Shadow Rules the Land: Chronicles of Radelea, page 23
“Only take it if you come into contact with the powder. Taking this too soon works against you,” says Nyana. She slides her own antidote into a pocket at her breast, within easy reach should she need it.
I do the same, taking comfort in the slight pressure against my collarbone.
A scuffle sounds from the south. A rage-filled shout fills the silence. “Autumn soldiers entering from the river!”
Those around me turn and dart towards the east, where the river rages with fierce anger, as if it knows its water will soon be tinted with red, as if it knows bloodshed is coming.
I draw an atryxium dagger and follow the tight group. I have to shove through several groups of five, but I make it to the river’s edge, panting, to see seven younglings with blades at their throats.
“Stop!” I call. “I know them!”
My heart stutters. They cannot be here. Soon enough, this land will be bathed in crimson, some of it theirs if they do not leave.
“They’re our enemies, Bria,” warns Torin when I step closer. “The Autumn fae are under Maude’s control.”
“These are my students,” I whip at him. “They have been in hiding and are not being controlled by Night’s High Lady.” Turning to Dey, to whom I issued the order to hide, I ask, “Why are you here?”
“We come with news,” they say.
Vander steps forward, angling his body in front of me, regardless of my insistence of their innocence. “News of what?”
Mykaela shudders at the venom in his tone. Orli, Hamon, and Mitah shrink closer together. Rhett and Dillon hold hands and stare at the ground.
Dey says, “We hid like you asked, but perhaps not where you would have thought. The walls of the Autumn castle provided sanctuary while we listened and waited for our chance. We know every aspect of their plans. The undead march from the south and will be upon us come noontime. The harpies will release blue mock powder at random intervals, with the Night army finishing what the paralytic cannot. And the Autumn ships —” Their eyes widen at something over my shoulder.
A harpy screeches, as if called by Dey’s words, and the first blue mock attack hits the western front. Screams ring through the field and shouts flow from commanders.
Someone cries, “They carry soldiers!”
I order the guards surrounding my students to leave them be, then in a single breath, say, “There are cabins just up the mountain. Hide. For the love of the Mother Star, Dey, take them and hide!”
I turn away from my beloved younglings before my fear for their safety gets a choke hold on me. From above, harpies screech and dip low, and the Night fae riding on their backs leap from the security of the feathers and onto the battlefield.
War is not coming.
It is here.
Chapter 27
The drum beats echo off the mountains at my back. They boom with every thud of my feet against the cold ground, as if my panic calls to the drummer. We are too far from those hit with the blue mock powder to help. We are too far from the fae dropping from the backs of the harpies to be of any use to those nearest.
Something clicks in my mind. A harsh truth I am not prepared for. Maude’s moves thus far have been precise, and always follow some kind of distraction. That I am at the opposite end of the battlefield, along with those sworn as allies to the Dusk Court, is telling.
I risk a glance over my shoulder as I race towards the clash of battle. Dey, who did not flee and hide as I ordered, smirks. A flash of ice-blue shines within their eyes for a heartbeat before Dey’s neck twists at an unnatural angle. They collapse to the sodden ground in the same moment. Lifeless.
The guttural roar that pulls from my throat is ravaged and laden with pain. Sorrow fractures my heart, followed by a stab of guilt. If I had not snuck from the court to see Dey, they would not be dead.
I turn back to the fray, now on the very outskirts, and push Dey’s death to the back of my mind to dwell on later. Right now, it’s imperative that I concentrate.
More blue mock powder rains down from above, glittering like a thousand stars before blanketing those beneath. Cries of shock and pain ring out over the clash of blades when fae fall victim to the paralytic effects of the poison.
I bring tongues of shadow to my left palm while wielding a long dagger in my right, glance at Vander beside me — the others in our group have already dispersed among the battle — then slide along the slick grass to meet my first opponent.
The male is skilled with his short sword. Skilled yet cocksure. The Gloom taught me a lot. It taught me resilience, where to place my trust, and how to endure heartache. It also taught me where the weaknesses are in the Night Court’s obsidian armour.
I don’t hesitate. My feet move of their own accord, the tiresome training sessions with Vander, Wyn, and Torin paying off at last as I slip into a defensive position. I feign to the left, using my shadows to distract and blind. The moment they cover my opponent’s eyes, I strike with my right, the brutal dagger sinking into the soft flesh between his arm and chest. I rip it free straight away, then twist to fend off another male, this one burlier than the first, with less grace in his movements.
Between opponents, I catch glimpses of my allies, notably Blodwen as she feeds from the injured. She was supposed to fold to Winter with the others. Torin will be furious.
Vander remains beside me, wielding his axe with lethal accuracy. He has not yet called upon his powers, his weaponry expertise enough for now.
Alizeh rushes overhead, nothing but a gust of wind, and steals the breath from the Night fae. She ignores their wide eyes and groping hands, moving on to another victim before the first has hit the ground.
Tarathiel moves with such speed around Ruith that he is almost a blur of black armour and translucent skin. His High Lord takes advantage of every opening, his Konda severing limbs and slicing across stomachs with ease.
Beyond them, Wyn and Torin make an excellent team. Wyn uses the power of the wind to push attackers into Torin’s deadly path, where they end up either impaled on his short sword or with their throats slashed.
It is gruesome.
The sounds… The sounds are unlike anything I have ever heard. The Gloom, which was horrific in its own right, has nothing on this bloodbath.
A female of Night lunges from my left, her dark brown hands gripping curved daggers that scream of menace. They are not made to kill, but to maim.
I react without thinking and send a blast of shadow and ice towards her. The shadow blankets her face and constricts while the ice numbs and freezes.
As I swing back around, time seems to slow.
Larrad races towards me — No. He races towards Argi, screaming a warning that comes too late. Our eyes meet over the green-skinned Spring male for a moment before we both look on in shock.
Blood, red tinted with green to denote his forest-born nature, spills from Argi’s eyes, from his mouth and nose and ears. His bark-like fingers contort as he raises them to his head, his mouth open in a silent scream. He sinks to his knees, then tilts sideways and crashes hard to the ground. He does not rise again.
My eyes dart to Larrad, only to find him on his knees as well. Without thinking, I send a blanket of shadow to cover the Dawn prince. I will not lose another of Jonik’s sons to the magic of Night. I refuse.
“Cover me, Vander!” I don’t wait for Van’s response, and sprint across the chaos of the battlefield until I’m skidding to a stop before Larrad.
“Get out,” I pant. “I’ll cover you until you’re gone. See Penna, then return once you are certain you can fight.”
He folds away without a word, his face twisted with indescribable pain.
I suck the shadows back inside. The battle has barely begun, and we are already down two of our allies. And I can’t help but wonder, as I look at the harassment of harpies circling above… Where is their leader?
The Mother Star offers me no time to ponder the High Lady’s whereabouts.
A scream tears across the field, a sound of pure terror, sounding from the southern-most side of the raging battle.
As I look towards the ocean, my stomach twists into a tight knot, for those are Autumn masts slipping between the ships of Day and Dawn. And at the head of their fleet, a larger ship bedecked in amber and bronze. The ship of their High Lord.
The ship of my brother.
Before the ships anchor, the ground begins to shake. It shakes with such violence that fae are thrown into the air. A crevasse forms, shallow at first, but soon splitting the battlefield into two. Iron cannonballs whistle through the air before crashing into the shaking ground and sending sprays of blood and dirt over those close by.
Calls for backup ricochet off the mountains. “Incoming undead! They’re crossing the river!” The words of a Dusk fae chase us on the wind.
We have a heartbeat to make our decision. The plan we concocted with the other High fae demands we free Summer and Autumn from Maude’s wrath. We believe it will enrage her enough to bring her to the heart of battle. We can free Summer now, or Autumn. Either way, we risk losing one or the other if we do not act fast enough.
One look at Vander is all it takes for me to decide. I failed my father. I will not fail my brother, too, regardless of if he failed me time and again throughout my five and seventy years.
We fight our way across the battlefield, slashing and jabbing and twisting from harm’s way. We leap over fallen fae, dodge young males who dart between duels to fold away with the injured, and duck below whizzing cannonballs, all while fending off attacks and incapacitating our enemies.
Torin and Wyn join us as we reach the sandy shore of Spring’s long beach, where the battle has spilled onto the sand.
“Where are you going?” Wyn shouts as she sends someone staggering backwards with a powerful gust of wind.
“My brother is on that ship.” I tease a thread of my metal bending magic free and use it to disarm the female barrelling towards me. “I’m going to free his mind.”
Torin ducks beneath the black blade of a long sword, slicing across the female’s legs when he straightens. “How?”
“Your mother is here.”
“Fuck.” His distraction almost costs him his life. If Vander was not paying close attention to his second, Torin’s legs would be severed from his body.
He spins, his long blonde hair flailing as he turns and pierces the female in the heart with a grunt. He straightens once more and asks, “What’s the plan?”
“Fold onto the ship. Go from there.” The words do not sound like they are coming from me, with my ragged pants straining each letter and the harshness coating them foreign.
“Wards?” Wyn asks as we race closer to the lapping water.
“Not on the ships.” I gather the realm’s magic and wrap it around me, feeling the enormous power of the void, only to let it slip through my grasp when five selkies leap from the depths of the ocean.
A male, who is flanked on both sides, saunters over the sand. Xaler, the leader of the Summer selkies, locks his cruel eyes on me.
My first reaction is to flee. Cold dread spreads from my heart to my fingers, turning them numb. I recall his taunts, his torture, and his depravity. But I remember I’m no longer that female. I am strong.
Vander, feeling my emotions across our bond, twists his palms. A miniature tornado churns between them, growing fiercer with every turn. He slams his hands in Xaler’s direction. The tornado tears across the sand, sending the small grains hurtling through the air and leaving a deep groove in its wake, then swallows the selkie leader and his guards. It carries them out to sea and dumps them in the dark water, where they shift into their seal forms.
I rip open the magical hatch in my mind and free my animalistic powers, feeling the coarse fur of dire wolves skate over my palms, hearing the grunt of boars, and scenting the sweet musk of a well-run horse. With a single thought, I wrap the magic around my soul and crash into Xaler’s mind so hard we are both stunned for a moment.
I recover first, and with as much strength as I possess, coil my soul around his. I squeeze hard, and continue to squeeze, the coil growing tighter with every frantic beat of his heart. All I can think of is revenge. I can taste the blood on my lips from his assault, feel the flaking skin from dehydration, and echoes of pain ripple throughout as I recall every time he pierced my flesh with his trident. I squeeze and squeeze until his soul shatters completely.
With the selkie’s mind now useless, I drag my soul back to my waiting fae body, cradled in Wyn’s arms as Vander and Torin guard us on either side.
“He won’t be a problem anymore,” I rasp. I do not wait for them to acknowledge my words and gather the realm’s magic around me once more.
Within an instant, I’m standing on the foredeck of Rennyn’s ship. I take a moment to get my bearings. Three anglers and two members of the crew scurry about, providing whatever help they can to the ten soldiers who stand by the cannons along both the port and starboard. In the very centre, a male who makes my blood run cold, standing beside a female who turns that blood to ice. I do not know why Lord Gorred allows Chlora on my brother’s ship; I cannot think past the rage scorching my veins to figure it out.
Rennyn is nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t disappear like that again, Princess.” Vander’s tone is wrathful.
“Sorry.”
Twin thuds sound from behind me. I do not need to turn to know Wyn and Torin have arrived, but I do turn when I hear a third thump.
Tohminic, dressed in full Summer regalia of gleaming silver armour with flames pressed into the metal, does not pause to greet us. As he passes us, he says, “She is mine.”
A hunk of iron replaces his missing hand, its intention clear: bludgeoning. It grazes my armour as he barges through our small group and shouts, “Chlora of Night, I challenge you to a duel!”
Chlora turns. She is so alike her mother that I am ashamed to admit I did not see it before now. Too confident to don armour like the rest of us, her maroon tailcoat is at odds with the chaos of the war raging on the nearby beach. She has pulled her mahogany hair away from her face, with neat curls pinned against her scalp.
Her ice-blue eyes narrow at Tohminic. “Have you returned to beg for more, Tohm? I thought after our last encounter, you would not be so foolish as to face me.”
He straightens his shoulders and brings a churning orb of fire to his palm. “I am here to kill you.”
Those surrounding her draw their weapons — most of them Summer fae, with only two or three Autumn denizens — and aim them at Tohminic.
Lord Gorred chuckles, his muddy eyes locked on me.
Chlora waves them away. “Stand down, fools. This is not your fight.” She sneers at Tohminic. “You have but one hand, and you think you can beat me? Do you not know who I am?”
“Your mother cannot save you. She is too weak to fight in a war she started. Her preference to allow others to die on her behalf rather than face this threat herself is despicable. She will not find the courage to rescue you.” Tohminic’s words are sure, and I have to agree. We have not seen Maude since the battle begun.
Chlora laughs, though the sound is strained. She is not a fighter. In fact, I do not recall seeing her wield magic in the time I have known her. Not when she threatened me in the Autumn Court, not during any of those disgusting sex parties at Ad’Starrag’s rotunda, and not during any of the meals I was forced to share with her.
I had always assumed she had the abilities of Summer, with fire and necromancy running in her veins. But to be Maude’s daughter… I wonder if she only controls minds like her mother, or if she has the power to manipulate blood and bone like the rest of the Night fae.
“There are five and ten guards,” whispers Torin, pulling me from my thoughts. “We can keep them distracted while Tohminic enacts his revenge.”
“Ten. The crew will not retaliate. It is not in their nature,” I say. The crew and anglers are from Autumn, proven by the burnt orange of their sailing smocks. I know them to be gentle souls, bred for the sea with hands made to haul rope and nets, not weapons.
“Ten against four is not good adds,” says Wyn.
“Gorred is mine,” snarls Vander. He has not taken his eyes off the abusive lord since he folded onto the ship’s deck.
Ahead, Tohminic makes the first move, sending the fireball careening for Chlora. He follows with a second soon after. He does not stop approaching.
Vander sighs and gathers a blustering gust of wind between his palms, then sends it breezing across the deck, where it collides with a trio of Summer fae. They slam into the gunwale, teeter for a moment, then fall to the ocean below. Their screams follow them to their deaths.
“Seven and four. Much better,” says Torin. The humour in his tone is clear.
Wyn, who has been dancing from foot to foot, eager to attack the denizens of a court that caused such heartache, palms two daggers and leaps for the nearest Summer guard. She takes him by surprise and her blade slashes across his throat before he even thinks about defending himself. She quickly moves to the next, leaving five remaining for Vander, Torin, and me.
I disarm a slim female with a single thought, my metal bending magic thrumming with pride.
Torin dashes for two at once, each of his short swords making quick work of their enemies.
Vander throws an axe. The curved blade sinks into Gorred’s thigh, sending the lord crashing to the deck. He blinds another with an illusion — it is something terrible, by the screams — then stalks to the male who touched when he was not allowed, who ogled when it was not wanted.
“Please,” Gorred begs, like the pathetic male he is.
Vander merely pulls his axe free from Gorred’s thigh, readjusts his grip with a lazy confidence, then slashes it across the lord’s throat. He uses a strong gust of wind to throw Gorred into the ocean far below.
Chlora screeches as Tohminic advances, and steals a long sword from the nearest fallen guard. It’s too heavy for her, and she has to use both hands to wield the glimmering blade. She staggers as she slashes it through the air. That she fights with a weapon speaks volumes; her magic is weak — though her mother is one of the stronger fae I have met — and will do little against Summer’s flames.
