I race to the edge of the cliff with Baelen close beside me, assessing where we are needed most.
The protective shield that Grayson placed over the elven army dissolves and a shout goes up as Grayson mobilizes them. Inside the ravine, the elves surge forward, screaming a battle cry. The sound of clashing swords echoes up to the cliff top, sending a shudder down my spine. I want to fly down to fight them but the gargoyles who had been safe behind the shield spring into action, ready to meet the elven army in combat.
The elves are skilled fighters, but the gargoyles have everything to lose. They fight with their clawed feet and wing daggers that can slice through rock and make easy work of elven armor. Twenty gargoyles rise into the air with elves in their claws, ripping them apart. The hidden caverns also open up, sending a volley of arrows into the attacking elves.
Golden-tipped arrows fly toward Grayson, piercing his chest and arms, sending him spinning before he can use his power against the gargoyles. My eyes widen in amazement at the resilience and power of my people, the way they don’t cower in the face of his sorcery, the way they fight back with everything they’ve got.
But what truly surprises me is the restraint Grayson shows. Plucking the arrows out, he doesn’t retaliate with magic, floating above the elves and shouting orders while he dodges the next volley of arrows. Like me, he could decimate the enemy army, but so far he has chosen not to. Maybe it’s the gargoyle inside of him, but despite what he said earlier about killing my people, so far he has chosen to allow the elves and gargoyles to fight each other without his interference.
Baelen seeks my attention with a gentle touch to my arm. “The shield is down but the Elven Command hasn’t tried to fly past us yet.”
“We need to find them before they do.”
“And end them,” Baelen says. “One way or another.”
The Elven Commanders, along with Priscilla, have disappeared into the groups of elves located at the back of their army—among soldiers in the major Houses who have not engaged in battle yet and furthest from the battlefront: an unexpected move.
“There,” Baelen says, pointing. “Elwyn Elder is with his House. I’ll go after him.”
I look for Pedr Bounty and locate him among other elves in the House of Bounty. “I’ll take Pedr Bounty. I don’t see the other two yet.”
“We’ll find them. Be on the lookout.”
“Be safe, Baelen.”
He kisses me before we separate.
I zoom toward Pedr, covering the distance in several seconds, a tornado shrieking around me. The Bounty elves see me coming and scatter, shouting to each other, forming a large ring around the space where I land. I hit the ground only paces away from Pedr, my knees bending to take the impact so that I can land firmly on my feet.
The tension in the air is palpable. A glance tells me that the soldiers are angry. Their faces are stony, full of rage, but it’s odd… because they’re glaring at Pedr, not at me. I’d expected them to swarm at me, but their swords are sheathed, daggers nowhere to be seen.
What have I just landed in the middle of?
Pedr squares his shoulders, turning from the soldiers and facing me instead, power glowing around his clenched fists. “Marbella Mercy, you won’t live to see the end of this day.”
I don’t validate his statement with a response. I strike with lightning first, testing his ability to withstand my power. It’s safe enough to hit his bulky body without endangering the nearby elves. His eyes widen as he throws his hands up to defend himself, using his sorcery to deflect the impact, fighting back with a shot of his own: a streak of green death. I nearly dodge it and then decide not to because… if it doesn’t hit me, it will hit his people and—to my disgust—he doesn’t seem to care.
I have no love for these elves, but the surrounding soldiers haven’t challenged me or tried to get in my way. The death blow hits me square in the stomach and the watching soldiers inhale an audible gasp as I drop to my knees.
Pedr gloats and I let him have his moment. Sure, it hurt like an iron fist, but I’ll be okay. A single glance at the soldiers tells me they are downcast, crestfallen, one of them even reaches for me as if he’s going to help me up.
That isnotthe reaction I expected.
With that single attempt to hurt me, I sense Pedr’s power wane. He used up a lot of his energy creating that death bolt and I haven’t used my strongest power yet. Pedr may have taken a hundred lives in the night, but only Grayson can withstand my destructive strength. I roll with the next flash of death that Pedr throws at me, sensing his energy fade even more. The bolt grazes my shoulder but I heal instantly.
He scowls as I leap to my feet, completely unharmed.
Lightning crackles in the air all around me, licking toward every living thing nearby as I focus all of my power into my hands. I leap toward him, dodging the next blow he aims at me—a paralyzing shot. It sizzles past my ribs as I ram him, both hands planted on his flabby chest. My storm power shrieks through him: lightning and wind together. His head snaps back and he flies backward. The watching elves open up like a splitting river, steering clear of him as he falls. His body bounces and flops, landing half on his side.
I approach carefully, quickly scanning him for signs of life. I’m not convinced he’s beaten…
I’m bent halfway to him when his hand shoots out, fist slamming into my throat. The impact of the bone-splitting blow thrusts me halfway across the clearing. I cry out as my head hits rock and pain explodes through my spine, my legs going limp.
This time, I’m hurt.
My throat burns and my head throbs. I sense Virtuous healing me, but I took the blow full in my neck and it’s going to take a few seconds.
Seconds I don’t have.
Pedr Bounty clambers to his feet and pounds toward me, his big body shaking the earth as he runs across it. He’s leaking sorcery everywhere like slimy oil, which tells me I’ve hurt him badly—he can’t control his own power.
He holds his hand, palm out toward me. I’m vulnerable and he’s going to finish me off the same way I tried to kill him.
