Every step across the grass forced him to work twice as hard as normal. He tore his feet away from the terrae’s grip each time. Then he leaped over the mounting dirt piles and plunged into the trees.
Deckard followed the faint shadow of the Shade, guided by Rafferty’s call for help. The creature’s hulking form scraped against the trunks and low-hanging limbs while Deckard struggled to vault over the unnatural, gargantuan roots. His ribcage pinched, but he ignored the pain with each breath. Already, the Shade was fading into the depths of the forest, and he feared losing sight of it with his slow movement.
Magic pulsed against his chest. His jaw clamped tightly, determined not to lose another comrade. He allowed the whisper to rise, its eagerness pressing with force against his tenuous hold. Deckard gritted his teeth against the compulsion to give himself over to the full weight of power and thrust a hand forward.
A shard tore after the Shade, a spiral of the Heavens glittering through the forest. The obsidian spike hit its mark, piercing through the back of the creature’s head. It erupted into dirt.
Rafferty’s grunt reached his ears, but he couldn’t see where the man had fallen.
Deckard rushed forward, scrambling through the roots. They seemed to shift under his feet even as he moved, causing him to wobble unsteadily. “Where are you?” he called, forward his only option.
A muffled cry reached him another thirty feet ahead. He hurried on, spotting the large mound of dirt. He climbed over the roots as he fought the terrae around him.
“I’m almost there,” he called again.
Another now-fainter grumble replied, but it sounded like Rafferty was getting farther away.
Deckard broke over the tangled roots to stand before the mound of dirt. He had to keep moving his feet so the grass and roots didn’t begin to pull him down. But he couldn’t find Rafferty.
“Raff!”
A muted grunt came from his left, almost too faint to hear.
Deckard looked over to catch a single flash of white-blond hair before the shifting roots swallowed Rafferty whole.
Bounding over, Deckard searched the limbs for any way through. There was none.
With a deep breath, he summoned his magic, feeling the heat spread along his skin. “Don’t move,” he warned. Then Space tumbled out of him in arcs of black that sliced through the roots as though they were butter. They splintered apart, and the tree recoiled, revealing the soldier underneath.
Deckard reached down and pulled him free.
The man shuddered, coughing out dirt as Deckard dragged him to his feet.
“Come on,” he ordered without giving him time to recover. “We can’t stay in one place, or we’ll both get trapped.”
Rafferty wheezed but limped along as Deckard hopped from root to root. “Which way?” he asked weakly.
Deckard scanned the trees. They all looked the same. Every direction held an identical image all around them. They had no way to find their way back.
He continued forward, unable to stand still. “Give me a minute,” he said.
“Are you an expert tracker all of a sudden?”
“No,” he said, his thumb brushing his moonstone ring. He thought of Evylin, feeling for her presence inside his own soul. “But I am a Bonded Mage.”
Deckard had become accustomed to feeling Evylin’s presence within him. Initially, it had seemed strange to be constantly aware of her whereabouts. His attachment to her psyche and emotions was unusual. However, he had come to value it profoundly, especially in moments like these.
Deep within his core, Deckard found her, feeling the irresistible tug of her strength and grit, her excitement andadrenaline. Her feelings rose up within him as if they were his own, and he made a sharp right turn.
“This way,” he said, tugging Rafferty along.
Racing back through the trees, Deckard and Rafferty followed the pull of Evylin’s consciousness. Before long, they made it back to the chaos. Evylin, Ethenn, and Brea still fought fiercely, bringing down the last of the Shades. Ilain stood at the head of the troop, hands raised as she used Terrae magic to lift a giant mound of dirt from the path. Clumps of it flew through the air, clearing the pile. Thom and Vayden knelt at the base of the mound, working to pull Isla free.
“What happened?” Deckard asked, hurrying to their side.
“We tried to hold them back,” Brea explained. “But there were too many. Isla got caught by their death knell.”
As Ilain parted the dirt in two, the men helped Isla stand. She let out a small cry, grimacing as she tried to put weight on her foot. Vayden wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her weight.
