Page 290 of The Edge of Darkness

I was not the same person as the young woman who received this sword. That version of me had been sharpened into something new—something greater. Someone with a purpose. I carried my father, and my mother, and now my brother with me when I held this sword. And although I had god-given power at my disposal, I wouldn’t feel like myself if I didn’t carry this blade with me into battle.

Shadowy figures weaved in and out of Lyceius’s front lines, testing the boundaries, begging for us to make the first move. Amongst them, standing as if he had all the time in the world, the fallen god waited.

Roirdan held up a hand. “Archers!”

Commands rippled through the flanks, every court calling their archers forward. I watched the lines move as one, noting a particular figure who emerged at the forefront, leading the mass of silver and green behind him.

Breck.

He stood tall, looking severe than I’d ever seen him. The bow he held was significantly larger than the one he carried on a daily basis, and was as white as bone. His cloak hung long and heavy from his shoulders—shoulders he held with a newfound confidence. The fae that followed him did so without hesitation. He’d rallied them, given them a reason to fight and a leader worth fighting for.

My heart swelled at the sight.

The archers took formation—Drastia and Benmoor to our left, and Vahrenhall and Elandrew to our right, with Calledan bringing them together in the center.

Roirdan’s voice boomed. “Nock!”

“Nock!” the command resounded to the others.

Arrows met their anchor.

“Draw!”

“Draw!”

Strings were pulled taut.

“Lose!”

“Lose!”

Arrows launched, screaming as they arced through the air, flooding the reddened sky and painting it awash with black.

Lyceius’s creatures may have had supernatural strength and agility, but they did not possess the ability to produce magical shields like the fae, and Lyceius hadn’t thought it necessary—or hadn’t cared enough—to provide shields for them. Wails and enraged snarls tore through the atmosphere as the keres and the other abominations held their lines and suffered the waves of the arrows. Skadi’s shadow beings, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. The broad tips soared right through their incorporeal forms.

Another round of arrows was readied on command and loosed. Roirdan continued to call out the orders, and creatures fell in the wake of the onslaught, but where one went down, another was there to take its place.

Lyceius had soldiers to spare. But so did we.

Part of our armies had not even left the valley. What Lyceius saw before him was only half of what he was up against. And we wanted it that way. Mind games were another necessary part of war—so I’d learned.

The archers shifted. A new line of them stepped forward with fresh arrows, while the others drifted back to replenish their quivers.

Something much closer stirred behind us, and I sensed the movement at the same time Niall did.

We turned to find the ranks of Calledan’s soldiers parting down the middle for a rather large group of . . . witches. Nivelle led them, a saunter in her step, as if she were Torin herself. When she came to a stop before us, she lifted her delicate chin and said, “As promised.”

“What perfect timing,” Niall said, heavy on the sarcasm. The goddess had waited until the last damned minute to fulfill her final part of the bargain, and he was less than thrilled about it.

Nivelle didn’t bat a lash to his tone. “They are all armed with the death-spelled ashes, and carry more in their arsenal. I made sure to brief them on everything.”

Niall looked her up and down, then did the same to the witches at her back. Four dozen—if my counting served me right.

“Join the ranks, Witch Commander,” he instructed.

Nivelle’s lips twitched, a grin fighting its way to the surface, but she smothered it and spun on her heel, barking orders to the other witches. As she passed by, she nodded toward me, then caught Roirdan’s eye, holding it for a brief moment before turning to face the enemy.

Out on the ridgeline to the northwest, the Dionach legions stood—an impenetrable wall ready to descend upon Lyceius. More were dispersed throughout the fae armies, their wings rising above every soldier, their eyes and facial markings ablaze with fiery red light.