“Wait,” she cried out, the word a sharp intake of breath.
But she felt it even as she spoke, a sudden check in the flow of his will, a convulsive tremor in their connection. Darcy had already aborted the strike. The hovering weapon of light cast their faces in harsh relief. “I agree. That target presents itself too readily,” he said, his brow furrowed in suspicion, “But then where…”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, pushing her senses past the obvious, throbbing corruption of the main tether, seeking the discordant note in the Blight’s false song. For a long moment, there was nothing but the oppressive, hungry void. Then, she found it — a faint, almost imperceptible disharmony. A thin,cold line of magic, deliberately concealed beneath the pulsing mass.
“I sense something over there,” she said, focusing his attention. “I believe it is a parasitic tether, deliberately concealed beneath the knot.”
She felt his own perception join hers. “I sense it also,” he said, sounding troubled, “In which case, that would be a cunning ruse.”
“The first is a lure,” she realised, “An invitation to a false fatal blow. The second…I believe that one is true.” Elizabeth shivered, the cold of their near-mistake far more chilling than the wind. Her blood ran cold. This was the single wrong cut Wickham had warned of, and she could almost feel the phantom shockwave it would have sent through the land, a tremor that would have shattered the magical heart of a dozen other cities.
“If there is one tether, there are likely others.” Darcy’s tone was grim.
Elizabeth closed her eyes again, actively searching. She let the feeling of her resonance expand, a delicate net cast into the corrupted currents. At first, all she felt was the hungry void of the lure, its pulsing emptiness a deafening roar in her mind. But she pushed past it, focusing on the thin, cold thread she had found before. She followed its path, and it led her to another, and another still.
One by one, she traced the path of each tether with her mind, ensuring they did not lead to another, deeper trap, a cascade of devastation waiting to be triggered. Each was true. She was certain of it.
Only then did she open her eyes. “I can feel a dozen threads, all hidden from view by the greater deception.”
“I trust your senses more than my own in this. Where do we begin?”
Shifting their intent, they directed a series of small, finer cuts, severing each hidden tether with precision. It was shockingly easy, once they knew what to look for. The moment their energy slashed each of the hidden parasitic tethers, the Blight seemed to recoil. The tethers strangling the node and the surrounding ley line snapped like dry twigs. Bit by bit, the oppressive cold vanished, replaced by a surge of warmth from the earth.
A flutter of relief stirred in her chest. She met Darcy's gaze, and he answered with a tight, affirming nod, his eyes holding hers in silent agreement. Despite the the ghost of disaster that had just brushed past them, they had seen through the deception. They were winning.
And yet, the victory felt hollow. The air, once foul with decay, was now unnervingly clean. The ground beneath her feet, which had pulsed with sickness, was merely inert. This wasn't the feeling of a healed land; it was the feeling of an empty one.
Elizabeth cast her resonance outward, a tentative probe, expecting to find the fading echoes of a defeated magic.
And then she felt it. Not the hum of returning life, but a surge of cold, triumphant glee emanating from the heart of the corruption.
The true trap sprang shut.
The warmth was not just banished; it was sucked from the earth, leaving behind a cold so icy it felt like the touch of a grave. The air, once clear, became a crushing weight, thick with a malevolence that was no longer passive but actively,hatefullypresent. The ground began to crackle as a web of black frost crept across outward, its spidery, crystalline patterns advancing with unnatural speed.
And with the physical assault came the mental one. A vile wave of despair, a hundred times stronger than before, tore through into their minds. It was filled with visions of theirfailure at Buxton — the screams of the villagers, the smell of acrid smoke, the accusing eyes of the children they had failed to protect.
Darcy’s face turned ashen, his disciplined control momentarily fracturing under the onslaught. But it was not just the mental attack that staggered him; it was the sickening lurch of a truth falling into place.
“Our victory at the monastery was a feint,” he said.
“Itletus win there,” Elizabeth said, horrified, “It learnt our strategy whilst it drained our reserves on a lesser target.”
“And it made us dangerously complacent,” Darcy concluded, looking furious with himself.
They were facing an enemy not just of immense power, but of chilling,sentientintelligence. And they had walked right into its ambush.
There was no time for fear — only a cold fire in their veins.
Darcy shot a quick glance at her. “With the tethers severed, we still have an opening,” he said, each word tight with urgency.
Elizabeth marshalled her power and felt Darcy’s will reach out to meet it, to forge it. They drove their combined power forward as a brilliant lance, cleansing light aimed at the Blight's core.
The Blight did not repel the attack; itinhaledit. With a sickening pull, their lance of power was siphoned away, drawn into a ravenous, unseen vortex.
The feeling was horrifying, like pouring water into a bottomless well. Their combined energy was being leeched from them at an alarming rate, feeding the darkness they sought to destroy.
“It is not fighting us — it is drawing strength from us!” Elizabeth gasped, her voice cracking with horror. She immediately tried to staunch the flow of her magic, a desperatecountermand, as an ominous chill raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. The Blight was gathering itself to strike again.
