“Now that’s just unfair,” Padraig grumbles, then rushes along the battlement. “Archers, ready!”
Farron kicks his elk and retreats to the line. “Brace yourselves!”
Dayton and Ezryn raise their swords. Princess Niamh thrusts her lance to the heavens, letting out a wild cry, echoed by the soldiers.
The burning skeletons charge, clashing with the Autumn soldiers. Screams mix with the ringing of metal on metal. Ice shards fly, and the smell of burning flesh fills the air. The wraiths’ frosted swords slice clean through armor.
“FIRE!” Padraig calls.
A wave of flame-tipped arrows arc through the air like golden ribbons before colliding with a row of skeletons on the opposite side of the trench. Those struck in the head do not move again. So, they can be killed… until Perth raises them once more.
More and more of the fallen monsters crawl out of the trench, the dead unyielding. A hooded shadow emerges from a cluster of wraiths still trapped on the other side of the burning trench. A green glow lights the underside of his dark hood. Another one of those crowns… It’s the same cloaked figure I saw before at Perth’s camp.
The shadowed entity waves a hand, and that strange frost grows across the trench, cracking and smothering the flame.He’s creating a bridge.
A horrible cheer rises from the dead, and they swarm over the trench, overtaking the Autumn soldiers like a wave.
Desperately, I search the battlefield for the princes. I catch sight of Ezryn. Still on horseback, he swings his great sword, covered in brilliant pink flames, and cleaves the heads from four wraiths at once in a wide arc.
Padraig has lost all humor, running up and down the rampart, commanding the archers, who unleash wave after wave of flaming arrows. He orders the use of ballistas, catapulting huge fireballs down into the wraiths.
The whole keep shudders as another line of winter wraiths marches down the hill.
My heart beats painfully. The Autumn soldiers are scattered dots amid a sea of frost. I lose sight of the princes amid the chaos.Where are you?
A familiar burn ignites in my chest, the faintest glimmer of a golden string. Then I see him, my mate. Farron’s lost his mount and fights back-to-back with Dayton. The Autumn Prince casts out his hand, loosing a torrent of flames in the shape of leaves. Dayton pushes back a row of wraiths with a gust of wind before diving at them with flame-coated swords.
Keep fighting.I try to push my thoughts toward Farron, unsure if he’ll be able to hear me.I love you. Don’t give up.
Both look up at the same time. The flash of a quick smile from Farron and a wink from Dayton is all I get before they are swallowed from my sight in the chaos.
This enemy isn’t like regular men. The arrows and ballistae have little effect on them. A fire arrow to the skull will take one down, and a fireball can flatten a whole section. But I would guess a real soldier would hesitate at least for a second after watching his allies fall.
These frost monsters have no such compulsion. They press on as their comrades drop around them.
It’s like they don’t remember being alive.
Watching them, I notice patterns. The fae who sacrificed themselves for Perth appear as commanders. They seem to remember pieces of their old lives, shouting orders to the battalions. But most of them, the skeletons, are nothing more than raging monsters.
“Rosalina! Rosalina!” My father’s voice.
I turn to see him, Billy, and Dom running up the ramparts.
“We found something,” Dominic heaves, pulling a weathered scroll from his coat.
“In the alder tree?”
My father nods, breath heavy in his throat. “It was a bloody mess over there, butthisis something.”
Dominic places the scroll in my hands. It’s been carefully glued back together, shredded pieces stitched. “What is it?”
“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” Billy says, his smile turning into a grimace.
“Weren’t you supposed to find something useful?”
“This is useful,” Papa says. “Trust me, when you’ve worked with as many artifacts as I have, you get a feeling for this sort of thing. This will turn the tide.”
“Great deal about death and destruction in this little spell.” Dominic nods. “No wonder it was banished to the alder tree. It’s written in a way the ancient fae used to love, all cryptic and whatnot. But you know who loves to decipher texts like that.”
