“Leave, Cethin!” Razik growled out again, sending his dragon fire to intercept the closest one. Its head tipped back, and it wailed like its soul was being ripped from its body.
“You are not in a position to tell your king what to do,” he snarled, pulling up more of that dark power and letting it swell around both of them.
“I can’t do my job with you here.”
“You’re not my fucking Guardian, Razik,” Cethin bit out, pulling two more daggers from the inky pools.
“Thank me for that,” Razik muttered, because he wasn’t about to thank the Fates. If the Fates or Sargon—or most of the gods for that matter—had their way, things would be very different.
Cethin threw his daggers again, and again they did absolutely nothing, useless, much like him.
“Still not helpful,” Razik said, pointedly sending more dragon fire at another being as it drifted closer, brandishing twin golden short swords.
“And what’s the plan when your power wells run dry? I don’t see Wren nearby,” Cethin said, gripping a sword now. He stood ready for a fight, as if he hadn’t been watching how utterly ineffective weapons were against them.
“Wren is none of your concern,” he spat, finally able to pull his flames back as the being disintegrated into ashes.
But Cethin wasn’t wrong. It tooka lotof power to kill these creatures, and the jackass would know exactly how much his power was waning. Tybalt was handling some of the beings, but there were still three to take out. No one else could do anything, and the ones that were left were drifting dangerously closer. Close enough that when Razik sent another up in black flames, the wind blew the ashes back at them. It coated their clothing and skin, drifting through their hair.
“Enough with the righteous act. You need to fucking go,” he ordered Cethin again, dragging up the last of his reserves. If Cethin was killed on his watch… He wouldn’t really care, but the rest of the kingdom would. They all loved him. He was fairly certain it was more that the kingdom had adored King Tethys than it was actual loyalty to Cethin. At least it was for him.
“I can’t leave,” Cethin gritted out.
“What do you mean, you can’t leave?”
“I can’t Travel. It’s not— Clearly my power isn’t working right. You should Travel both of us away. You’re tapped out of power the way it is. You have enough to take out maybe one more, if that.”
Gods, Razik hated Cethin knew that. Hated that the male knew anything about him.
The fact that neither of them could Travel was an issue. It appearedno onecould Travel for some reason. That must be why Tybalt had Traveled in so far away. Cethin had also Traveled in a good distance from the beings when he’d first arrived. The only explanation was the beings themselves. Razik had neverheard of any creatures that could prevent one from Traveling. He’d read thousands and thousands of books and never come across them. Various stones, Marks, and curses that could keep a person from stepping through the air, yes. But beings? Nothing in all his tomes and books, scrolls and research.
It appeared the only way anyone was leaving was if they killed the last two beings, and Cethin was right. He could maybe take down one, and that was a big hypothetical. He hadn’t heard the deathly wail in a few minutes, which led him to believe Tybalt’s power was also lagging or completely depleted.
As if he’d heard his thoughts, Tybalt was racing across the field, the rest of the Cadre with him, attempting to clear a path among all the bodies, both breathing and fallen. If anything, they distracted the beings long enough for Razik and his uncle to pull up the last of their magic from the depths of their souls.
“Now!” his uncle bellowed, and Razik released the last of his flames. They merged with Tybalt’s, engulfing one of the things. Its wail filled the air, and Razik gritted his teeth. If this didn’t work, they were fucked. The dragon in his soul thrashed as the final remnants of his power were expended. He wouldn’t be able to shift or summon his wings. Not having access to his magic would slowly drive him mad. He needed to get back to Aimonway. He needed Wren.
He’d trained himself to fight with low reserves. Numerous times he’d let his power levels fall until they were nearly nonexistent, learning to fight without magic and to push on through the agony. It didn’t mean he fuckinglikedit. It didn’t mean there wasn’t a buzzing in his ears, and it didn’t mean there wasn’t an emptiness and desperation at not being able to feel the other part of him that was always there.
Finally, the creature disintegrated into ashes. Flecks of black floated in the breeze and drifted to the ground, mixing with all the spilled blood.
Avonleyan blood.
His kingdom.
His fellow warriors.
People he’d known for decades.
His vision was a little blurred at the edges, and his heart was beating far too fast. Even his godsdamn legs were shaking like a newborn foal. He was about to be as useless as Cethin.
“No!”
Fallon’s cry had him jerking upright. He hadn’t even realized he was bent over, hands braced on his knees. He spun, following where everyone was racing. Where Cethin was engaged with a being, his silver blade stark against a gold one as strikes were parried and countered. As the being brushed aside darkness and death with a swipe of its hand, gliding and circling and biding its time. No one would make it to them, but Razik was running with the rest of the warriors, unsure of when or how Cethin had moved from his side.
They were all shouting. Some were panicked cries; others were defiant bellows. Razik didn’t make a sound. He was too focused, too concentrated on not falling to the ground in exhaustion.
Cethin lifted his sword, blocking another strike. The sound of metal on metal mixed with battle cries. Then the being feinted so quickly, even Razik missed the move. The being’s hand shot out, and the translucent creature somehow gripped Cethin’s forearm, twisting sharply and forcing him to drop his weapon. None of it seemed possible. How could a transparent being grip something corporeal? It didn’t make any sense.
