Brela was using magic. Such beautiful shadows of solid fire, liquid, and smoke, ripping through beasts left and right. Even with a limp, even bloodied and covered in green muck, she didn’t stop. But neither did the endless swarm of noglida.
Elias pieced together the fragments of how he’d ended up on the ground. Shoving Serill out of the way of falling rocks. Farrah’s scream. Rocks crushing his legs and pain knocking him out instantly.
He was whole, though. Bloodied, but stitched together. And that flowery taste on his tongue was overpowering. Magic, and a lot of it, especially since the lower half of his pants were shredded.
Elias swallowed and looked to his right. Serill was unconscious in a puddle of blood. Not all of it was his, thank the gods, though most of it seemed to be Elias’s which was just as alarming. The prince only had a healed gash along his back from claws and a rather nasty bruise on the back of his head that must have been much worse not too long ago.
In front of him, Farrah’s limp body was in a puddle of more water than blood, peppered with only a few scratches that were scabbed. Slower to heal, but not life threatening. The water must have been from melting ice as she defended them.
With a grunt of pain, Elias twisted his head to the left and saw the fire wielder with green and red pooled around him. Blood was splattered on the rock and dripping down the back of his head. A shirt had been tied around his leg, and another one lay crumpled in his lap, doing nothing to stop the oozing blood from his abdomen.
Elias snapped out of his haze instantly. Forced himself to stand. Each movement made his muscles and bones scream in pain, jaw clenched so hard he heard the bone groan and crack.
He gripped Serill’s arm and lifted the prince over his shoulder. Balancing carefully, he tucked Farrah under his other arm. Limping, grunting, he worked his way to Cason. Slow, so dangerously slow, but there was still a chance to save him.
Elias crashed to his knees in front of the fire wielder, barely keeping Farrah’s head from smacking the stone. Serill rolled off his back and sprawled on the ground, groaning slightly.
At the head of the camp, Brela wasn’t slowing down, her bottled up magic flying like he’d never seen before. Elias knew that trying to help her in his state would just be getting in the way so he focused on what he could do.
“Sorry, Prince, we need you awake to save the dragon” he mumbled, then slapped the man and prayed he’d wake before it was too late.
* * *
Muscles ached.Bones creaked. Blood ran.
Magicsang.
Brela smiled through the carnage. This wasn’t the Night Terror song—the one that overwhelmed her when she shoved her power into the fortress—but her own unleashing. Her power was free.Shewas free.
Where Night Carver faltered, shadow tore. Where magic missed, her blade found leathery flesh. She was everywhere and everything at once, darkness eternal. Empress of Chaos, Nightmares, and Death.
Fingers called to a shadow magic that felt second-nature, even though she’d never used the movements before. Sharpened fire. Boiling liquid. Piercing smoke. She knew it all with a strength she’d never tapped into.
The noglida didn’t stop. They tried to go for her weakened friends and met roaring cold and black fire. They attacked her from every angle and met blades of shadow and steel. They climbed the cliffs only to tumble into darkness again.
Brela remembered her name through each slice. Remembered Elias as his groans of pain echoed somewhere in the back of her mind. Knew Farrah and Serill were still unconscious but alive.
But in the forefront of her mind, she did not lose focus of Cason. She’d begged him to hate her. To make her decision to reveal her magic easy and not break his heart in the process.
To not break her own heart.
She let his final words echo through her mind to keep her present. Those words—that final look—kept her from slipping into the Night Terror song now. She pretended it was real.
He would never say those words again. Not because he’d die, but because she knew he’d seen at least part of what she could do before he’d passed out. He’d seen her eyes.
He knew.
Brela didn’t care any longer. She had to save him. Had to save her friends. She was alone, but she was not weak.
Still, it was getting a lot more difficult to fight the noglida. Their numbers were thinning, but so was her power. The smarter ones had stayed back, waiting for her to tire. Now they were getting closer, finding the holes in her defenses. Distracting her from all angles. She wasn’t going to last much longer.
She needed help.
Shadows pulled around her left wrist in response. She shoved them away, only for the feeling to turn into a tug.
Her fingers brushed the solid tendril of smoke as it settled into her palm. Pulsing. Waiting.
She understood.
