A splash. The swift jerk of her body into the current. As the Angor wrapped itself around her waist and tried to tug her under, Ellina fought back, swimming with one arm while holding the torch above the tide with the other. Though not as large as the Taro, the Angor was still wide enough that a human would have to squint to see across its banks—a long swim, even with both hands free.
The rain intensified, grasshoppering off the water’s surface. Mist swirled in thick sheets. Ellina pumped her legs, swallowed a mouthful of water, coughed it out. By the time she reached the opposite shore, her muscles felt as if they were caked in wax. Yet her shoulder did not ache as it once had, and the torch—held aloft by that very arm—still burned brightly. The sight of its steady blue light steadied Ellina. The river might be strong, but so was she.
Ellina hauled herself up onto solid ground. The torch cast a soft halo, illuminating a plaza separated from the main surge of battle…and a figure there on the riverbank. Ellina squinted. Blinked the rain from her eyes.
A conjuror stepped into the light and raised his hands.
???
A strange bluish light danced at the edge of Venick’s vision. He had the odd thought that it belonged to Miria. If he looked, he’d see her ghost.
But Venick couldn’t look. Not when an undead soldier was charging towards him, green glass rapier slicing quick x’s through the air. Venick sidestepped the attack, twisted. Pushed in again, hacking the undead’s arms off its body in two clean slices. There was a moment’s pause in which Venick imagined that he could sense the corpse’s shock—
Not likely.
Or read the doom in its expression—
He’s already dead, Venick.
Before the creature went limp. Not defeated, and hell, certainly not awareof it. Only abandoned by its bender. Whichever conjuror was targeting Venick didn’t have to stick with this corpse, now that it had been relieved of its arms. The rapier-wielder dropped to the wet pavement, and just as quickly, a different undead rose up in its place.
The world was a rush of color and sound. Blood. Rain in his eyes, his mouth. A bellow, from him or from someone else, Venick didn’t know. He’d lost sight of Farah. Dourin. Things were happening too quickly for him to really understand anything beyond what his sword had done, and would do again.
His muscles were on fire. Calluses split his hands. The river, nearly within reach, surged with rainwater.
???
Ellina scrambled sideways up the riverbank. The conjuror—a male with an unusually long neck—made fists of his hands, summoning a corpse from the nearby forest of bodies. At first glance, the dead elf looked whole, untouched, and Ellina’s mind went straight to minceflesh. But then the undead bent to pick up a dagger. Ellina saw the crown of her head had been smashed in. Her back was a cape of blood.
The conjuror pushed his hands forward and the corpse obeyed, moving towards Ellina in long, purposeful strides. Ellina backtracked, avoiding the attack without engaging the corpse. Her eyes were on its bender.
Ellina had known all along that their only hope of winning this battle would be to target the conjurors. She had known, too, that targeting them would be difficult. Farah—having lost more than half of her conjurors already—would be careful not to risk any more. Most likely, she would keep them protected in the Dark Army’s center ranks where they could wield their magic with the least amount of interference. Breaking through would be costly, and time-consuming…if it was possible at all.
But then, Ellina did not have to break through.
Ellina had always liked the idea of using herself as bait. This was not so different from a swim in a winter river, the way it required equal parts mental and physical concentration. And it was fitting, that Farah might try to set a trap and be trapped in turn.
Yethowhad always been the question. It was one thing for Ellina to reveal herself to the Dark Army in an open field. It was quite another to lure conjurors out during the havoc of battle. Ellina had chewed on this problem, seemingly without a clear solution…until her meeting with Venick on the ramparts, when she realized that she already had her answer.
She seemed to see with new eyes her sprint across the field four mornings ago. The Dark Army, like a black plight. The knoll. Eywen’s lathered sides. She thought of how she had stepped into plain view, only to discover that the southern elves were already in position, appearing out of seemingly nowhere to block her path.
Ellina recalled the way Venick sometimes looked at her, as if with regret.
His regret made more sense now.
She wondered how long he had known she was shadow-bound.
It explained much.Thatwas how the coven of elves had anticipated their ambush outside of Igor, with enough time, even, to hatch an ambush of their own.Thatwas how the Dark Army had known where to find the resistance in the woods and Ellina in the fields. It might even be how the female named Inra had managed to catch Ellina by surprise in Igor’s streets, cornering Ellina when it should have been the other way around.
The shadow-binding itself was not a great surprise. There had been plenty of opportunity for a conjuror to capture Ellina’s shadow within their own. The true problem was that if anyone had discovered Ellina was shadow-bound, they would have cast her from the resistance. Venick surely knew this and had stayed silent in order to protect her. The fool. Had Ellina realized the truth, she would have cast herself.Being shadow-bound, and therefore trackable, created a sea of complications.
But that was a blade that could cut both ways. If the conjurors sensed Ellina nearby, she could tempt them away from the safety of their center ranks. Farah had already proven that she would go to great lengths to capture or kill her youngest sister. Ellina had humiliated Farah. Undermined her power. Farah wanted to make Ellina pay—she only needed the opportunity.
On the riverbank, the long-necked conjuror’s hair was plastered to his face. His golden eyes looked strangely green in the torch’s light. He stood a safe distance away, his corpse positioned before him like a bodyguard. Ellina could see the sleek confidence in the bender’s eyes, the way he believed himself invulnerable. After all, they stood apart from the main battle. If Ellina tried to break through to him, he had an endless number of bodies at his disposal. If the fight became difficult, he could call forth more conjurors. He did not believe Ellina could possibly beat them all, and he was right—she could not. At least, not alone.
Ellina swiped her bright blue flame through the air in a high, deliberate arc, as if drawing a line from the rampart to her opponent.
An arrow whizzed by, striking the conjuror through the neck.
