Dyna’s wide eyes fixed on the man holding the silver knife. “Commander Von.” Then she looked at the man gripping her arm, the color draining from her face. “You’re Tarn.”
He only studied her silently, his expression indifferent and cold. Landing beside them, Cassiel ripped out his sword. The white fire blazed along the blade, emitting waves of incredible heat warping the air.
Rawn aimed his armed bow at Tarn as he came up the hill, his sight lined perfectly with the arrowhead. “Release her at once. Shall you refuse, I will have no choice but to end your life.”
Cassiel’s face grew murderous when he noticed Von.“You.”
“This is his master, Tarn Morken,” Zev told them without looking away from the silent man. “He’s come for her.”
Cassiel’s furious eyes widened. “Kill him, Rawn!”
The arrow flew. Tarn caught it and snapped the shaft in his grip, tossing it aside. He moved so fast it was … inhuman.
Fur sprouted along Zev’s arms. His wolf was ready to spring.
“Steady.” Von held the silver knife close enough to his throat to make him hiss. “Don’t make me use it. You’ll be dead before you shift.”
Rawn loaded another arrow, but a blast of red light tore it from his hands. From the balding trees emerged two more—a dark haired elf in black leather armor and an old mage in dark brown robes flowing around his thin frame. A red crystal glowed from his wooden staff as his power filtered around them, filling the air with static. His slow footsteps clinked with the sound of the brass bangles around his ankles.
That was how these men had ambushed them undetected, Zev realized. With magic.
“Elon,” Tarn said, his northern accent empty and cold.
The elf in his company stepped forward as he removed his cloak. Zev recognized him right away.
Elon drew out his sword, the metal soundless as it left the scabbard. “It is a pleasure, Lord Norrlen.”
Rawn unsheathed his weapon, boots sliding through the wet grass as he shifted into a stance. “I do not recall having properly met your acquaintance. How is it you know my name?”
“I know of you well. Of your triumphs in war and your skill with a blade.”
“You flatter me, sir. I know naught of you,” Rawn replied as they circled each other. “To which nation do you pertain?”
“I have no nation,” Elon said, and he attacked.
Their blades rang with each strike, glinting across the hill as they fought. Each move was fluid, and swift, a needle’s pin away from taking each other’s head. Their speed was beyond anything Zev had seen. They moved across the field at a turbulent pace, their moves a perfect match to each other.
Rawn swiped at Elon’s chest. The dark-haired elf leaped back, but he was a hair too slow. The sword sliced through the fabric of his jacket, and Zev caught the copper scent of blood. A red trickle leaked from the shallow cut.
Elon nodded at his bleeding chest. “I expected no less from Greenwood’s General.”
Rawn circled him again, matching his pace. “What rank did you hold in the Red Highland army?”
Elon’s responding smile was bitter but elated, perhaps to find a formidable challenge. “I will leave that to your assumption.”
Their blades clashed again in a dance of ringing metal. This time, Elon used magic. Rawn countered effortlessly, his sword cutting through every spell.
The fight kept Tarn and the mage’s rapt attention. Zev caught Cassiel’s eye, and his jaw tightened. The prince swung for Tarn with his flaming sword. Zev snatched Von’s wrist, twisting it away from his throat. Von dodged the rake of his claws. Steel flashed, and a burst of searing agony stole Zev’s next breath. His entire body spasmed with raging fire disintegrating him from within.
Confused, he looked down to find the dagger’s hilt protruding from his gut. His muscles coiled tightly as a ringing filled his ears, muffling all sounds except for the pounding of his heart. His chest heaved for air he couldn’t fully receive. Zev tried to speak, to beg someone to take out the knife. His hands shook around the hilt of the knife, but he had no strength to pull it out.
Dark blood bloomed around the hilt, soaking through his clothing. The pain was unimaginable. It rendered him immobile. He shook violently, his entire body burning like it was engulfed in flames. His knees hit the mud as a metallic taste bubbled up this throat, pooling in his mouth.
Von’s shadow fell over him. He said something, but it was lost to the roaring in Zev’s ears. After years of wishing for the end, it had come. And ironically, he wasn’t relieved. The Madness fled from his mind, chased away by the fear that gripped him. This was what he wanted, but now that he stood at the precipice of life, he wanted to scream that he wasn’t ready yet. That he’d been wrong.
Within the confines of his soul, he heard the unmistakable sound of Death’s Gate at last creaking open for him in welcome.
Chapter 57
