“Try not to betoomuch like him, please.” Azriel chuckled and dragged his own blade from his back as they rounded the corner into the town square. “I can only handle so much.”
Magic thrummed in the air here. Fae magic, which felt lighter and more ethereal than that of the mages, almost seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. What traps had the high fae planted for the unwitting Caersans? What horrors awaited them from the very people those vampires looked down upon? The desert magic held a different sensation—one of grit and malice. This did not surprise Ariadne. Most of the mages fighting alongside them were escaped prisoners, after all. She had never asked what their crimes had been, but she assumed that since each and every one of them was at least daft enough to take up arms against Valenul’s army, they were seasoned warriors of the Pits and beyond.
The strangest magic of all, however, was the newly uncovered dhemon magic that they had not yet been able to quite understand. Only a handful of dhemons had had the privilege of being reconnected to the Underworld, Ehrun included, and therefore left very few who had attempted to harness the new powers.
When Ehrun had appeared in Laeton, delivered on the back of Mhorn as a sort of savior sent by Kall, Ariadne had been confused by the dense cloud of fear that seemed to descend on the entire drawing room. She had learned later that the magic was ancient amidst the dhemon lines. His ability to strike fear into others had her wondering what the others were capable of.
Now she knew.
Doubt. It tinged the area farthest west, seeping through the ranks like a plague. Dhemons unaccustomed to it shifted uneasily and murmured amongst themselves. Others farther back called out something in their language that sounded encouraging.
“What are they saying?” Ariadne asked.
Azriel leaned in. “Reminding them to not let it affect them. One day we’ll be able to target these emotions, but for now…they seem very difficult to control.”
Indeed, from the north came a gentle calm that almost had their soldiers relaxing from their positions. From the south, the opposite emotion of rage emanated dangerously. Somewhere above, one of the dhemons on the roof radiated with panic.
All the clashing feelings had Ariadne reeling.
“What do you need most?” He looked around the square to where the others were struggling to maintain their composure in the midst of the heady dhemon magic.
Ariadne hesitated, then nodded to the south—toward rage.
“Don’t let it blind you,” Azriel cautioned. “These powers are meant to make the vampires unstable; we only have an advantage because we know of their existence.”
She grunted in confirmation as they turned to slip closer to the dhemon creating the passionate fury. They settled in with the others there, getting mere moments to adjust to the flood of foreign emotion before the first crimson uniform appeared.
In an instant, the fire growing in Ariadne’s veins bloomed, bringing with it a sharp sense of panic. She watched in mute horror as the first soldier cut through a dhemon so fast, even her Caersan eyes could not quite keep up.
This wasnotwhat she had expected. The crimson-clad soldiers slipped in and out of view, utilizing their speed and dexterity as Ariadne had never seen before. She had trained most nights to overcome brute strength and sheer size differences. This had been what Madan attempted to instill upon her: the difference between a dhemon and Caersan was far more significant than she had previously given credit.
“Focus,” Azriel said as though sensing her sudden apprehension.
Did she regret joining him in the battle? No. Did she regret not training harder to fight Caersan soldiers? Absolutely.
Before she could think on it too long, the soldiers were upon them. Ariadne channeled the dhemon’s magical rage into every swing and parry, matching the Caersans’ speed with her own. Their strength, far greater than the Rusans’ they faced during the day, still could not compare to that of a dhemon. What she needed was to get her feet under her—to gain control of her movements—then meet the soldiers where they were at. If Kall’s training meant anything in that moment, it was how to hold her own against a stronger, more powerful opponent.
Forcing herself to think of only that, Ariadne stopped getting pushed back. Instead, she stepped forward, exchanging blows and cutting down the Caersan soldiers through the main advantage she had: they were caught off guard whenever they looked at her. A Caersan woman fighting against them? No one had prepared them for the possibility. They hesitated.
Ariadne did not.
It did not take long for her to find a rhythm. Using the soldiers’ momentum against them, her confidence soared as she sent them to the afterlife either by her own sword or quick shifts of her weight that sent them straight into Azriel’s. For the first time since they began, Ariadne felt they worked beautifully as a team. Where she fell short when fighting Caersans, he had centuries of experience.
Amusement rippled through her vinculum.
“You’re having fun?” Almandine’s small voice sounded much farther away than she was accustomed to hearing.
Ariadne ducked a swing. “Actually…yes.”
“Stop talking,” Razer snapped, accompanied by a sensation of sweeping low and fast. “You’ll distract them.”
“Block them out,” Azriel said. “Razer’s correct, it’ll—“
“I amfine.” Ariadne sent another soldier stumbling toward her husband before facing off with the next, doing her best to capitalize on their surprise at seeing her in the fray.
The most difficult part, aside from their genetic advantages, she found, was working around their armor. Too often her blade glanced off the smooth metal, leaving them unharmed. When she had seen Caersan soldiers in towns and supervising roadways, they often did not wear it. The use of such things was superfluous for someone who could heal from a wound faster than a foe could escape, particularly when the lack of armor provided faster movement and better dexterity.
Likewise, dhemons never wore any armor aside from the lighter and more flexible kind made out of leather. She never truly practiced circumventing the complexities in metal armor. It had not been necessary.
