46. Keldarion
46
Keldarion
“O n your left,” I growl and swing my sword in an arc just as Ez slides along the frost-covered ground. My blade embeds in the shoulder of a winter wraith, its face a terrifying mask of frozen bone and frostbitten skin. I grab its skull in my hand and blue flame lights across my palm. The creature screeches as its flesh melts beneath my touch.
Rain tings off Ezryn’s armor as his boots squelch in the mud. “Behind you!” he roars, and I turn, scarcely managing to raise my sword up to stop the slashing claws of another frozen corpse.
The hideous wraith gasps, then drops, the fiery burn of an oil-soaked throwing ax sticking out of its back. I nod at Ez, and he turns back to the other four aberrations.
The two of us have ridden out to the Ambardon Moors, a section of sprawling golden hills, in search of more winter wraiths. Following a trail of frost, we’d found more than we bargained for. A whole herd of winter wraiths ambling across the grasslands, their blighted frost trailing them with each step.
We’d lost our steeds between the twelfth and twentieth wraith we killed. I feel my power weakening. And Ezryn’s panting with each strike of his flaming blade, imbued with oil, not magic. The pounding rain isn’t helping.
More amble toward us, their dead eyes so intent for creatures of ice and rot.
“Where are you bastards coming from?” I charge them. I’d gone to patrol the border between Autumn and Winter only a few days ago, but Perth’s report was true. None of Winter’s border villages have been attacked by the frost.
Ezryn runs beside me, but he slips on the frosted grass.
“Ez!” I call as he falls, tumbling over himself down the icy hill. He lands in a metal heap, adjusting his helmet as he sits up. But his sword’s flame went out in the fall. With a growl, I turn away from the wraiths in front of me and sprint toward him.
But there are blights at the bottom of the knoll, shuffling on their stiff legs. His hands move frantically, pulling out the vial of oil and pouring it over his blade, then trying to light a match. Water sloshes down his helm. The flame flicks, then dies, flicks, then dies.
Why didn’t you learn the magic? I think. Stubborn bastard.
He can’t get the match to ignite, and one wraith moves with astonishing speed, rushing on top of him. Fractals of frost glitter from its fingertips as it reaches for his helm. Ez holds up his hands to stop the creature—
But I launch a blue flaming orb at its head. The projectile connects, and the abomination shrieks, clutching its blazing face.
I skid on the ice next to Ez and yank him to his feet. We stand back-to-back, trapped in the valley between two frosted hills as more wraiths pour down on either side.
“Thanks for the save,” Ez says.
“I just bought you a little more time.”
We raise our swords defensively, moving with the synchronization that only two people who have fought together in hundreds of battles could achieve. “I take the east hill, you take the west?” he asks.
“And we’ll hope Farron can find our frozen corpses,” I grunt.
A strange melancholy floods through me. Ezryn and I have been in countless impossible situations before. We’ve been outnumbered by fae, by goblins, by monstrosities so vile I dare not think of them any longer.
But facing these wraiths swarming down the hills… For the first time, fear flickers in my chest.
Fear strong enough that I wonder if Rosalina can feel it.
There’s no way I’ll allow myself to fall here. Not when I still have a duty to protect her. Even those nights surrounded by my brothers and wrapped in her warm arms, I never allowed myself to fall asleep before she did.
I know I make her feel alone. But that’s the only way I can truly shield her.
But even I have my limits. I look to Ezryn. There are so many things I should have said. We’ve been in the Autumn Realm for two months now; I’ve had more than enough time.
But I still have a chance to make at least one right.
Ezryn’s body tenses against mine, and I know he’s readying to charge into the fray.
“Ez,” I say. “I’m so—”
A screech fills the air, not of a wraith but of an animal. A high-pitched cry. Then arrows cascade around us, tipped with flames.
One wraith goes down, then another. I look up to the sky. The giant white wings of an owl crest through the clouds. Atop the beast, a fae ranger clad in blue fur peers over the feathers, bow drawn. She unleashes another fiery arrow.
A rumble sounds and the ground shakes.
A shadowy silhouette of cavalry thunders over the hill and into the valley toward us. They ride a variety of creatures, and my heart pounds with anticipation. Reindeers storm at the forefront with antlers raised high, while the rear guard is comprised of lumbering polar bears. Giant white foxes dart in and out of the formation with ease. And leading the troop is a massive moose, its mighty legs propelling down the hill with grace and power.
Atop each of these beasts is a fae soldier, dressed in the sapphire blue regalia of Winter.
The soldiers rip through the wraiths, distracting them with blade and spear and rounding them into a tight circle. From above, the ranger atop the snowy owl shoots flaming arrows into the mix. A rider on a polar bear throws a flask into the ring of wraiths, and blue fire explodes around them. Whatever they’ve done to their weapons has made their fire impervious to the relentless downfall.
Ezryn and I back up against each other. “It’s the Kryodian Riders,” I breathe.