Chapter 45 #3
Rending struck through their fists, a tide of darkness crashing toward the rift.
The portal disintegrated in a burst of severed light. The rift snapped shut around the body still crossing, a scream breaking with it. An arm dropped into the mud beside Serenna’s feet, fingers still locked around the sword.
One portal behind the line would turn their shore into a cage. Steel at their backs. An army ahead. Skylash still grounded while Serenna fought to knit her wing.
Another rift opened.
Serenna thrust both palms toward the rift. Shadows cinched around its edges and yanked them together, crushing the opening into a knot of darkness before it vanished.
Skylash rose with a roar.
Her hind legs shook beneath her, clawed wings planted in the mud, talons digging for purchase. One wing held. The mended one shuddered with her weight, claws dragging a trench deep enough to fill with black water.
Lightning detonated.
A blinding shockwave burst from her body and punched across the river. The concussion rattled Lykor’s teeth and whipped his hair from his face, mud kicking up as the water reared against the banks.
The bridge disappeared inside the glare. Stone cracked. Bodies flew.
A whole swath of Galaeryn’s soldiers vanished into the charge. Thunder hammered the riverbed hard enough to jolt the dead already heaped along the shore.
When Lykor’s vision cleared, sections of the bridge smoked above water churning red.
Skylash swayed, but remained upright.
Then her head whipped sideways and her jaws snapped shut inches from Serenna’s face.
Serenna scowled, planted a hand against the dragon’s snout, and shoved her aside as she walked past.
Lykor decided they deserved each other.
Saundyl staggered at the front of the fighters. Lightning ripped from one hand into the crossing as fresh troops crowded in. Flame punched from the other, burning through the nearest breastplate. The double strike knocked him off balance, one knee nearly hitting the mud before he caught himself.
Serenna stopped.
Their eyes met, and Saundyl gave her a single nod.
Her mouth tightened. She returned it, then swept one arm toward the shaman line. Lightning streamed from her palm and forked across the fighters, striking the fading charges coiled around their wrists until violet arcs flared bright again.
Her boots sank into the muck as she reached Lykor’s side. “Why are we still here?”
Lykor glanced at Vesryn and Fenn and grunted. “We’re buying time.”
“For Jassyn?” She crossed her arms. “He doesn’t need you buying it with your corpse.”
“Skylash can move,” Aesar murmured. “That was the last excuse.”
Lykor ground his fangs.
A dark shimmer crossed the sky before he could snarl a reply.
Above the remaining lower islands, razorwings swept close, near enough for Lykor to make out the shiver of their wings cutting through the mist.
The swarm broke formation, scattering in every direction. One shape failed to level out, tumbling through the air.
Loose-limbed. No wings opening against the fall. Lykor knew before his dragonsight brought the falling body into focus.
Wings burst from his spine as he shifted. Space buckled, and Lykor warped into Jassyn’s path.
They collided hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
His arms locked around Jassyn’s chest, wings snapping wide as the fall dragged them both toward the river below. Pain ripped through Lykor’s shoulders as he drove his wings down. Once. Again. Each stroke wrenching them farther from the ground.
Jassyn’s eyes were open when Lykor pulled him close, seeing nothing.
Blood ran from the corners of them and his nose, bright against skin gone ashen. His pupils had blown so wide the amber had nearly drowned.
Lykor’s fingers dug into Jassyn’s armor. He recognized the vacancy of Jassyn’s mind traveling somewhere beyond the reach of his body.
Lykor cradled the back of Jassyn’s neck and laid a palm over his heart. The beat battered against his hand, too fast, frantic as trapped wings against glass.
“Let go.” The words scraped out of him and vanished into the wind. He pressed his forehead to Jassyn’s, close enough to feel Jassyn’s breath against his mouth. Shallow. Rapid. Rhythm lost. “Whatever you’re holding, it’s done. Let go.”
Jassyn shuddered, lashes fluttering. His hand dragged up Lykor’s armor and found his jaw, barely carrying its own weight.
“You caught me.”
The words slurred together as his mouth twitched toward a smile that didn’t survive. Then his hand slipped from Lykor’s face, and his weight went slack against Lykor’s chest.
Lykor’s wings faltered.
Below, Blossom’s bridge crawled with soldiers. Lightning, fire, and Essence cracked along the northern shore where the shamans barely held. Vesryn, Fenn, Serenna, Skylash—all of them remained in the fight, spending themselves against a defeat already closing in.
Seconds mattered.
Lykor looked down at Jassyn’s blood-smeared face.
Jassyn mattered more.
“You shouldn’t—”
Lykor shut Aesar out before the thought finished. He ripped a portal open and plunged into it before the war claimed Jassyn too.