Chapter 68
Elsedora
Around the fire at Lamoreaux, Fen used to tell me stories. He’d scared me with tales of elusive ghoulish creatures crafted from dark magic—creatures who fed off death and mourning. Fear of those monsters haunting the nearby woods kept me from wandering far beyond the orchards.
Neither Banshee nor Specter directly harmed, but they were bad omens. Both brought about death. I never longed to meet one, and for centuries, I hadn’t.
When the creatures of my girlhood nightmares emerged from the woodlands, my skin crawled. The Banshees’ wails curled through the night like a lash against my nerves.
A hundred tattered robes joined the fray, adding to the calamity. The Specters’ trickery confused soldiers and caused havoc among our troops, who could not discern their translucent decaying faces from those of the Moirai’s in the moonlight. They swarmed and aimed to distract us.
Death called to Death.
We’d be one with them soon.
All of our Source powers had worn away, and we fought only with our blades.
Griffiths descended, clawing into the Moirai, but the opposing creatures of Death just kept cresting the hills. More and more clashing of metal. More cries of pain.
My ears rang. I’d lost too much blood.
“We need to retreat!” Fenris shouted to me and Wyeth. My Soil-wielding friend could not control the direction of her vines any longer. She heaved out a frustrated breath.
We’d been pushed onto the streets of Kruthin.
Our wounded had no way of evacuating; it would be their death sentence if we allowed Caym’s army to gain any more ground.
Even Vangard was tiring—Moirai clung to his legs, and he snarled and spun.
Storefront windows shattered, and Asterie attempted to fight the Moirai off the beast.
“We can’t!” My throwing dagger left my palm, but my Wind wouldn’t guide it, and I missed. I never fucking missed.
“Elsedora!” Wyeth wailed.
As I was slammed to the ground once again, my head hit a cobblestone wall hard. My vision swam as I tried to rise, but dizziness overtook me.
As claws dug into my shoulders, I thought of Emmerick and let my dazed sight focus on the graying moon.