78. PERSPECTIVE
A good portion of the eastern section of the camp was solely devoted to the surprisingly large regiment of Dionachs that Torin had sent.
We were ever grateful for their numbers. Every guardian was invaluable. Their near-immortal nature would lend us a great advantage on the battlefield—both in saving lives and taking those of our enemy.
I’d been sifting through the camp since before dawn, unable to sleep. The days before a battle were always full of strategy and planning. It was the time to foster strength and hope and determination. But the nights . . . the nights were for worrying and doubts.
When darkness fell upon the land, a soldier’s morale shifted with it.
No matter how strong one might believe themselves to be, or how sure they were that they would emerge victorious, there was no avoiding the sulking shame that came in the night, and the feeling that maybe everything they had done to prepare wasn’t enough.
Whether the Dionachs experienced the same process of emotions when it came to facing the possibility of death, they didn’t let on.
I couldn’t even recall the last time, if ever, that Remic spoke of what it was like to constantly risk his life for one of ours.
It had to weigh on him somehow, someway.
Looking at the throng of winged beings moving in and out of their tents and sharpening their weapons, I would never have thought they had any inkling of worry—aside from the occasional long gaze northward, toward The Wastelands.
Some of them casually conversed with one another, while others remained quiet and inspected their leather and armor, polishing their pauldrons and vambraces like the impending war was more of a fashion statement than a battle between good and evil.
Neutral expressions, relaxed demeanors . . .
I half-laughed to myself. We would see how much those things changed after this meeting took place and Niall and I made it known exactly what was about to happen on the battlefield.
“They’re late,” Maeson’s voice sounded from somewhere behind me. “They’re never late.”
“Must be important, then.” I turned, instantly feeling lighter when I saw her face.
In the midst of a muddy war camp that smelled of charred wood, worn leather, and sweat, she was a beacon of everything that was good and right in the world. She was comfort and quiet strength. And out of all the males in this realm, she had chosen to love me.
That thought never ceased to amaze me.
She stole a glance to the north as she chewed on her lip. “Something feels . . . off.”
“It’s The Wastelands. I feel it too—more so this morning. And the Dionachs . . .” I noticed several more turning their heads, as if to check something far off in the distance. Like they were scenting the air, as an animal would. “They seem to be more attuned to whatever is happening out there.”
Maeson came to my side, and together we stood, assessing. “It’s nothing good, that’s for sure.”
“Nothing good ever comes from war.”
I felt her gaze turn to me. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Her hand slid into mine, our fingers intertwining. “Don’t be afraid, Aremis. It will work.”
The warmth of her skin bled into mine as she tightened her grip. I allowed myself a moment to savor the feeling, knowing that any of these moments with her could be my last.
Neither of us truly knew if our plan to release the Aether would work. In theory, it would be as easy as speaking the words and letting go. At least, that’s what it would look like on the outside. But on the inside . . .
I knew better. Knew it would be a hell of a lot harder than spoken words and hopeful wishes. And I knew there was a very real possibility that I wouldn’t walk away from it.
But none of those thoughts left my tongue.
I squeezed her hand back. “I know.”
A short blast of a horn sounded, alerting everyone to Niall and Auren’s arrival.
“About time,” Maeson muttered, tugging me behind her as she made her way to the Dionach’s command quarters.
Like the main command post in the heart of the war camp, the large tent flew the black and gold banner of Calledan above its valance. Only now, the wind had died out completely, and the sigil remained concealed within the lifeless swath of fabric.
Dozens of Dionachs made their way to the tent, each of them the chosen of their squadron who would attend the meeting and then relay the information back to the others. Two Calledanian guards held the flaps of the tent open as Maeson and I filed in amongst the winged beings.
The group that stood in the center of the room was not entirely who I expected. Amongst them was Breck, and another Dionach I wasn’t familiar with.
When had Breck returned?
I searched the room for Remic, but he was nowhere to be found.
“Something’s happened,” I whispered to Maeson.
I tapped into the Aether. Find Remic, I instructed it.
My focus split between two realities. One half remained with my physical body as I approached Niall, the other twined along the pathways between the warrior’s tents, hunting for Remic’s familiar presence.
The sound of quiet discussion throughout the tent filled my ears, while the clamor of hammers and chisels, and blades sliding against whetstone, echoed in the background as my Aura sifted through the camp.
I gave Niall a nod, and he hesitated a moment before returning it. He knew my mind was split between here and wherever the Aether was.
He always knew.
More winged bodies filled the space, until there was hardly any room to move. Auren sent a beam of light into the air, where it formed into a large orb and pulsed brightly, calling everyone to attention. When the voices quieted, and all focus had turned to her, Niall spoke.
“Thank you all for coming. Not just for this meeting, but for answering the call and offering your protection and your skill sets. This war is not one that any of us wish to partake in, but it is necessary for this world’s survival.
The fate of every soul on this earth rests in our hands.
This war will be the last. Our enemy must be defeated.
I’ve summoned you all here today to tell you just how we plan on doing that. ”
Dirt, blades, trees, ale . . . I breathed in all the smells as I ventured deeper into the mountain pass.
Whispers, a few laughs, boots crunching against stone . . . I listened for mentions of Remic’s name amidst the jumble of sounds.
“When Nivelle and my commander met with you, they gave you a brief outline of what to expect, but some plans have changed since then. We’ve gathered more intel and adapted our approach, and there are several things you all need to be aware of.
The first of which, I will let the Lady of Calledan explain. ”
Auren stepped up to Niall’s side.
By all appearances, she looked fine, but something about her was different. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but I sensed something was weighing heavy on her heart.
“The fallen god can only be defeated by someone who descends from him, yet is not a god themselves,” she said.
“And that someone must be powerful enough to do so. Many things have to align in order for that to even be possible.” She paused and scanned the room, letting the silence build.
“I have come to fulfill the fae prophecy.
I am the enigma that Lyceius did not expect.
It is my power that will destroy what is left of his and eradicate him from this earth.
But I will need each and every one of you by my side to do it.
“Your job is to protect every warrior and creature on the battlefield that fights for our cause. But first, there are things you need to know about the enemy. Things that we have only just learned today.
“Torin’s sister, Skadi, has taken up arms, alongside Lyceius, and the creatures she commands are just as foul, if not worse than his.
We encountered one in particular that is made solely out of shadows.
It seems to be immune to all manner of forged weaponry.
However, it is vulnerable to the talons and teeth of a wolf-like animal that the fae call the cù-sìth.
I watched one kill the shadow creature when traditional blades could not. ”
“What she says is true,” the unfamiliar Dionach that stood next to her said. “I fought the entity. Neither of my blades had any effect on it.”
Concern circulated on faint murmurs as the Dionachs traded worries.
“A spell should take care of them,” a female voice called out.
Nivelle.
The Dionachs parted for her as she strode forward from the entry.
Instead of wearing armor or leathers or something befitting the occasion, the witch wore long black robes that fluttered around her as she moved—an outfit she must have brought back from Neveshir.
“The cù-sìth are ancient creatures with ties to magic and death, are they not?” she asked.
“They are,” Niall answered her.
“Then a death spell should do just fine on them.” She turned to address the Dionachs. “I will conjure one and bestow its enchantment tonight.”
Wings shifted and heads nodded in acceptance.
Niall huffed a breath of air. “Conjure one that can be used on the enemy’s entire host, and let’s just avoid this entire event altogether.”
“If there was a way, High Lord, I would. But there is no spell strong enough to take the lives of thousands.”
“Hundreds of thousands,” Niall corrected her.
The air in the tent fell still, as if every breath had halted upon hearing his words.
The number had put everything into perspective.
Niall met the eyes of each Dionach. “That is what we are up against—countless beasts and creatures that are born of pure evil. The darkness that Lyceius harbors isn’t like the one that runs in my veins.
It’s a corrupt version of the power he had before.
It’s the result of him abusing the gift he was given. And it should not be taken lightly.”