Kit reached the hell pit only to have to jump aside to avoid a group of stampeding horses, which some enterprising witches were using to try to storm the gate. And then a rogue spell blistered past, caught the edge of his wool cape and set it on fire. He flung off the now deadly garment and started to stamp out the flames, when he caught sight of a nearby guard.
            The man had taken a break from combat in order to besport himself with a pretty blonde. He had the struggling girl on her back, her dress over her head and his knee between her thighs—until Kit tossed the length of burning wool over his head. It was rather more pleasurable, he decided, stamping out the flames this way, although the guard didn’t seem to agree.
            The girl did, though. She scrambled to her feet and kicked the man viciously before sprinting off. But after only a few yards, she turned around, came back and kicked him again. Then she looked at Kit, dropped a small curtsy and fled.
            He stared after her, shaking his head. Witches. He was starting to think they were all a bit addled.
            And then he was sure of it, as he caught sight of his own particular lunatic attempting to ride a levitating barrel over the walls.
            For a moment, he just stared, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. Until he spied no fewer than five mages heading for the cask and its glowing cargo. Devil take the woman! He sprinted across the battle, cursing, as his witch floated gently to the top of the East Tower.
            About halfway across the courtyard, he realized what she was doing. That tower was used as the armory, and it was a safe bet she was trying for the weapons. But he didn’t give much for her chances. The Circle surely had a ward on them, if not on the—
            It was on the window. He watched her reach the only one on this side, an elongated type barely wider than the average arrow slit, and cry out. Then a burst of power flared and the barrel shot away from the tower like a ball out of a cannon.
            It went sailing off through the air with the witch’s slumped form miraculously still attached. Not that that was in any way positive. She’d have been better served had she fallen off; she might have only broken bone or two that way. As it was, she was headed straight for the heart of the battle.
            Kit’s eyes flicked around, even as his brain told him that it was over, that there was nothing to be done, that this was not going to happen—
            And then he was running and leaping and grabbing for her as she shot past. Because he’d obviously gone mad at some point and hadn’t noticed. But at least it couldn’t get any worse, he thought, as he hit the side of the cask and held on for dear life.
            And it rolled over and he ended up dangling upside down.
            The only reason they weren’t spotted immediately was the thick smoke cover, but there were alarming gaps in it and a hovering cask with two glowing riders was a bit hard to miss. But, on the positive side, his impact had caused their mad conveyance to change course slightly, allowing them to miss the thick of the fight. On the negative, they were now careening for the west wall of the castle at an alarming rate.
            He tried to grab the witch and jump off, but she wouldn’t budge. It took him a vital few seconds to realize that she’d lashed herself in place with rope, and by then, it was too late. A huge gray expanse filled his vision and, even with vampire reflexes, they were out of time. He threw his body to the side, causing the barrel to spin—right into the wall.
            The impact didn’t break the wood, because it never hit the cold, unforgiving stone. Kit did, at a rate of speed not recommended for vampire-kind. For a moment, it felt like his body had actually merged with the rock, and he wasn’t sure it hadn’t. Because when the barrel suddenly jerked and pulled away from the wall, he was sure some of his hide stayed behind.
            There was no time to check, because they weren’t slowing down. The impact should have absorbed most of the forward momentum, but they hadn’t simply wobbled off a few yards and stopped. Instead, the barrel seemed to have a mind of its own, and it was quite obviously demented.
            Kit held on, fingers clenched white against the wood, as they swooped around the edge of the ramparts, causing several of the guards who had remained at their posts to have to hit the ground face-first. But others retained their dignity—and their ability to fire. The barrel rolled and plunged, weaving in and out of the cover of smoke, as a rain of arrows shot by. One of them grazed Kit’s arm, leaving a stinging track across his skin, while another buried itself in the wood between his spread legs.
            He stared at it wildly—there were certain things he was not willing to sacrifice for queen and country—only to have the witch start kicking at him. It looked like she wasn’t dead, after all, he thought, as a dirty heel smashed into his nose. He grabbed it, trying to see past the blood flying in his face, and caught sight of wild red hair and glaring gray eyes.
            “Let go!”
            “Do you promise not to kick me again?” he demanded thickly.
            “Yes!”
            He released her and she jerked her foot back, only to bury it in his throat a moment later. Kit would have cursed, but he thought there was an outside chance he might never talk again. And then a mage jumped him.
            Their demented ride immediately took them into the open air once more, the mage holding onto one of Kit’s boots as the vampire tried to kick him off. He finally succeeded, losing a fine piece of footwear in the process, only to have another mage jump at them from the ramparts. Kit tensed, ready for a fight, but the barrel suddenly stopped dead and the man sailed on by, more than four feet off course.
            Kit turned his head to grin at the mage and received another kick upside the jaw.
            “I’m trying to help you!” he told the witch indistinctly.
            “It’s a weak charm! You’re going to wear it out!”
            Kit personally thought that would be a vast improvement, particularly when the crazed cask suddenly went into convulsions. He held on, feeling rather like he was trying to break a particularly cantankerous horse, as it bucked and shuddered and shook. And then it suddenly flipped and dove straight for the ground–with him underneath.
            He cursed as he was dragged across the battle, through the sides of burning sheds and over piles of debris. The fire worried him most—he’d lost his cloak and his doublet was quickly being shredded, leaving little barrier between the deadly embers and his skin. Thankfully, the barrel didn’t seem to be the patient sort, and a moment later they were back in the air.
            Kit decided that enough was enough and snapped the rope holding the witch, preparing to leap off with her, only to be smashed in the face by something huge and heavy. It took him a moment to realize that it was the side of the tower. They had circled back to where this whole crazy ride had started.
            And then the equally crazy witch lunged for the spelled window ledge again. “Are you mad?” he asked, grabbing her.
            “Let me go!” Her elbow caught him in the stomach, but he grimly held on.
            “You’ll get yourself killed! The ward–”
            “Is down,” she gasped, struggling. “It expended its energy last time—I can get through now!”
            “You can get trapped now,” he shot back. He didn’t understand enough about magic to fully follow what was going on, but the guards running for the base of the tower were all too familiar. As was the spell that hit him in the back a moment later.
            For an instant, he thought the witch had thrown it, but she wasn’t even facing his way. As soon as the stun loosened his hold, she grabbed the window ledge and, with a wriggle and a twist, squeezed through. Kit slumped over the barrel, staring blearily down at a red-headed dwarf at the bottom of the tower, who was pointing the witch’s staff and glaring menacingly up at him.
            There was little he could do if she chose to hit him again, but instead she glanced behind her at the approaching guards, grabbed the little girl’s hand and towed her away. Kit concentrated on not falling off the barrel, which he might survive, into the forest of guards, which he probably wouldn’t. His head was numb and his fingers clumsy, but he managed to grab the window ledge on the third try and somehow slithered through the opening.
            “You complete ass!” The woman looked at him as he collapsed to the floor. “Did you push it away?”
            “Push what away?” he asked thickly, trying to figure out which way was up. The stunner had been a strong one, and while he could throw it off, it would be a few minutes. And he wasn’t sure they had that long.
            “The barrel!”
            She leaned dangerously far out the window, and cursed. A moment later, he managed to sit up, only to have the blunt end of a pike hit him upside the temple. It was a glancing blow, but it slammed his head back into the wall. He sat there, watching the room spin, as several witches fished out the window with the sharp end of the pike.
            They resolved themselves into one madwoman a moment later, about the time he heard the approach of far too many mages on the stairs. Of course, in his condition, one might be enough to finish him. Kit staggered to his feet and started toward the door, only to have the witch flap a hand at him. “I warded the room!”
            “It won’t hold them for long.”
            “It won’t have to.” She’d hooked the barrel—Kit could see it bobbing outside the window–and was in the process of loading it with the contents of a large trunk. “Well, don’t just stand there!” she said frantically. “Help me!”
            “Help you do what?”
            For an answer she shoved a double handful of wands, charms and bottles of odd, sludgy substances into his hands. He didn’t know what half the things were, but although some of them buzzed, chimed and rang like a struck tuning fork against his skin, nothing appeared to be attacking him. For a change.
            “Put them in,” she said impatiently.
            “Put them in the barrel?” he asked slowly, wondering if he was following this at all.
            “Yes! By the Goddess, are you always this slow?”
            Kit thought that was a trifle unfair, all things considered. But then the door shuddered and he decided to worry about it later. He threw the weapons into the cask, turned and almost bumped into the witch, who was right behind him with another load.
            He sidestepped and dragged the heavy trunk over to the window, earning him a brief glance of approval. “I don’t see what good this is going to do,” he pointed out, as they finished cramming the barrel full of the trunk’s contents. “The fight is halfway across the courtyard—”
            “As this is about to be.” The witch started to climb out the window, onto the overstuffed cask, when a spell came sizzling through the air. Kit jerked her back and it exploded against the stone, leaving a blackened scar on the tower’s side.
            “God’s Bones, woman!” he cursed, fighting an urge to shake her.
            “It wasn’t meant to happen this way,” she said, staring blankly at the window. “I planned to have the weapons out before anyone noticed.”
            “They appear to have noticed,” Kit said grimly, looking for other options. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any. The room was small and wedge-shaped, with but one door and window, both of which the Circle was now guarding.
            She rounded on him. “You should have stayed out of it! If you hadn’t jumped on board they might not have spotted me!”
            “If I had stayed out of it, madam, you would be dead,” he snapped. “And I was not the one sending us careening about like a drunken hummingbird.”
            “Neither was I!” Gray eyes flashed like lightning. “Winnie thought you were attacking me. She was trying to shake you off.”
            “Winnie would be the demented dwarf?”
            “She is neither,” the witch said heatedly. “And say that sometime in her hearing!”
            “I will, should I live so long,” he replied, as the door shuddered again.
            The witch stared at it, and then back at the barrel. And then she snatched a wand from the chest and aimed it at the fully-loaded cask.
            “What are you doing?” he demanded, grabbing for her arm. But the stun had made him clumsy and before he could knock it aside, their only way out of this death trap went flying off like a bullet.
            “Giving us a fighting chance.”
            “That was our chance!”
            The witch shook her head violently. “None of us have a prayer if they don’t get that gate open!”
            “And now what?”
            “Now this.” She rotated her wrist and the barrel followed the motion, spewing its contents across the smoke-blackened scene.
            “That wasn’t what I meant!” Kit said, giving into temptation and shaking her. “How do you plan to get out of here?”
            She licked her lips. “We fight.”
            “With what? You’ve just sent our only weapons to the other side of the castle!”
            “Not all of them,” she protested, glancing at the pieces that lay scattered across a nearby table. “As long as it’s only guards, we should be—”
            The sound of a heavy fist, pounding on the door, cut her off. “Open in the name of the queen!”
            “She isn’t my queen!” the witch yelled.
            There was a pause, and then another voice spoke. “Then open in the name of the Circle.”