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“No!” Zander yells as his longtime friend and ally topples off his horse to land on the hard ground.
Braylon and the others are already charging back toward their camp. “They’ve killed Lord Telor!” a frantic voice calls out in the night. They’re too far for their shouts to be heard, but it won’t be long before that lie catches ears and spreads. No one from their camp will have seen Braylon’s attack unfurl from this distance, in the dark, to disbelieve his claim.
“Telor must not die! Save him!” Zander urges his horse forward. It rears on its hind legs, kicking at the shield. I release my hold on my affinity and Zander rushes away, Abarrane, Elisaf, Kienen, and Radomir on his heels moments later.
Jarek stops at my side. “That was a merth blade. He will not survive a wound like that.”
I drop from my horse and stumble to where Lord Telor’s limp body lies, blood pouring freely from the gash in his side. “Let me worry about that. Help them.” When Jarek falters, I scream, “That’s an order!”
He spurs his horse into a gallop without another word.
Zorya slows long enough for Gesine to scramble from their horse before speeding off with the others. “Does he have a pulse?”
I press my fingers against his neck. “Yes.”
“Then it is not too late.”
“Fix him!” I plead with the caster.
Gesine hovers a hand over the wound. “It is deep. I will have to release my hold of the taillok, and we will lose it.”
“I don’t care. Telor can’t die.”
“Then you must do this, Romeria.”
“I can’t!”
She guides my hand and places it on Telor’s failing body. “You have done it before when it mattered. It matters now.”
Right. Elisaf. Adrenaline pounds in my ears. “I’ll try. But if I can’t, forget the stupid bird and save him.”
She nods. “Focus on what is at stake.”
I close my eyes, reaching for those soothing, cool strands of Aoife’s power. If Lord Telor dies and Braylon’s lies reach his men …
Zander’s right. Telor must survive.
With that fear firmly in place, I let my affinity flow.
Somewhere nearby, the ground rumbles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ZANDER
“They’ve slain my father! Prepare for battle!” Braylon’s hoarse shouts carry. But do they carry enough? No one will have seen him skewer his father in the middle of the open, dark plain, but they will believe him without question. Telor said he argued with his son about this parley, about going out at dusk. Now I can see it was all part of the plan, and surely, he spoke these words in front of others.
If Telor dies, it will be another false crime to hang on my shoulders, followed by one I commit when I’m forced to kill every one of those men in that camp. And then where does that leave Islor but weakened even further?
Rage fills me. The camp’s flames are still too far away, but my reach will likely find them just as Braylon’s shouts do.
Suddenly, my horse rears, the ground beneath its hooves tremoring. Kienen speeds past, his focus on the males ahead.
I watch with a mixture of awe and horror as all three drop into the earth.
Jarek slows down at my side long enough for me to catch his “What the fuck?” before he urges his horse forward.
The rest of us close in as Kienen hops off his mount, sword in hand. There is nothing to combust in this arid deadland, but thankfully, our elven vision does not need light to make out the crater in the earth, deep and wide enough to fit three fallen horses and the riders trapped beneath them, groaning from the immense weight and their injuries.
“A shame to lose such animals,” Elisaf says, his voice sincere. He has always been soft for the breed.
It is, but all I can feel right now is relief that we stopped them, however temporary it may be.
“That one is still alive.” Zorya points to the horse pinning down Braylon. “Maybe the witch can heal it.”
“Both its front legs are broken, and Gesine has more important things to focus on,” I counter as Jarek, Abarrane, and Elisaf drop into the pit.
“This one’s mortal.” Elisaf crouches to test his pulse. “And dead.”
“These other two will wish they were soon enough.” Jarek grabs hold of Braylon’s arms and yanks him out from beneath the horse, earning the beast’s distress and Braylon’s screams.
The third soldier fights Abarrane, but her merth blade against his throat stills him. “Another mortal.”
“That’s Lev.” I met him once, two decades ago when I last traveled to Lyndel. He was barely more than a boy, with a few spare hairs growing on his upper lip.
I steal another glance at the camp ahead. The lookouts still haven’t raised any alarms, which means they’re blind to how far things have gone awry. But soon, they will wonder what is taking so long, and a group will ride out. “Let’s get them back before Telor’s men decide to be brave.”
