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No, he could not risk it. The magic already bursting around him would have to be enough. It did not matter that it was shaking and falling apart under the onslaught of bullets. He did not have the control to handle any more.
Even as he peered through the crackle of his magic, that repeating gun adjusted its aim, the line of bullets changing just a hair. The bullets winked out against his magic until…
Pain slammed into his stomach, and he cried out. The last of his control snapped, and his magic exploded outward, fizzling out on the breeze.
He collapsed the rest of the way to his knees as three spots of blood bloomed on the front of his shirt.
He had been shot. He had never been shot before. Each breath stabbed more pain through his body, and his head whirled in a way he had never experienced before.
Gunshots echoed around him. The battlefield around him blurred in a haze of troll and elf magic, sulfuric gun smoke, and a ringing…ringing…
That ringing was in his head. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as the blood poured from his wounds.
He had to…he had to get up. He had to fight.
His magic. He needed his magic.
A few bolts shivered into existence around him. He forced more of it outward, taking out the bullets flying through the air.
The repeater gun had fallen silent. All of the trolls who had been manning it lay dead on the ground.
A gun boomed, and a troll charging at Farrendel collapsed. Farrendel sought the source and found Essie. She lay behind Ashenifela and a low wall of saplings. Her red hair frizzed from its braid, the tendrils whipping about her face in the breeze. She held out her gun to his niece Brina, and Brina handed a second gun to her. With her jaw set, Essie put the gun to her shoulder and lined up her shot. In the months since they had married, he had never seen her eyes that flinty or her bearing that determined.
In that moment, she was a warrior, unflinching at the battle raging around her.
The trolls charged at the others. Sunlight glinted on drawn swords and raised guns for one last volley.
Farrendel hunched, gasping, protected by the bolts of his remaining magic. Blood poured from him. Too fast. Was he dying? It seemed impossible, after everything he had endured, that three bullets could end him just like that.
Yet here he was, bleeding out on a battlefield, while the trolls rushed at Essie and his family.
Weylind fended off waves of troll magic, his black hair whipping around his shoulders. Rheva crawled between the wounded, keeping her head down as bullets zipped over them now that Farrendel’s magic no longer protected them. Jalissa pressed her hands to the ground, her face twisted as she held a section of the protecting wall of saplings in place even as it was riddled with bullets.
Next to her, Ryfon drew a sword, his hands shaking. This was Ryfon’s first taste of real battle, yet he was preparing to go down fighting.
Farrendel had been Ryfon’s age when he had begged to join Dacha and Weylind at the front. He had thought himself old enough, yet looking at Ryfon now, Farrendel saw the young boy he had been. He had been far too young when he had learned to fight, to kill, to survive torture.
Farther along the circle, Brina loaded another gun for Essie. His niece was even younger than Ryfon, yet her face was set with determination as she handed the gun off to Essie.
And then there was Essie. She raised her gun again, even as the trolls closed to fifteen feet away. Ten feet.
Farrendel staggered to his feet and stumbled toward her. Her gaze swung from its deadly focus on the rampaging trolls to instead rest on him with a pained finality.
He should have kissed her. He should have told her that he was falling in love with her. He had thought he would have more time, and yet now time had narrowed to this moment.
No. No, he would not let this be the end. Not for Essie. Maybe he was dying. But she could not. She had to live. She had to keep smiling and keep bringing light and joy to a world filled with blood and war.
His magic welled inside him, a rising tide that burst from him. This time, he did not try to hold back the surge. He was going to destroy each and every troll if it was the last thing he did.
He went down to a knee and unleashed his magic. Crackles built in his chest, beneath his skin, until they tore from him. Power gushed from him in a torrent that tugged at his hair and scraped at his clothes. He drew in ragged breaths of pain and power as the weight of his own magic squeezed his chest.
Around him, the trees groaned, as if in pain at his magic. The remaining trolls cried out. But it was already too late for them, as his magic ripped them apart in its fury.
And still his magic blasted from him, wild and raw and tearing at the air itself. It burned through his fingers, growing in strength even as he weakened, and his control along with him. His mind was whirling and fuzzy with blood loss.
He had to keep control. He was supposed to save Essie, not kill her.
Gritting his teeth, Farrendel moaned as he tightened his grasp on his unleashed power. He had to get it under control. Just for a moment more, and then this would all be over.
