Rion roared.
Rocks and earth shot toward the flying creatures first, slamming into them hard. Their bodies rained down on their comrades. Bones snapped. Beasts howled in fury and pain.
Rion didn’t stop with just a single strike. He kept hold of every single rock and grain. His magic zigzagged through the creatures, shattering their bodies one at a time. He didn’t care what he hit, so long as he hit something. One less enemy was one less Fae dead.
Rion thought back to the village and how the horde had overrun their forces. Most had been novices. Civilians. That wasn’t the case here. These were seasoned warriors. Fae who had protected Levea and Brónach for centuries without fail.
They knew when to wait. When to attack. And exactly how this battle would play out. They could pivot, plan in the heat of the moment. He’d already promised to take at least half of Vairik’s forces with him. He was certain they all felt the same.
The creatures charging on foot closed in, then the ground erupted.
Vines, trees, and plants of every variety sprang to life, wrapping around limbs and squeezing until their bodies fell apart in massive clumps.
Brónach’s magic rose like a wave, rushing toward the next set of beasts. It grabbed them, strangled some, and pulled others into the depths of the land to be forgotten for eternity.
The Dark Fae didn’t stop. They climbed over their comrades’ broken bodies as if they were nothing. He even saw a few pause momentarily to swallow a limb. Rion’s stomach clenched.
Fire spun in the distance near their left line and Rion’s head jerked toward the invisible enemy. Fae emerged, their bodies coated in flames and shadows that consumed greenery and Dark Fae alike.
Panic surged through him and Rion gritted his teeth. Fiadh. Fiadh was here too, or part of them were, and Vairik had hidden them in a glamour. They had a few searching for such things, but—Rion cursed and clenched his fists. His magic responded, slamming against their enemies even faster. He wanted to run to their aid. His mother was there. Saoirse and Alec, too. But he couldn’t break formation yet.
Spears of ice that had been floating before their lines repositioned themselves and launched straight for the Shadow Weavers. The magic bounced off an invisible shield, falling uselessly to the side. Rion’s jaw ticked. He watched the fire continue to consume the vines and trees. They drew closer.
His family. Vairik knew; he had to. The male had done nothing but torment him his entire life. He thrived off Rion’s pain as if it were a drug.
Rion’s magic shifted, spreading toward the advancing Shadow Weavers in a wave. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t, but his heart wouldn’t allow otherwise. Rion wished he knew how Arianna had pinpointed those casting Pádraigín’s glamours from their last battle. He wished she was here now.
Rion remained where he was, his magic diving underground and stretching across the field. Sweat already trickled down the sides of his face. He didn’t care, not as tendrils of darkness crawled across the land, heading straight for Alec and his sister.
It wasn’t happening today. He’d had enough of death at Vairik’s hands.
Rion’s magic shot up, wrapping around ankles before snapping them in half. The shadows faltered, curling in on themselves. Pain was always the best distraction. He moved to their knees next, pushing his magic faster than it had ever moved. He only had seconds before those from Pádraigín intervened.
Legs snapped and half their line collapsed to one side, the Fae howling in pain. Rion rose his magic higher, then the Shadow Weavers disappeared from sight. He smirked. Rion could still feel them and the way they writhed on the ground. He felt the vibrations of those rushing to their comrades. Rion shifted his magic into a storm. Bodies tried to flee only to be sliced apart. The glamour hiding them flickered in and out, the army there one moment and gone the next.
Then the veil fell entirely.
Brónach’s magic engulfed the Shadow Weavers. Ice spears reformed, then collided with the Dark Fae still advancing.
They fell back.
Those with wings drew closer, and the winds turned against them, shoving the creatures back so violently that they fell from the sky.
Rion refocused on the horde to his front.
Countless bodies littered the ground, yet it hadn’t made a dent in their forces.
There was no clear end.
No escape.
Rion’s hair prickled, standing on end as familiar, dreadful magic spread across the field, tainting the air itself with its vile scent.
Bile rose in the back of Rion’s throat. How many times had he experienced that feeling? How many times had he acted on its suggestions without question?
He could feel the suggestion in it now.
Run. Be afraid. Flee from a battle you cannot win.
