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Until today.
They had been fighting for a while, pushing the Drakhyn back when human made bombs dropped on the Akrhyn. Gunfire had mowed a lot of them down, and Castors who had been prepared to dispel illusions had instead run to the aid of the fallen, who suffered injuries that Akrhyn had never faced before.
A bomb had gone off beside Tegan and Michael, throwing them far back from their positions, separating them from Salem and the others. The ringing in Tegan’s ears was too much, too distracting. Her hand came up, hitting the side of her head to quiet it.
“Tegan!” she heard her brother calling for her. “Tegan!” he screamed in the mist.
The bombs had some kind of thick smoke in them, clouding her vision. She felt like she was moving through fog. A blast erupting nearby had her crouching down with a cry, her hands over her head, her sword forgotten beside her.
“Tegan!” Michael screamed again.
“Here!” she called as she stooped to pick up her weapon. “I am here!” She looked around desperately for him, her face wet with tears from the smoke. “Michael!” she cried out, spinning in place.
Their only advantage at this time was that the bombs did not discriminate, the Drakhyn were as affected as they were. Tegan stumbled again and fell over a prone body. She pushed herself away when the outstretched talons twitched, her knife digging deep into the Drakhyn’s throat.
“Tegan!”
Her head jerked up at Michael’s cry, and she staggered to her feet.
A furious wind suddenly blew out of nowhere. Once again, Tegan fell to the ground, and then with a startled cry, she dug her dagger into the soft ground as the wind threatened to carry her along with it. The bond was throbbing madly, almost painfully, in her chest. The wind became stronger, and Tegan whispered a prayer to the Ancients to give her the strength to hold on as she lowered her head.
As suddenly as it appeared, the wind quietened. When Tegan raised her head, her horror at the destruction around her threatened to overwhelm her. Scrambling to her feet, she looked over the piles of dead bodies.
Akrhyn and Drakhyn lay strewn amongst the debris. The smoke had been blown away, and scared that the next explosive would land soon, Tegan snatched her sword and began to run back to the main fighting ground.
“Tegan!”
She turned swiftly to see Michael notice her at the same time. His face was covered in blood, his arm lay limp at his side, he staggered towards her, and she ran to his aid. He needed a Castor.
“I wasn’t ready for modern warfare,” he told her as she clutched him to her.
“Is that what this is?” Tegan asked as she looked around, seeing the Drakhyn edge out, almost as cautious as the Akrhyn but still eager to fight. “It is evil.”
“You really should have taken my Human Studies classes.” Michael tried to laugh but gasped in pain instead. “By the Ancients, they have to be faring better than us,” he whispered as he and his sister made their way back to the fight, shocked at how far they had been blown back by the blast.
As they struggled, Drakhyn rushed them, stragglers from the explosion, affected like they had been but still eager to sink their teeth into Akrhyn flesh. Together, Tegan and Michael fought them before they cleared the trees and both stopped.
Ruin greeted them.
Akrhyn were scattered everywhere, some still fighting in pockets against the horde of Drakhyn. Lycan fought Lycan even as Marcus stood with a ring of Lycan around him, protecting him as he pushed his alpha’s will on the dark Lycan. He was in his Akrhyn form, while his fellow Lycans were not.
Marcus stood tall, his head bowed slightly as he concentrated on trying to still hundreds of Lycans. Tegan saw his head rise slightly, shocked at his glowing amber eyes, and she saw very clearly when the arrow pierced the alpha’s throat. She heard Tove’s yelp of fear as the alpha fell.
“You need a Castor,” Tegan said as she pulled her brother into the fighting, glancing back at the group of Lycan, praying Marcus was alright. “The only way is straight across,” she told him grimly as the two began to fight their way forward.
Striking with sword or dagger, they fought, kicked and sometimes punched their way through. Tegan felt the pull in her chest and turned to see him.
In the centre of the battlefield, Cord stood. His arms outstretched, his head tilted back. He looked like he was ready to be sacrificed. She saw it then, the brightness around him. The Sisters were right, hedidshine. Every Drakhyn near him was blinded, she realised. He was pushing his lightout.
The One did not hide his eyes from the Castor. The Drakhyn stood to the side of the battlefield with his Master and watched the Mark of Velvore aid his Akrhyn kin by literally blinding the Drakhyn. The bombs had been to create a false darkness so that the Drakhyn could fight, as their eyes were too sensitive to the light.
The Mark of Velvore had eventually summoned enough wind to blow the area clear, and now he shone brightly under a blue sky, disabling their soldiers.
The One went to speak to his Master when he saw her,tiger, in the middle of battle, still fighting, with her brother beside her. Stepping from his Master’s reach, he kept his form as the black wolf and heedlessly crossed the battleground to reach her.
Coming up behind her, his huge paws pushed at her back, and she fell forward with a cry, spinning as she did so, her eyes widening with fear when she saw what came for her. Her brother lunged forward, but this Drakhyn cared not for the Stone. It only wanted her, the Blade. He struck out at the male, swiping his claws deeply across his chest, knocking him to the ground. He turned from the fallen Akrhyn and stared down at his prize.
His Master had given him powers. The ability to shift to a wolf, the ability to control other Drakhyn, the ability to Cast and create illusions. His Master had not given him the ability of patience.
