Page 185 of A Courage of the Chosen

We started exploring what else we could lace with flame creeper after we discovered that Hume was tearing our grenades apart so the Dorche could manufacture their own. Knowledge of this was limited to those who were absolutely necessary, and we kept them off the wagons that were sent out, in case they discovered what other weapons we had.

The results of our developments are impressive, and fucking messy.

A soldier comes at me, teeth exposed and sword swinging toward my mid-section. I deflect the blow, countering with a quick succession of moves that put him on the back foot.

They might be fast, but I’m fucking faster.

I delve into the place inside me that feels nothing and knows no mercy. All that matters is living, being one step ahead, and stopping anyone else getting hurt.

While kicking him in the chest, I heft my broadsword high to come down on his neck. He grabs my ankle and begins tugging me off the saddle . . . when an arrow pierces him through the neck. The following detonation cleaves his head clean off in a shower of spinal fluid and brain matter, and his corpse falls to the ground.

There’s no time to balk at the gore before I’ve righted myself on my horse, more enemies in his place. When you’ve seen as much war as I have, all the ways a person can die become less disgusting.

“Infantry, move now!” The command is given behind, as we’d planned, and a rush of Seelie bolster the defenses that have begun to weaken. Most are on foot now, horses either dead or scampered away.

Three Brollachan lunge for me where I’m still mounted. To save my mare, I slide out of her saddle and give her hind a swift thwack. She gallops off in the direction we came, well-practiced in what my commands mean.

My light comes to me instantly when I call it, and coats the length of my blades in dazzling forks of power I kept buried for far too long.

The other Brollachan on the field screech as I wield it, drawn to its power.

Come and get it, I think savagely. If they’re focused on me, the rest of the army can take out Dorche fighters they can actually kill. I’m the only one here who can end the unnatural creatures. The first three fall easily, crumbling into blackened bones as I tear through their flesh with sharp spears of light that make my bones sing and my blood heat.

I feel rather than see my brothers flank me, and we settle into a routine we’ve drilled a thousand times. Brodie’s immense strength downs the Brollachan, Eòghann’s speed rending them immobile for a while, and now my light finishing them off completely.

Brodie takes on six Brollachan at once. “Come on, then, motherfuckers,” he taunts.

They smash into him simultaneously, and the laugh that comes from within their balls of shadows is boisterous. “Is that all you’ve got?”

With one heave of the sword most Seelie wouldn’t be capable of carrying, Brodie slashes neatly through their torsos.

Twelve Brollachan legs remain standing, while their upper bodies flop on the ground like fish out of water as they try to knit themselves back together.

With a flick of my wrist, my power takes care of the rest.

More are on us, and my brothers and I fight like we’ve never fought before. Every attack is millimeter perfect, every block flawlessly timed. Where one of us leaves a gap, the other fills it. It’s a war song of the most animalistic nature.

Because everything is on the line.

My light bellows its tune in my chest, and strikes of lightning shoot from my palms and my sword with the might of a thousand thunderstorms.

We kill them by the handful, and soon the wicked creatures are surrounding us in a shadowy blur that we refuse to back down from.

“Don’t use too much, Cal,” Brodie pants harshly. “You’re going to need that power when he comes down from his perch.”

Tavish watches still, eyes firmly locked on me. I twiddle my fingers at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready. We have unfinished business.”

He sends unit after unit of his forces, a constant mix of Seelie that still hold their forms, and Brollachan that are much faster and harder to catch than they’ve ever been.

For every enemy we kill, there are more waiting to take their place, yet it seems like, for each one of ours that falls, we’re pushed further back down the hill.

The ground is covered in a layer of blood and other fluids that really aren’t worth examining, and the challenge grows to remain on my feet without tripping over corpses, limbs, or the ashy bones of the Brollachan killed by me.

We fight on, knowing the alternative is death, and I have no intention of greeting the afterlife today.

Soldiers utilize the flame creeper grenades to their advantage, severing large holes into the Dorche defense while arrows continue to fall from the sky on both sides. I hold back on using my light, not wanting to wear myself down too much, because I want to be ready when my cousin deigns to join this fight. As I do, my muscles pinch tight, and the thought I may have already crossed that line ghosts through the back of my mind.

This is what I’ve prepared for, trained to the point of collapse for. My body will not fail me now.