Page 24

Skye’s attention cut to the south, and a quick tug on his aether had his eyes shifting, his pupils going wider. There was a second of near-blindness, and then the details of the battle raging in the distance snapped into bright focus. He could see a thin line of mages feeding aether into a towering wall of magical fire, pushing back against the dark wave of creatures that lapped at their flank. Smoke rippled the air, but Eula was right. They wouldn’t be able to keep that up forever. The flames were already beginning to sputter and fade.

Skye pressed a key on his comm, filtering out the chatter. “How many shadow mages are on the north side?”

“Nearly half,” Eula grunted, already out of breath.

Skye looked to the northern side. A steady stream of refugees flowed from the bridge, fanning out along the canyon edge. He squinted, quickly recognizing the gruff man that stood on the other side, directing traffic and barking orders to a small rank of shadow mages. Kane Harin. He was a fire mage. Lowborn, but he had a head for strategy. Enough that he had managed to bring more than a few Highborn to their knees during one-on-one combat. “Let’s keep them there for now. We don’t know if more forces are hidden on the north side of the canyon. Tell Harin to take over and dig in.”

Skye turned back to the battle raging down below. “Where’s Kato?”

“Here,” Kato’s voice buzzed through the comm. “I’m on the bridge moving south to reinforce Eula.”

Skye spotted the familiar shock of brassy hair moving against the swell of people rushing onto the bridge. “Wait,” Skye said, eyeing the massive tarp-covered wagons that lumbered towards the entrance. The flash cannons.

Kato immediately stopped, his body glowing violet as he channeled enough aether to keep from being swept away. “Make it quick.”

“I can see you from my position. I’m closer to Eula, so it’s going to be easier for me to reinforce our flank. I want you to circle the wagons near the mouth of the bridge on the south side. If you can set up a defensive perimeter and get the flash cannons online, Eula and I can retreat back to your position once everyone is on the bridge.”

“On it,” Kato said. There was no mockery, no derision. A small mercy. At least his brother could stow his attitude when it mattered.

The comm clicked, and Skye saw the crowd begin to part as Kato shoved against the throng of people, this time cutting a path to the wagons.

Skye dropped from his perch, refocusing his aether and hitting the ground with a hard thud. The magic spread through every cell and sinew, and he barely felt the impact from the forty-foot drop as it rippled up his legs. Then, he began to sprint toward Eula’s position, moving along the edge of the wardline and weaving between the crowd.

Reaching inside his coat, he produced a length of leather-wrapped wood no longer than a handspan. He thumbed the button set into the side, holding the grip away from his body as each edge unfolded. Wood and metal hissed, sliding and scraping until the stave was as long as he was tall.

They had figured out early on that cutting weapons were useless against an enemy that was impervious to pain. Though they may have once been men and women formed from flesh and blood, death had tempered every weakness. Remove an arm or a leg—a man would fall, blinded by the pain. But a shade… a shade just kept moving, kept swinging and fighting and clawing and tearing. The only way to stop them was to crush their bones. The only way to kill them was to shatter the crystals lodged deep in their chests.

Skye could feel the pull of the shadow crystals concealed beneath the leather grip, and lines of blue and red gemstones began to flicker as aether flowed through the mass of wiring carved into the surface of the wood. “Eula, I’m right behind you,” he said, giving his staff a few experimental sweeps as the crowd began to thin. Each end was tipped with iron, sharpened to a point. “Get the shadow mages into formation and be prepared to pull the casters back.”

“Yes, Sire,” came Eula’s clipped reply.

Skye could see the shades now. Just beyond a rapidly dwindling barricade of blue magical fire, they flowed through a break in the wardline, as monstrous as any Skye had seen. Decayed flesh sagged off rotting bone, veins spiderwebbed beneath waxy pallid skin, and jagged cuts peeked through tattered scraps of cloth and leather that might once have been armor.

Countless and wild, there was no formation, no order to their rank. The enemy shades crashed into the soaring wall of heat and ash, waving spears and swords that were more rust than metal and bellowing out their rage.

Eula hung back, her body awash with shadow magic as she marched behind a trembling assembly of fire and water mages, pushing the ones that attempted to run back into formation. Most of them were young, two centuries or less—the sons and daughters of the lesser nobility back on Lycia. They had been trained to move with grace and ease through the ranks of noble society, a far different kind of battlefield than the one they now faced.

Unfortunately, a week of combat training had done little to make up for this deficiency in their education.

The shadow mages were already falling into line in front of the casters, standing steady and holding identical staves that flickered red and blue. Occasionally, the wall of flame would gutter, turning to smoke, but the few shades that rushed through were quickly struck down, first with fire and then with ice. That was something else they had learned during that first battle with the abomination. Fire made the shades panic, and ice made them shatter.

Skye took up position beside a stout, black-haired boy that looked to be a few years younger than him. “Eula? Get ready to drop the wall and fall back.”

“Yes, Sire,” came Eula’s response, followed by a shout from somewhere behind him.

“On my signal!” Skye’s aether flared, and he gripped his staff. Similar flashes of violet light repeated around him as the shadow mages began to shuffle nervously. “Now!”

The wall extinguished, and Skye gave a shout, launching himself forward. He felt the lingering heat of the blockade, but the protective wardswoven into the lining of his armor immediately activated. A thin coating of frost slithered across his skin, the cold pushing back the heat in a hiss of steam as he barreled straight through the heavy cloud of smoke still curling through the air.

A heartbeat later, he emerged on the other side, unharmed, and the scent of rot slammed into him.

The black-haired boy at his side staggered at the smell, but Skye grabbed his shoulder, pushing him forward as they crashed into the horde. The shades rushed the shadow mages, quickly huddling into a dozen individual battles.

Skye swung his own weapon as a small group peeled away from the main skirmish and converged on him. Their emaciated bodies tangled together, and they stabbed the air with long spears, trying to skewer him.

They were fast. Strong.

But he was faster—stronger—and he neatly side-stepped their attacks, using aether to speed up each motion.