CHAPTER FORTY-SIX #4
Not a second later, the horses broke through. There were dozens of them. Men in dark uniforms rode astride and ran alongside the steeds.
Evylin’s heart kicked up with panic. Deckard was nearly to her, only a few feet of forest separating them. She reached out her hand, ready to run.
A rider leaped from his horse, tackling Deckard. They went rolling across the dirt.
“Jonn!” Evylin rushed forward, yanking the Time Relic from her neck. Her worn muscles protested, spasming even at the simplest movement. She prepared to fight anyway, the Relic glimmering into an ivory sword as radiant as moonlight.
Deckard managed to get the upper hand, kicking the man off before rising and incapacitating his opponent in one swift move. Evylin blinked at the speed and accuracy of his blows, impressed despite her panic. She’d never seen him brawl but found that he was surprisingly good at it.
More men pressed in, but Evylin caught up to Deckard.
Readily, she cut down two new attackers, defending his back.
Deckard knocked another man down. As they did in the Keep, they fought side by side.
For a moment, Evylin thought they might be able to take on these unprecedented odds.
After all, they were Warrior and Mage: a balanced, unified team.
Then she realized that Deckard wasn’t using his magic at all.
And neither was she.
Desperate, Evylin reached out and tried to connect with her own magic, waiting for the clarity, the rise, the heightened reality. It wouldn’t respond.
One of the swordsmen lunged out, striking her arm. Blood welled from the gash, and the blow caused Evylin to falter. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. But she wouldn’t give up.
Evylin kicked out, breaking the man’s knee with the force of her strike. A moment later, the glow of the Time sword pulsed in his stomach.
The rain increased, becoming a torrent that seemed to descend in time with the fight.
More men pressed in. Deckard grunted in pain.
Evylin glanced over her shoulder to see one of their attackers kick Deckard’s leg out from under him, driving him to the ground.
Two other men tackled him without hesitation.
“He’s secure,” one said, though Deckard struggled mightily against the three men.
“Get the woman!” a man on horseback ordered.
Deckard bucked against his captors but couldn’t budge them.
Evylin continued to fight, the flame of hope struggling to stay ablaze in her heart.
Her attacks were becoming sloppy, and she could feel herself weakening.
Where were the others? Had these men already captured them?
Or had they escaped? She tightened her grip, determined to stand her ground and free Deckard.
They wouldn’t lose. They couldn’t.
She managed to take down two more men before a heavy weight slammed into her side.
Landing in the fresh mud, she gasped, trying to wriggle free of the figure holding her to the forest floor.
The slick terrae helped. She began to slip from her captor’s grasp.
Then three more men were upon her, pressing her deeper and deeper into the mud.
Another man wrenched the sword from her grasp. Disconnected from her power, it shifted to a necklace, its diamond dull and lifeless. “I’ve got one more,” he called.
One more? They had other Relics in their possession?
Frantic, Evylin looked at Deckard. They’d bound his hands, flipping him onto his back.
One of them grabbed the chain around his neck, studying the pendant.
Evylin’s heart lurched in fear. But it wasn’t the Night Relic.
At the end of the chain hung a plain, tarnished bronze crest Evylin had never seen before.
“This isn’t one of them,” the man said, letting it fall back to Deckard’s chest.
“Evie,” Deckard muttered, his eyes dark green in the moonlight.
Evylin sucked in a sharp breath, tasting mud. So he was using magic. Somehow, he was using the final remnants within him to disguise the Night Relic.
A new fear crept into Evylin’s mind. “The Keep drained me.” What if Deckard blacked out? Would the Relic remain hidden?
Eyes locked with her husband’s, Evylin fought harder against her captors. They shoved her cheek farther into the dirt, working to bind her wrists behind her. Tears rose as she used the terrae beneath her for leverage. The hard surface wouldn’t yield to her. So the men would have to.
She pushed with all her might, determined not to let them stop her. She wouldn’t let them take Deckard. Not when she was finally ready to tell him. . . .
With a furious cry of exertion, Evylin strained against the terrae, pushing the men off the ground as they struggled to hold onto her. They loosened their grip, scrambling frantically to subdue her.
“She’s the Warrior, you idiots,” one man yelled. “Knock her out!”
Two more men leaped into the fray, shoving Evylin down even as her skin tingled with the last dregs of power.
Another man stepped forward, a dagger in his hand.
The fleeting thought of “not again” passed through Evylin’s mind just before he struck.
The hilt slammed into her temple, and the world turned to black.