“A battering ram,” Eli growled from her side. “They have a battering ram.”
“Malachi!” Mindirra bellowed. “Battering ram ... there!”
His response was drowned out by more shouts and orders from the catapult leader, but as several of the archers moved their attention away from the Dark Fae and focused their crossbows downward, Desdemona supposed they’d gotten the message.
The large arrows zipped through the sky, aimed at the Minotaurs marching toward the castle gates. One Minotaur went down, while the other arrows glanced off the raised silver shields, which touched each other to create a protective shell. The others kept marching, one of them picking up the dead Minotaur’s shield and taking his place in the shell.
Eranna gave another command, and from amongst them came several smaller groups of Witches and Sorcerers. They ran toward the wall, small wooden carts rolling along beside them. Inside, Desdemona spotted piles of the explosives they favored as weapons.
“They’re going to try to blow a hole through the wall,” she whispered.
Moving much faster than the slow, clumsy Minotaurs, the Witches and Sorcerers had almost reached the wall.
“They’re too close for the arrows to strike them,” Eli said, grasping the wall and leaning over for a better view.
“Then I’m going out there,” Desdemona declared, already moving to climb up onto the edge of the wall.
Eli grasped her arm before she could shift. “It’s too soon in the battle. You’ll tire yourself out.”
With a shake of her head, she pulled away from him. “I will not stand here and allow them to breach the wall when it is within my power to stop it. I can hold out until Damu arrives. Take over for me, Eli. Give commands in my stead if need be.”
Eli clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond. Moving to stand in the place she’d been occupying, he gave her a silent nod.
Spreading her arms, Desdemona allowed her body to drop forward. She began to fall, the cold wind whipping around her. Midair, she burst into flames, shifting into her bird form and arcing back toward the wall, her sights set on the Witches attempting to penetrate her castle wall.
Rothatin flexed his fist around the spear clutched in his grasp. Swiveling his eyes left and right, he studied the landscape of Inador. For the moment, all seemed calm. The very air within the Elf realm seemed to have gone completely still. There was no flute or harp music to be heard, no tinkling of Pixies—who were almost never still—no laughter from the Nymphs. The creatures of the forest—who did not possess the skills to fight—had been hidden away within the Riverleaf compound, where Arandil Riverleaf stood at the forefront of the unit of Elves gathered there to protect them. Close to their precious water, the Riverleaf clan would have the one weapon they needed to fight against anyone wanting to do these creatures harm—as well as a source for extinguishing fires.
Stationed at every secret entrance to Inador were the Dwarves, who held their axes and daggers ready to fight back anything that came through.
Somewhere in the trees, his owl, Archimedes, sat in wait, ready to come to his master’s aid if need be.
He stood at Inador’s gates with Jocylene on one side, and En’im on the other, a combined force of Warrior Fae and Elves. Hidden out of sight, the Treelor Clan rested on tree limbs, their bows and arrows readied to fire from the boughs.
Aside from being anxious for the attack to begin so he could fight—the one thing he knew how to do without complication—Rothatin felt uncomfortable standing between the two women. One would become his wife, and the other ... well, he was not supposed to think of her as anything other than a princess he’d sworn to protect.
Glancing over at Jocylene, he found her staring out through the gates, seemingly as ready to get on with it as he was. Over a green tunic and matching leggings, she wore the breastplate made for her by the Dwarves. Forged of iron and dipped in brilliant silver, it was etched with vines and roses. She held no weapons, but nearby rested a large wagon filled to the brim with pure iron ore. The Dwarves had reserved it just for her, using the rest to forge weapons.
Clearing his throat, he caught her attention. She turned her head to glance at him, one eyebrow raised.
“General?”
When had she begun referring to him by his title instead of his name? It shouldn’t have bothered him at a time like this, but it did.
“Princess,” he replied. “I think it might be best if you stay close to me during the battle ... in the event that we find it necessary to combine our abilities.”
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, seeming uncertain whether he truly thought they’d need each other, or if he was simply being gallant. It was true that Jocylene needed no protection when she was, by far, one of the strongest royal daughters. Second only, perhaps, to her sister.
After a moment, she seemed to decide that he was right, and gave him a nod. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll do my best to stay close.”
Satisfied, he turned his gaze back to the gates. It could not be denied that Rothatin’s power, when combined with Jocylene’s, proved a force to be reckoned with. He did not know how or why, but his connection to nature seemed to feed her attachment to the earth. Yet another reason why he found it almost impossible to put her behind him.
Turning to gaze upon his betrothed, he reminded himself that he had no choice. He had selected En’im to be his bride, and it had been made public. Queen Adrah was likely already planning their engagement celebration. Things had been set into motion that he could not undo.
It was for the best. Jocylene was mated, which was just as permanent—if not more so—than a marriage. She had chosen Eli, and he had missed his chance with her.
En’im met his gaze and smiled. She seemed happy enough, and he supposed that was all that mattered. He would endeavor to uphold his promise and be a good husband to her. It was the least he could do after asking her to marry him for duty when she might have had the chance to marry for love someday.
The sounds of screams in the distance tore him out of his reverie. Turning toward the source of the sound, Rothatin found a cloud of billowing black smoke wafting into the air. Another scream came—but this one was not a cry of terror. It was the call of a bird.
A Phoenix.
An orange light flashed, producing more smoke, and with wide eyes, Rothatin watched as the tops of several trees burst into flames.
Beside him Jocylene made a move, as if to march through the gates and toward the fire. Rothatin reached out to grab her arm, pulling her back to his side.
“Don’t,” he commanded, maintaining a hold on her arm.
“But the screams—”
“We knew this was coming,” he interjected. “Any creatures still in the forest will hopefully take shelter. They’ll come here, or run to Skel’gar. If we go rushing off after those few, we will fail to protect the many we have sheltered here.”
She glared at him for a moment, as if accusing him of being a heartless beast. But then, sighed and nodded at him, as if realizing that he was right.
The screams died away, but the screeching of the blood magic Phoenix and belching of flames continued. All around him, the Elves watched in in various degrees of horror, anger, and grief. The protectors of the forest, it must hurt them viscerally to see the beautiful trees burned down.
Suddenly, a black shape raced over them, its shadow blotting out the sunlight filtering through the tops of the trees. Rothatin glanced up and caught sight of the abomination—the black magic Phoenix with silky black feathers tipped in orange and red.
The sound of arrows being notched to bows rang out, as the Treelors appeared from their hiding places in the trees, aiming upward.
More shadows passed—the Dark Fae following the path of the Phoenix. Arrows flew, racing up through the tops of the trees. Rothatin protracted the double blades of his spear, while at his side, En’im drew her sword. Several hunks of iron ore levitated from their place in the wagon at Jocylene’s command.
In an instant, the treetops above them seemed to explode, as the dark shapes of the Dark Fae and the birds came bursting through the leaves. They swooped down, the talons of the birds aimed at those standing on the ground.
The archers let loose with more arrows, as the rest of them ducked and swung their weapons at the birds diving down at them. Rothatin narrowly avoided the sharp talons of one of the birds, crouching low, and thrusting upward with his spear. Blood sprayed his hands and face as he gutted the bird, snatching his spear loose and watching as its rider leapt from its back to land in front of him. The bird fell, dead, while its rider attacked Rothatin with two curved, iron blades. He swiveled and ducked to avoid one blade, bringing up his spear to block the second. Raising his leg, he kicked his opponent in the chest and sent him flying back. A chunk of iron ore came hurtling out of nowhere, slamming into the Dark Fae’s head, causing him to shatter into a shower of silver dust.
“You’re welcome,” Jocylene called out, her focus already turned to her next target.
Her iron ore flew through the air—but not in a careless way that left Rothatin fearing that she might hit him or one of the other Warrior Fae. She was in complete control, hurling the hunks of rock at the Eendi as many of them dropped from the backs of the birds and drew their weapons.
Two more dropped down in front of him, and Rothatin took on one while En’im went for the other. Their blades slashed and blocked, their bodies moving in a synchronized dance born from years of practice with their weapons. As the Eendi kept coming, they kept fighting, striking them down almost as fast as they could appear.
In the distance, the sounds of battle reached out to him from every corner of Inador, and he realized that more of them had infiltrated through the waterfall tunnels. The grunts of Dwarves intermingled with the clash of axe against sword. The whisper of arrows continued from the trees, while farther into the realm, the sounds of rushing water indicated the Riverleafs were hard at work.
Rothatin backpedaled as another Eendi appeared right in front of him, narrowly avoiding being decapitated by an iron blade. He raised his spear in challenge and engaged the Dark Faerie in a fight, praying to the gods for the strength to endure what appeared to be a long fight looming ahead of him.
Phaedra flicked her tail and undulated her body through the water, swimming as fast as she could. All around them, the trees of Inador were bursting into flames, endangering the lives of the creatures hidden within the Riverleaf compound. While Arandil and a unit of Elves and Warrior Fae placed under his control fought the Dark Fae who’d burst through the nearest waterfall entrance—she and Arrian led several swimmers up and down the river, working with the water to put out the raging fires.
Bursting through the surface, she found a nearby tree lit aflame, chunks of ash and charred leaf fluttering to the ground and threatening to set the grass on fire. Extending her arms, she kept a hold of her iron trident with one hand and rose up from the river on a large tidal wave. The wave held her up as she directed more water toward the tree with the trident, attempting to extinguish the fire.
Farther up the bank, another tree caught fire, producing several screams from the Nymphs taking refuge there.
Arrian left the water, droplets flying from his braided hair as he dashed toward the tree in an attempt at rescuing them. Phaedra followed, pushing herself along behind him on the tidal wave and using her trident to direct more water toward the tree. She aimed for the fire spreading from the top, watching as Arrian quickly scaled the tree. Standing on a large, sturdy limb, he reached out to take the hand of a slender female Nymph, who clutched a child in her arms. Taking the child, Arrian cradled it in one arm, while taking the woman onto his back. A male Nymph followed, climbing down the tree beside Arrian. He arrived on the ground first, then reached up to accept the babe from Arrian, who then dropped to the ground to deposit the woman on her feet.
Retrieving the bow that had been looped around his body, Arrian notched an arrow to it from the sheath on his back. He and the three Nymphs were swallowed into the trees, and Phaedra assumed he intended to get them to safety.
She had just prepared to dive back into the water, ready to put out more fires, when something silver came flying at her from the riverbank. Swatting at it with the trident, Phaedra knocked it into the river. It fell to the bottom, resting among the smooth, colorful stones lining the bottom. A dagger.
Glancing up, she found the Dark Fae who had thrown it had her. He produced another from a series of sheaths holding several more along his sides and hurled it.
Phaedra blocked it once more, then surged toward the bank on a tidal wave, shifting back to two legs and landing on her feet on the bank.
The Dark Fae was on her in an instant, two of his daggers swinging at her in swift arcs. Phaedra backpedaled, defending herself with the trident. He came at her ruthlessly, his mouth curled into a derisive snarl as he attempted to take her head off with his daggers.
Swinging with the trident, she knocked one of the daggers from his hand, then rotated the staff of it at his head. It glanced off his temple, sending him reeling back. As he tripped over his own feet and began to fall, Phaedra took advantage of his momentum and drove the trident’s sharp prongs into his chest. The iron weapon tore him to pieces before her eyes, turning him into a shower of silvery ash.
The sound of footsteps behind her had her on her guard, and she swiveled quickly to meet a second Eendi. This one—a female—came at her with a sword. She blocked and parried the swipes of the sword with the staff of her trident, watching for an opening to strike. Swinging up with the trident, she blocked a downswing of the sword, but then lost her footing as the Dark Fae swiped at her ankles with a sweeping kick. Phaedra went down on her back, the wind knocked from her momentarily.
She rolled to the side when the sword came down toward her, leaping to her feet and thrusting the trident out just as the Dark Fae stumbled forward with the heavy momentum of her sword. Her trident thrust into the Eendi’s side, and she disappeared like the first one had.
A heavy hand came down onto her shoulder, and Phaedra gasped, turning swiftly and turning aiming the trident toward the threat.
Arrian dodged the blow, his eyes going wide as he bent almost parallel to the ground to avoid being gutted with the weapon.
He righted himself and chuckled. “Careful.”
She cringed. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I saw you fighting off those Eendi. Well done.”
Flashing him a smile, she backed toward the water once more. “Think you can keep up?”
He returned her grin and replaced the bow so that it was looped across his chest once more. “Absolutely.”
As one, they dove into the water, joining the others who continued working to keep the fire from overtaking Inador.
Chapter Twenty
DESDEMONA FLAPPED HER wings, flying backward to avoid the spears stabbing out at her. Three Sorcerers surrounded the mob of Witches working to stack their explosives in a pile up against the castle walls. They worked with their spears to keep her from getting close enough to stop them. Her fire might set off the explosives, which would only help the Witches achieve their goal. Up and down the wall, more groups of Witches attempted the same, while the Minotaurs worked to slam their battering ram against the castle gates. The iron bars shook and trembled, but held as the ram swung back and forth, taking up a rhythm that matched the grunts and snarls of the Minotaurs controlling it.
Arcing back around, she increased her speed, swooping low and stretching out her talons as she made her way back to the Witches. This time, she came too fast for them, avoiding the tips of their spears and bowling them over with her large body. Taking two of them up in her talons, she hurled them against the castle wall. The sound of their bones snapping as they fell limp to the ground pleased her. The others ran to get away from her as she dove toward them again. Instead of chasing them, she scooped up as many of the explosive bombs in her talons as she could and took to the sky,
flying out over Eranna’s army.
Dropping them, she spewed fire as they hurtled downward, causing them to explode in the midst of the enemy ranks. Bodies flew and cries of the dying reached out to her, but Desdemona did not stop. Flying back and forth, she continued her assault, collecting the bombs and taking them back to where they’d come from. Spears and arrows flew at her from the enemy in an attempt to ground her, but Desdemona prevailed.
Up and down the wall she flew, beating the Witches back and getting rid of their bombs. Behind her, the commands for the archers and catapults continued, and here and here, the large arrows and boulders flew past her, aimed at the Dark Fae still battling it out in the sky with the Warrior Fae, and the enemy army waiting for their chance to charge the gate.
From within the courtyard, more arrows flew through the bars, aimed at the Minotaurs who relentlessly pounded away with their battering ram.
Just as she glided over the enemy army with her last batch of bombs, a large spear came hurtling at her from out of nowhere. Before she could move to avoid it, it struck true—embedding itself in the joint of her wing. With a scream, she spewed fire down in the direction the spear had come from, then made her escape before more of them could strike her. The ball of fire engulfed several Minotaurs and a Werewolf as she flew back to her place at the top of the wall.
She shifted as she landed, falling beside Eli with the spear buried in her shoulder, jammed into the vulnerable space between her breastplate and pauldron.
“Your Majesty!” Mindirra called out, rushing forward and falling to her knees in front of Desdemona. “You’re injured!”
“I’m all right,” she managed between short pants, even though the pain radiating down her arm was akin to the worst she’d ever felt in her life.
“We have to get the spear out,” Eli replied, stepping forward to take hold of the shaft. “Are you ready?”
Below them, the wall trembled as the battering ram crashed against the gates. An explosion, and she lowered her head, knowing she had failed.
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