The closer of the two makes a quick slash forward, and my body automatically responds with a hop back as I extend my blade.
Don’t incant!
Professor Beckwith did such a good job drilling the flow of fire into my every movement that it takes conscious effort not to.
My opponent doesn’t press his attack.Was he testing my reach?His partner crouches, bringing his hand to the ground. A second later, the grassy terrain lurches beneath me.
I dodge to the side, more prepared this time, and sure enough, the other one comes in for a strike. I parry his blade, but he steps closer for a second attempt with his offhand. My sword ricochets back, sweeping his dagger out of the way and slicing straight through his torso as I bring the tip back toward him.
He looks as stunned as I am.
The blade sticks as I tug it out, and he falls to the ground with a grunt, blood oozing from his chest.
I fly forward as someone plows into me from behind.
My saber falls from my grasp, landing in a fern a few feet away. The one who’s been shaping the earth jumps for it. A dagger flies at his hand, slicing it, and he pulls back with a yelp of pain.
“Pick up your sword!” Emlyn yells.
I grab it and scramble up, finding myself next to him again, our backs against a tree.
“You took one out?” he asks, breathing heavily.
“Yeah.” I’ll think about that later. For now, it’s four against two, and Emlyn’s down a blade.
The three Emlyn’s been fighting circle us. The one who’s been shifting the ground kicks aside the dagger Emlyn threw. Then he starts to kneel again.
Need to stop him.
I throw myself at him, blade first, as if my body’s an arrow. Emlyn blocks a blow from one of the others who tries to intercept me. My target stops mid-crouch, leaping back.
“Trade!” Emlyn shouts.
He pushes ahead of me, chasing after the shifty one, and I whirl around, swinging my sword wildly at the others.
No fire!
My feet glide along the thick grass as I slowly retreat, the three fae spreading around me. A guttural scream cries out from behind. I flinch, praying it wasn’t Emlyn.
The fae on my left takes advantage and lunges for me. I jump back, swinging my blade, but miss. The fae on my right slashes across my side.
My body buckles as I howl in pain. I barely register him swinging his other dagger toward me when Emlyn rams into him with his shoulder, knocking him away. He positions himself between me and our enemies as I pull myself up, a searing gash in my chest.
“Two down,” he says. “How’re you doing?”
I groan through the fire burning in my side. “I think I’ll live.”
“At least for another few heartbeats.” Emlyn’s panting and holds only one dagger. Our remaining opponents look in peak condition by comparison.
We’re not gonna make it.
My throat clenches. I don’t want to incant. Never wanted to, ever again. But between that and dying…
Between Emlyn dying…
“I have to do it, Em.”
His jaw tightens, eyes trained on our foes.
