Page 16 of Acolyte (Tempris #2)

Skye was halfway across the bridge when his comm began to squawk.

“Help!” a young woman pleaded. Maka—Skye had met her just yesterday when she had been tending to the horses.

She was one of the shadow mages that had been sent to the north side.

“They’re in the trees! They’re coming from the forest! We’re surrounded!”

“Harin!” Skye barked. “Report!”

“Emrys?!” Harin’s voice was gruff and laced with pain. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to hail you for the last twenty minutes.”

What?

Eyes wide, Skye turned the dial on his comm, sending a hail to the other side, to Kato or Eula or anyone who might have been listening.

But there was no answer. Just more static followed by hollow silence. The signal was being blocked. Something on the bridge was interfering with their comms, which meant—

Skye shook off that train of thought. There would be time for questions later—time to figure out just how their enemy had managed to conceal themselves. How they had known the day and time the caravan would be crossing the bridge.

Reaching for a piece of steel trussing, Skye pulled himself up, climbing higher and higher and higher—high enough that he could see past the walls of black dirt that jutted from the ground around the northern bank.

The earth mages looked ashen and pale as they tried to fortify the hastily constructed blockade.

Some were on their knees, and others were being propped up by Lowborn and mortals who could do little more than offer small sips of water and whispered words of encouragement.

Just beyond, in the small ribbon of highway that cut a path through the forest—more shades. A never-ending ocean of rotting limbs and gnashing teeth.

Climbing through the net, Skye made his way south, just far enough that Eula’s voice began filtering through the comm.

“We have shades to the north,” he said, letting his weight rest on a nearby vine.

“Hundreds of them. The earth mages are holding them back, but they’re going to be overrun if they don’t get backup. ”

“What?” The whine of the flash cannons mixed with the hiss of static nearly drowned out the single-word response. Kato’s voice sounded in the background as Eula gave a shout. An explosion boomed to the south, so fierce it made the bridge begin to sway.

“Skylen,” Eula panted as the low growl of the blast began to taper and fade, “We can’t—”

“I know,” Skye said, checking the handful of shadow crystals that clacked together in his pocket.

“Stay where you are and continue to push. I’ll go north and reinforce Harin—see what I can do.

There’s something blocking the comms, so as soon as you have the south side secured, send up a flare and start moving the civilians off the bridge.

We’re trapped right now with nowhere to run.

Use those guns and give us somewhere to go. Understood? ”

There was a brief pause, then a mumbled, “Sire.” Skye could perfectly envision the way the noblewoman bowed her head. Not in deference, just… resignation. Because even if they could cut a hole to the south, the odds that they would be able to clear the roadways enough for a retreat…

No. He couldn’t think like that. Not as another explosion cracked the air, this time to the north as one of those already-crumbling walls of earth collapsed.

The shades immediately swarmed the hole in the barricade, breaking through and ripping into the line of shadow mages that threw themselves in front of the civilians.

Skye took a shaky breath. He had been trained to fight.

He had been taught to lead. And he would.

Even if he didn’t feel ready—he would. His stomach lurched as he loosened his grip and let his body drop.

Catching himself at the last moment, he began propelling himself forward, barking orders on the comm, watching as the shadow mages on the north side shakily fell into formation.

Metal clanged, and boots shuffled. As the shadow mages began to push, Harin took a step back and started pulling civilians from the huddled crowd. Anyone that looked like they might have a whisper of magic got shoved into line.

Skye dropped to the ground, pulling his staff from his coat as he moved to the front. Another block in the barricade began to fall, and a great keening wail went up as more shades flowed through the opening.

Skye ran, infusing aether into his legs and barely feeling the crack of bone as he slammed into the enemy wave.

The ground trembled underfoot as the fallen earth mage tried to summon another barrier, but the shades were already clawing their way forward, barely stumbling as rippling streams of water flew past. Skye spared a glance back at Harin and the Lowborn rank, his stomach sinking as the realization set in.

They didn’t have enough magic to form ice.

The comm squealed, and then, “Shadow mages dropping in 30 seconds. Clear the forward bridge.”

Skye jolted at the familiar voice, and that slight blip in his attention cost him. A blade embedded in his shoulder, and he snarled, slamming his fist into the shade’s cheek. Blood spurted as he yanked the dagger from his arm, the pain so hot it made the rest of him feel cold.

“Ten seconds. Air mages—be ready to provide aerial support.”

Skye looked to the sky, still searching for the source of that voice and nearly stumbling from the shock of relief that shot through him.

It was subtle, barely more than a glimmer, a slight bend in the light that didn’t quite seem natural.

But he saw it—saw the glamour just seconds before the veil of water magic dissolved, revealing the monster of wood and metal swimming through the clouds.

“Five seconds.”

Skye couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. That was Ivain’s voice. That was Ivain standing above the gunport. That was Ivain’s crest—the Fairmont fox—flying at the mast of the massive airship.

A rusted sunburst swirled across the bow, sweeping along the sides in whorls of burnished red, and great wings of tattered canvas propelled it forward on a howling river of wind and rain.

A line of air mages stood along the main deck, their bodies consumed by light as they raised their hands to the sky, summoning the squall.

“Lyric—take command of the deck,” Ivain said, curt. “I’m going groundside.”

With renewed vigor, Skye plunged into the rank of shades that pressed through the gap in the barricade as fully armored men and women dropped from the sky. Each one wore leather and steel, and they carried magical hammers and staves, each one glowing with magic.

Bursts of fire and ice and electricity hailed from the sky as the contingent of shadow mages split the air, striking the ground with explosive thuds that cracked the pavement.

Shades flew back, knocked off their feet in waves, and the shadow mages cut their way forward.

Each man and woman looked hale and rested, and Skye could scent the tang of aether over the stench of rot.

The enemy flank was already starting to fall as the airship continued its assault.

And through the clash of steel and the sting of smoke, Skye kept his eyes trained on that familiar figure in black armor that was already cutting his way forward with lethal precision.

The other shadow mages flanked him, but it was Ivain that led the charge.

The man was a storm, a raging tempest of fury and death.

He carried a massive hammer, and among the lines of blue and red that pulsed beneath the polished granite, electricity crackled.

A touch followed by a brief flare of shadow magic was all it took to send the shades sprawling.

Wave after wave, until the road was laden with pieces of bone and bits of gore, stained black with rotted blood .

The roar of battle began to wane as Ivain’s mages whittled down the enemy force, and the airship continued to circle overhead.

And when Skye swung his staff for the last time, crushing it into a body so far gone he could no longer tell if it had been a man or a woman, fey or something else entirely—he simply stood there for a moment, almost bewildered to be standing still again as he watched a troop of mages disappear into the trees, no doubt looking for stragglers.

A bright flare streaked the sky to the south, followed by a rippling cheer that rose above the screams of the people still trapped on the bridge.

Skye could only stare as the flash began to fade, like a dying star.

He felt numb—numb to the pain of his wounds that had yet to heal, numb to the burn that had settled in his lungs, numb to everything except the overwhelming fatigue that rushed in to fill every empty space.

Because the fighting… the fighting had stopped. The shades were gone, and the healers were rushing onto the field, looking for wounded.

Somehow, by some miracle… they had won.