Chapter 66
Elsedora
Thousands. We were outnumbered by thousands.
As Moirai crested the hills, Krait’s Warhorse pulled to a halt at my side. The flames from its armor flared. “Why are you not on Mayra?” he demanded.
My friends never listened.
“Why are you here?” I snapped.
He shot me a grin that looked more vicious than delighted. “You know me better than that.”
I growled low in my throat. “Stay alive, old man.”
“If he fights, I fight.” Sybilla’s gray mare trotted to my other side, a bow in my friend’s hand and a charmed quiver at her back.
The Moirai disappeared and reappeared closer—now within range of our marksmen.
“Commence!” Fenris called out as hundreds of arrows flew and the Warhorses charged forward. Sybilla’s bowstring tightened before she shot and struck a Moirai through the heart.
“Stay behind,” I commanded her. “Keep a distance. We both know you’re still shit with a sword.”
“Love you too,” Sybilla said as she pulled up on the reins, and for once did as I’d instructed, retreating to flank the other marksmen.
Swords and lances met bone ahead, and I ran forward into the fray. Vangard stomped through the hordes of Moirai in front of me, roaring out blue sparking flames.
In my peripheral, I saw Asterie burst into hundreds of stars that corralled a group of Moirai and struck with precision through their hearts. The two of them could take down a small army alone. Letting the thrill of battle urge me forward, I allowed myself a glimmer of hope that it might be enough.
The Moirai kept coming over the hill. We’d be here all night fighting and still not see the end of them.
A horrid screech interrupted my thoughts as something grabbed my dagger arm. I sliced through putrid flesh, slashing a Moirai’s neck, with a cry of sheer rage.
The last time I’d faced them, Ryn and I had been the only two not dosed with garrot root. Then I hadn’t known to call to my Wind or use it as a defense.
My shout swept a gust into the mass of skeletal limbs approaching me. It knocked them from their feet, and I used their momentary distraction to throw a dagger into one’s heart and spear another skull with my blade. When I called the Wind back to me, the dagger returned to my palm.
Chaos unfolded.
Krait lanced through Moirai ahead. I couldn’t see Fenris or Sybilla any longer.
Griffiths swooped low, and marksmen atop them took down the Moirai toward the middle of the horde, thinning their assault. I could hear Cassidee’s war cries on the wind.
Flashes of Source power of all colors lit the dusk as we fought for the lands behind us.
The battle raged on into the night. All the while, I worried about my friends on the battlefield; about my niece and whether she was ready to face the Death Origin; and about the man who wouldn’t let me tell him I loved him.
And, Sources, I fucking loved him. That couldn’t be our last kiss.
I sought more cold nights spent by the fireplace, quiet moments being held in my bed, and a table surrounded with our family.
Every strike, every throw of my dagger, every cry of rage was for that chance renewed.
Clawed, bitten, and battered, I didn’t know whether the blood on my tunic was my own or the decayed and rotten mess of Moirai.
I called to my tiring Wind—and prayed to Siro that it would not give out. My next gust downed several Moirai, but my range dwindled.
With us forced back to the edge of Kruthin, my hope waned, and our odds grew thinner.
Cutting through the neck of a screeching body, I staggered and lost my footing. The Moirai descended on me without hesitation as my heavy limbs hit the blood-soaked ground. One snapped its blackened teeth at my throat; another pinned down my sword arm.
A crunch of bone sounded before a spray of horrid black blood soaked my face. The attacking Moirai’s head fell to the side as Fen pulled me up and spun around to protect my back.
“It doesn’t look good,” he groaned out. “We may need to retreat to Kullworth.”
“What then? They will be closer to more populated cities,” I said, spitting blood to the ground as my throwing dagger flew again.
Closer to Lamoreaux…
My breath labored, and my arms burned for relief. I’d worked so hard for normalcy, for little things to call mine.
While it seemed selfish, if someone had made me choose something worth fighting for when the battle horns had blared, protecting that idyllic orchard would have been top of mind—all the missing pages I’d promised Emmerick took place there.
The full moon crept across the sky, and to my horror, a gray crescent began to encroach on its white glimmer.
Dritan.
If a black moon was upon us, it meant something had happened to the boy…
Cries of fallen soldiers rang out, and the flashes of Source magic dimmed compared to when we’d begun.
Everyone was tired—we would lose.
“Then, we keep fighting here,” Fen answered as he speared his sword through a Moirai’s heart, spun, and repeated the motion on another oncoming foe.
A sweep of stars circled us, and Moirai dropped to the ground.
The Stars slammed together to reveal an ethereal feminine form, and Asterie materialized before us.
She gasped out, “It’s getting hard to take my Star form.” The twinkling blue light of her skin flickered.
“We must keep at it,” I said as the ground rumbled.
Roots snaked from the soil, shooting through dozens of Moirai. Wyeth emerged from the kicked-up dust.
A scarf secured her hair back, and her eyes gleamed green as her palms rose to push the vines forward, earning us a few yards. She crafted a wall of tangled roots, slowing our attackers’ approach.
Cassidee always spoke highly of Wyeth’s abilities in combat. But my dear friend would rather heal those wounded than be on a battlefield. This meant the Moirai neared the healer’s camp, forcing her into offense.
I shrieked out my frustration, cutting down another lifeless body.
Dust pelted my face; my Source power called for retreat. It knew our battle grew futile. A whisper on the breeze said, Flee. But if the winds of ruin were upon me, I’d be damned if I died running.
As more monstrous forms hurdled over the root wall, I continued to fight.