45. Myron
Myron
No idea how long we’ve been fighting those fire-loving bastards. I’ve lost track of time with the countless strikes of Crow magic I’ve delivered. My shield has long shattered, as has the fairy general’s and the thin lining of protection Ayna summons without even realizing. Bruises are already developing beneath my scratched armor where I’ve taken minor hits, and I’m certain I’ve sacrificed an inch of my hair where the fire lashed through my shield earlier.
Kaira seems to be the only one who isn’t afraid of the fire. With her siphoning ability, she can grab onto the Flames’ power and wield it against them—in small portions, which do practically nothing to harm them, only to redirect their magical blows when they come too close for comfort.
It’s useful, though. Both Ayna and I would have been singed more times than I can count, and it doesn’t matter what we pit against them, they simply won’t die. Unless we drive our blades into them, of course, but it’s near impossible to get close enough to do so.
Silas, Tata, and Clio are still fighting what was supposed to be human soldiers. At least, they don’t hurl fire at them every other breath. The cavalry seems to have been Flames, though. And where the fuck are Royad and Herinor? They haven’t emerged from the wagon, and despite the fire that was there mere minutes ago, the canvas covering the cargo hasn’t burned away like on the other two.
I swipe my sword at a Flame stepping into my range, gritting my teeth as I cut through leather and flesh.
Beside me, Ayna delivers a silver strike that rattles the marrow of my bones, but the Flames don’t shy away like they’re supposed to. They grin at her, using the moment she needs to collect herself to land a blow to her knee.
Ayna hisses like a real Crow Fae, countering with a slice to the Flame’s throat. I don’t watch him go down, already facing my own opponent.
Tori keeps melting rocks and sending them at the Flames, but there are too many, and what looked like a promising tactic isn’t killing those bastards either. It’s like their armor won’t allow for any magic to go through.
“Use your blades!” Ayna shouts as if she is having the same epiphany at the same time. “Their armor is magic repellant! ”
“Fuck!” Tori steals the response from my mouth, pulling a knife from his boot and throwing it right at a Flame’s neck. The female goes down but crawls forward, blood spilling on the scorched ground. A trail of fire follows her like an armor of its own.
Ice crawls from Tori’s boots up his legs and torso, covering his leathers in tiny crystals right as the female grabs for him, sending a blazing inferno of fire at him. The flames die before they can as much as singe a hair on his head, and the female’s eyes widen with horror as Clio leaps from behind her mate, grabbing her neck and twisting it with a crack.
“That was close,” Tori notes, sword already swinging at the next Flame who dares come too close. But it’s not enough.
Even with Clio joining us, we’re only seven, and our opponents are at least seven times that. It doesn’t matter that Recienne hadn’t joined us in this battle. His power wouldn’t have made a difference. He’s better off spending time with his mate and protecting their unborn child from danger when it occurs at the palace in Aceleau. But here?—?
Without the advantage of our magic, we can’t win.
That doesn’t change that we’ll fight to the death.
Smoke wafts through the air, taking my sight as I aim my next strike. My muscles burn from holding the shield for too long, and now my arms are sluggish when I strike with my sword. Faster than the average Flame, still, but my blows don’t land as accurately as they should. More often than I care for, my blade misses the weak spots of my opponent’s armor to the effect that I drive them back, but they keep coming at us .
Ayna is relentless, not a hint of fear on her features as she grabs for her second dagger and slices the cheek of a Flame. At least, Clio has realized she’s doing more good alternately layering all of us with ice than trying to smother the fire in the enemy’s hands. I welcome the cool trickle of power whenever it runs over my hands and my face, the unprotected parts of my body where the heat finds purchase.
Tata and Silas are nearby, fighting the foot soldiers in tandem, their hatchet and swords gleaming in the fire billowing from the wagons.
“Where are the others?” I shout at Silas, who’s closest to the first wagon. I don’t see through the inferno layered over the outline of it, but I know that’s where the two Crows disappeared to. They might have long burned to cinders.
The thought fuels rage in my chest. Rage and the hollow sense of loss. These are the last members of my court. If they die, there won’t be a Crow kingdom left.
I spin on one foot, kicking out with the other as a Flame charges at me. They go down with a grunt, fire winking out as they lose consciousness, and I don’t hesitate to ram my sword into their back until it bites into the solid ground beneath.
One more down.
“Wagon!” Silas responds, but he knows as well as me the chances we’ll find anyone alive are slight, even if we somehow manage to win this battle and put out the fires.
Every time we cut one Flame out of their ranks, they regroup, forming an unbreakable line all over again.
We need a fucking miracle.