I’d just about given up when Peytor’s strained voice cut through the sounds of battle.
“Torin? Gods, have you been here this whole time? No, Juni! Focus on that ship! They’re boarding?—”
“Peytor. How bad is it?” I swallowed past the lump in my throat as he continued shouting orders at his Mages and Vessels. Juni was a particularly vicious Pain Mage, and I felt slightly better knowing she was by his side for this. She’d protect him until her last breath, I was certain of it.
“Fuck, Torin,” Peytor had to yell in order to be heard over the crackle of magic in the background. I heard thumping steps before the sounds of battle became muffled. “I moved below deck, but I can only stay herefor a moment. We’re fucked, Torin. Completely and utterly fucked. How the fuck did they come from the north? She was supposed to come up from the south! And not with this many—shit!” Peytor was still yelling, the adrenaline from battle and the ringing in his ears from the constant sound outside distorting the volume of his voice. There was a cracking noise that had bile rising in my throat.
“I have to go, Torin. They’re picking us off one by one. I have maybe six ships remaining. Maybe. Fuck. Get here if you can, Torin. Over half of her estimated forces are here, if I had to guess. No fucking clue where the others are, but when they run through us, they’lldecimateAlvor and attack you from behind. You have to do something, Tor. And, when I don’t make it out of here, pass my love on to Folami and the others, okay? Tell them I’m sorry and that I love them. They . . . they’re all I needed in this life.”
“Peytor—” I said, trying to intervene and tell him he wasn’t going to die, but Peytor stopped talking, bathing the camp in sudden silence. I pulled my eyes from my hands to see every soldier in the vicinity with their eyes trained on me. Expressions varied from pitying to fearful, but every eye held a glint of murder and frustration.
“Sir, we’re riding to Alvor?” Steinarr, an older Earth Mage who had been with me since nearly the beginning, asked. His arms were folded across his large chest, his muscles jumping as if already preparing for a fight.
A few Mages nearby echoed his sentiment.
I started to shake my head, but halted the motion almost immediately. I gripped the reins so tightly in my hands that the leather creaked and bit into my cold skin. We left even a smaller contingent in Alvor to stand as a last line of defense if Solace and her army broke through our lines.
Folami was there with Talamh, but the majority of the soldiers were barely even that—unAwakened teenagers and a handful of actual Mages.
Fuck, they’ll be annihilated if Solace gets through Peytor.
I refused to doom him to the fate he already felt was inevitable.
“We ride for Alvor,” I confirmed.
Steinarr nodded his head once, a gleam of approval and battle lust in his eyes as he moved to his own mount, deftly storing his bedroll and pack for the journey northward.
“Pack and mount up!” I called. A few in the back—those who hadn’t witnessed my conversation with Peytor—shot me dubious looks but still moved to follow orders. “Alvor is under attack. Solace moved her navy across the north and is now locked in battle with our own.” I cantered through the camp as I spoke, making sure each of my soldiers could hear what was happening.
The more I spoke, the angrier I became; my frustration and ire, fear and disgust welling until I was shouting, face red from exertion and emotion. Themagic in my blood responded to my intensity, bubbling to the surface in a bid to release from my skin and flay my enemies alive.
“We ride north. We will not let Solace break through Alvor. We will not let Elyria fall. Am I understood?”
A chorus of cheers rose from the soldiers as they packed and mounted with deft movements.
Content that we would be ready to move in the hour, I pulled the second communication stone from my pack, activating it so I could speak to Rohak.
“Torin,” Rohak grunted through the line, his side completely silent. “Scouts see nothing.”
“I know, that’s not why I’m calling,” I said.
“Why does it sound like your camp is moving?” he asked. Whinnies of horses and shouts of men and women alike rose in cacophony with the quickly rising sun, both blanketing me in renewed hope.
“We are. Peytor is under attack. Solace moved her forces through the north. Peytor estimates at least half of her force is there now.”
Rohak swore loudly. Faylinn asked something in the background, and I vaguely registered him relaying the message to her, but was too busy watching my own force move with practiced efficiency.
We’d be moving in less than half an hour at this rate. Pride and vicious intent swelled in my chest.
“We’re moving northward,” I said, cutting off Rohak’s conversation with Faylinn. “Try and get to Alvor if we can.”
“What do you want of us?”
I paused. Our full force northward could trap Solace in the city, perhaps pushing them back into the sea completely, but I didn’t want to leave our southern flank vulnerable.
“Stay where you are. Continue to monitor the path from Samyr. I’m not yet convinced that they won’t march from there as well.”
Rohak grunted in agreement before ending the communication, ever the efficient general.
