhere else.

But then when he looked back at them, he glared. “You have two choices. You can either let me go, or you can come with me.”

“Or…” Barclay stepped closer to him. “We’ll stop you.”

“Barclay—” Viola said in warning, but was interrupted when Tadg snorted.

“You couldn’t beat me even if you tried,” Tadg sneered.

Maybe so, but they had no way of knowing that. During their Exhibition, Barclay and Tadg had never gotten to have their final match. And since Mar-Mar couldn’t fight on land, Barclay had the advantage. There was enough distance between them and the weeping tide for Barclay to summon Root.

Tadg stiffened when Root appeared at Barclay’s side. Tadg might’ve been powerful, but even he couldn’t win two against one.

And so Barclay raised his hand, palm facing out, and thought, Wind!

A funnel blasted toward Tadg, sweeping him back until he slammed against one of the stone pillars. He groaned and crumpled to the dirt, then stood up, his expression furious.

He pointed toward Barclay, and sparks began to crackle at his fingertips. A bolt of lightning erupted from his hand, and Barclay dove out of its path. It landed on the ground just where he’d been standing. The grass sizzled, its blades scorched black.

Viola ducked for cover behind one of the pillars. “Stop this! Both of you! You’re going to hurt each other!”

But no sooner had Barclay dodged than Tadg fired another bolt. Barclay darted away. Even so, the lightning grazed some of his hair, making it smoke at the ends.

From Tadg’s other side, Root pounced, knocking Tadg into the grass. Tadg thrashed as Root placed a paw on each of his shoulders and pinned him down.

Panting, Barclay straightened and walked closer.

“You don’t want to slay Lochmordra to save the Sea,” Barclay said. “You want to kill him because he killed your father.”

“Shut up!” Tadg seethed.

“No, you need to hear this. Killing Lochmordra won’t bring your dad back. Your dad wouldn’t have wanted—”