Centaurs swarmed, striking from all sides. She threw her spear, scorching a deep hole into the one charging straight at her. After, she simply burned, throwing out fire in all directions.But there were too many. Too many to see, too many to fight, too many to drive back before they got to her. A kick glanced off her thigh. Another hit her more squarely on the shoulder, and she gasped, stumbling forward. Numbness shot down her arm, making her fire splutter. The shard rattled in the cage she fought to maintain for it.Just a little longer.A back hoof kicked out and she dodged, but the tail whipped her face, the long hairs sharp and stinging. Hissing in pain, she lashed out with both arms, twisting in place and lighting up like a beacon. Fire rolled off her from head to foot, drying the wet, stinging pain misting her eyes from the blows she’d taken.
Blinded by chaos and churning bodies, she got shoved from side to side, almost falling. Centaurs darted in and out, fighting through burns and taking turns with each other to attack without pausing. She aimed torrents of sun-flare-enhanced fire at the beasts, driving them back over and over. One of them still got in a ringing punch to her head, and she staggered, her vision blurring.
“Trample!” the creatures snarled.
She let out an avalanche of magic she barely controlled as she got her balance. The shard almost grabbed it and turned it into the massacre she needed but couldn’t afford until Carver and the soldiers were fully across the river.
Roars of rage and howls of pain filled her ears. Her own cuts and bruises took a toll, slowing her reactions. A deafening stamp of hooves whirled around her, and she burned without cease, her magic tiring. She had a deep well of power, but it wasn’t infinite, with or without the Shard of Olympus. She dug deeper, knowing a critical moment approached. If she didn’t end this soon, it would end her, so the people she wanted to save had better be as far away from her as possible.
A rump suddenly swung into her from behind, throwingher into another centaur. She bounced off his flank and hit the ground on her back, the air punched out of her. The closest creature reared above her. Huge hooves barreled toward her head. She rolled away, scrambled to her feet, and frantically shot off fire.
With barely room to move, she fought fiercely, centaurs churning around her. She ducked a brutal kick and struck out with a burning fist. She spun back around, and her heartbeat exploded in panic. The gigantic Alpha bore down on her. He swerved to avoid her magic, flipped an arrow in his hand, and rammed the point at her chest as he thundered past her at a gallop.
Bellanca flew backward from the battering impact and landed on the hot ground, jarred limp, the air knocked out of her again. Terror gripped her. Dragging in a thin, shallow breath, she touched her aching chest. No blood. She exhaled shakily. No arrow, either. The tip must’ve hit her amulet.
Far away, Carver yelled her name, frantically shouting, “Now! Now!” across the distance.
She staggered upright, wheezing in another bruised and labored breath just as the herd leader circled back, his fury-filled eyes hammering into her. She backed up, her feet scraping through blackened grass, smoldering dirt, and dusty ashes. Centaurs surrounded her. Acrid smoke seared her nostrils. She swallowed.
At the Alpha’s command, every single centaur nocked an arrow and aimed at her. He smirked, the smug, victorious look on his face enough to pull hot, vicious magic straight from the heart of her. He slowly, deliberately readied his own arrow and drew back, his bowstring so tight the bolt would punch right through her.
She stopped trying to tame the amplifying force of the Shard of Olympus and welcomed its energy, letting its ancient powerflood her body and infuse her magic. They both waited a heartbeat, their eyes locking. The head centaur abruptly let fly his arrow, and she sun flared with all her might, her own fire, and the added intensity of the amulet.
Blinding power erupted from her. White-hot. Burning cold. Scorching and glacial at the same time, her sharp blast of magic with no holds barred did its job and obliterated the herd of centaurs.
Chapter 28
Carver gasped. The heat was awful. The light blinding. Even soaking wet and sheltered by the huge tree at his back, Bel’s magic roared over him in a volcanic blast, driving the breath from his chest and the moisture from his body. Then everything around him went dark and quiet. He blinked, his vision spotted and her fire seared across his eyeballs.
The silence spread, not a soldier around him daring to move out from behind the ancient trees that had just sacrificed their leaves and possibly their lives for them. He could barely see, but he knew Dex huddled behind the tree next to him, holding Silas in close. As they’d struggled down the big clearing and across the wide river, Silas had dropped in and out of consciousness, the arrow sticking out from between his chest and his shoulder. Dex thought the wound was bad but not mortal, and Carver would just have to make sure the older man pulled through, especially with the journey they still had ahead of them.
His eyes began to adjust, and he stepped free of the forest’s edge to look across the river. Squinting, he searched for Bel and spotted her almost immediately despite the fast-approaching nightfall, the smoky haze, and the bright splotches still marring his vision. The knot in his chest abruptly loosened. Pockets of fire burned around her, but she stood—alone—looking down the clearing at him.
She lifted a hand and waved. It was the most mundane thing,and yet his eyes suddenly stung, and a harsh breath exploded from him. He waved back, swallowing. Nothing remained of the centaurs. There was only Bel, head high, red hair flying, a rock-solid island. Ash swirled around her.
“What a woman,” he murmured, awe filling him. The clearing stank of burned flesh and charred ground, and he savored the acrid scent of victory.
Pav came out of the forest just as he started toward the river. Pausing, Carver glanced back at him. The other man walked slowly, blinking, his arms spread out for balance.
“Are you injured?” Carver asked with a frown.
Steadying himself, Pav shook his head, his focus on Bel. “So that’s your wife? Fiery,” he said so casually that Carver had to smile.
“She’s going to kick Eryx off his throne, bring magic back to Atlantis, and rule with justice.”
Pav grunted. “Can she bring back the dead? Because I just lost six men, and more are gravely injured.”
Grimly, Carver shook his head. By his count, Silas’s unit—hisold unit—had lost seven soldiers. “We got several of the injured across the river, including Silas.” He reached out and gripped Pav’s shoulder. “Can you organize treating them and getting a camp set up at the edge of the forest? With Silas injured, Dex is their leader. He has healing knowledge. You’ll need to work together.”
Pav nodded. “You can count on me.”
Carver’s throat thickened. He nodded back, reading the full meaning in Pav’s solemn statement. The border crossing hadn’t gone as expected, and lives had been lost, but not for nothing. This battle had given themalliesas they hurtled toward the final confrontation with Eryx.
He squeezed once and let go. “Also, see if someone canfind our horses. Their names are Zeph and Arete. Call and they should come to you.”
Pav looked less eager about that but dipped his head to acknowledge the order. “Where are you going?”
Carver licked the film of smoke off his teeth and spat in the grass. “I’ll be back soon. I’m going to congratulate my wife on her victory.”
