Page 188 of A Legacy of the Light

So I nod.

“Stay close to me,” she says, and then charges out from behind the wall.

◆◆◆

I have never given much thought to what war might look like. Call it ignorance, but it has always seemed so far away to me. Even in the human world. I would hear about it in the news, or Tavish would tell me bits of what a Dorche attack is like, and I had glimpses of it when they managed to get into the palace courtyard. But never, even in my wildest imagination, did I think it would be like this.

The white mist magic of the Aotrom clashes fiercely with the dark shadows of the masked Dorche in storms that are almost peaceful to watch. Seelie fight with blades of steel and weapons crafted from magic. Blood runs down the streets, darkened by the night so it looks like ink pouring between the cobbled stones.

Bodies clad in silver armor and bodies clad in armor darker than the deepest parts of the ocean lie broken and battered in the square.

At the very heart of it all, roaring commands, and battling four Dorche with blade and mist, stands Tavish.

My stomach rolls. A Dorche soldier arcs high with their sword, aiming right for Tavish’s head. I watch on in horror as Tavish dips under the blade narrowly missing his face, and plunges one of his short swords through the gut of the rebel.

He doesn’t have time to see if his blow was fatal and he meets another Seelie head on. He fends off attack after attack and I remain captivated by his vicious dance with death.

“Elsie, come on!” Reyne yells, pulling my attention back to her as she shoves her blade through a rebel who runs at us with their sword aimed low.

The Aotrom are outnumbered. The longer we spend in the square, the more the shadows overpower the mist. More of the Aotrom fall under the power of the Dorche and the cold tendrils of panic wrap tighter around my stomach.

The fighting intensifies around us. Seelie close in, being pushed to the edge of the square in their battles, stopping our path of escape.

Two Brollachan round the corner into the square right before us, and the Dorche nearest to it snarl with twisted delight as they slaughter Aotrom guards.

Shadows shield the Brollachan, warping and twisting around their bodies to keep them from sight. Their heads turn in our direction and they advance a few paces.

“Reyne . . .” I breathe in panic, stepping backward as the Brollachan watch us, the shadows still not unveiling the creatures beneath.

“I know, Elsie,” she replies, fear finally leaking into her tone. “Remember what I told you.”

One of the Brollachan breaks off and launches itself into the square, when a Dorche rebel is slammed to the ground and a blade shoved through their throat.

Okay, only one. One is better than two. We can fight past one.

It’s a fool’s hope that we can take on a Brollachan without any magic and survive. But I have to believe we will make it out of here.

The shadows pull back, inch by inch. The black lizard-like skin clings to the bones of the creature, pulled taut over the body of something that was once a Seelie. It’s human in shape but nothing remains of its humanity, only skin and bone and shadow and death. It hunches over at the shoulder and jerks its head side to side in twitchy movements, scenting the air around it and listening to the commands of the Dorche urging it to attack.

Fear like I’ve never known crawls down my spine.

Hands and feet end in claws that drip in blood. No doubt the blood of the poor innocent mauled on its destructive path through Claver.

The shadows recede from the Brollachan, allowing me the horror of looking upon the creature’s face for the first time. Its eyes swarm with dark mist, so much like the Colpach and yet nothing like it. Black bottomless pits promising death to everyone who dares look upon it.

Two holes sit in the center of its face where a nose would once have sat, and thin black lips pull back to reveal a mouth full of teeth as dark and sharp as the claws, ready to tear into flesh. Shadows dance between them, searching for the next victim to poison. Those shadows slow the healing ability of Seelie.

The Brollachan lowers itself to the ground, readying to strike.

Reyne braces herself next to me and tightens her grip around her sword. “When it attacks, Elsie, you run.”

I grasp the pommel of my sword in two hands and prepare to throw all of my strength into my escape. And I prepare to leave Reyne behind.

I feel a thrum in my blood, an echo next to my own galloping heart. The power I felt on the ride into Claver thrashes and riots inside me, wanting to be unleashed but held back by that invisible barrier. The Craobh Beatha stirs against my chest in response, warming and pulsing as the feeling in my chest builds.

The Brollachan lowers to its haunches and, with a hiss that will haunt my nightmares, launches high into the air, right toward us.

“ELSIE!” Tavish roars from across the square. Time stretches and slows when his panicked gaze connects with mine.