Page 31 of Realm of Crows (Wings of Ink #5)
A moment later, little rocks lift off the ground and fly toward the enemy.
Some of them melt into liquid missiles as Tori waves a hand, redirecting them toward the back of the army where Erina’s archers are reloading.
Clouds of dust coil through the air, attacking the soldiers' faces until they shield their eyes and mouths, batting at the streaks of sand carrying on an invisible breeze. From Clio’s direction, blades of ice find their marks at the small opening where the gray headpieces meet gray chest protectors.
Myron’s smoke and stars are snaking along the ground, tripping soldiers before they can get close enough to land a blow.
Silas, Royad, and Herinor combine their powers, sending rays of silver light through the front lines to take out enemies in the back rows.
From the depths of my Crow self, I summon my own magic, sending it flying across the battlefield.
Like a web of lightning, it unfolds, spider-fingers grasping one mark after the other, and where it strikes, soldiers sag to the ground.
Even when most of Tori’s soldiers don’t have offensive magic like this, they are already stepping into the gap between our armies. Erina’s troops fall quickly under our combined forces. Too quickly.
We’re about halfway through the melee when orange light sparks to life behind the enemy front lines, and “shield” is all I can yell before the wall of fire sweeps over the battlefield.
What few Tavrasian soldiers stand in the way are eaten up by the fire like cinders, their screams swallowing the shouts of our own soldiers as the heatwave reaches us.
Our shields keep most of it at bay, but where the fire creeps between the cracks, our troops scream as they are eaten by the flames.
The stench of singed leather and flesh laces the air, and I need to remind myself this is not Jeseida’s estate and no one is burning a hole in my shoulder.
Though the memories make it hard to breathe, and a phantom pain where Erina had my mate mark burned out of me nearly eradicates all rational sense.
“They put the Fire Fairies at the back of the army this time,” Myron curses. “Keep your shield up.”
Myron is next to me, and I can feel him through the mating bond like a bright star in the night sky. No one is taking him from me.
With a quick glance around, I make sure all of my court is still standing.
Royad and Herinor are fighting with both sword and magic, their blades reflecting the silver of their power as it flashes across the battlefield.
Silas is hacking at a broad soldier tall enough to be a Fire Fairy but who isn’t using any fire.
Next to him, Kaira is wielding a ball of flames she stole from the wall they sent at us and which is now dying on the frozen ground.
The clashing steel is deafening to my fae ears, but I tune it out, focusing on my dagger and the silver magic swirling around my fingers as another soldier steps into my path and raises his sword to beat me down.
I don’t even try to parry the blow, his sword too heavy for my dagger and the angle all wrong.
Instead, I roll under his arm, getting back to my feet so swiftly he doesn’t see me coming as I drive the blade into his side, right under his lifted arm where the armor is buckled more loosely to allow for movement.
His scream scatters on a burst of shadows exploding around him as Myron appears behind his back, a god of vengeance incarnate.
He flashes me a brutal smile over the soldier’s sagging corpse, and I notice three more men toppling over, who were lurking in the wings, ready to spear me with their blades the moment the other one failed.
“Thanks,” I mouth. Myron shakes his head, already back in his own fights while I summon more of my silver power and unleash it on the two men coming at me from the sides. They stagger and stumble, but one of them lands a blow on my thigh.
It burns at the impact, and I’m sure if I see tomorrow, there’ll be a four-inch-wide black bruise crossing above my knee, but my leathers prevent the blade from drawing blood.
Kaira’s siphoning more fire, throwing it back at Erina’s troops.
Just like with the arrows before, half of them march through the searing heat like it’s nothing, and I begin to wonder if they have the magic-nullifying drug smeared all over their armor after all.
The way they have been fighting suggests otherwise, and so far, none of us has lost our abilities and vomited up our guts instead of driving our blades into the enemy.
Grunts and screams echo into the winter morning as our soldiers clash with Erina’s, the humans falling faster than the Fire Fairies, but one by one, we drive them back, gaining ground with each strike and each defensive maneuver.
We’re all panting and cursing at the troops continuing to come at us, but our magical shields hold better than expected, the bursts of fire searing through the battle not touching nearly enough of our soldiers to cut our numbers.
The fairies tirelessly hammer on until the bodies littering the battlefield should have made up more than half of the enemy forces, but a glance behind the Tavrasian front lines tells me there are more waiting to meet our blades and magic. More than actually should be there.
“Something is off,” I shout at Tori and Royad, who are fighting back-to-back, two unrelenting images of wrath.
“Glad I’m not the only one to notice,” Tori grunts between two strikes with his sword while he has liquified rocks swirling around the fight he picked, keeping any other opponents at bay.
“There weren’t that many a minute ago.” Speaking the words makes me feel like I can’t trust my senses, but Royad nods, shoving the soldier he just speared off his blade with a kick of his boot.
“There certainly shouldn’t be that many,” Tori agrees. “It’s almost like, for every soldier we kill, another one pops up.”
With a glance around the battlefield, I convince myself the men we defeated are staying down.
The ground has turned crimson beneath their corpses, and much as that is a relief, a new sense of panic rises in my chest.
“Flames can’t site-hop.” I shoot a ray of silver light at a Fire Fairy’s ball of flames, redirecting it into their own ranks and watching it wreak havoc on about a third of the men in the area where it hits. “How are they multiplying before our eyes?”
Just as I say it, another twenty soldiers pop up in the gaps the soldiers who caught fire abandoned. They are literally popping up there the way Clio and Tori do when they site-hop in.
All of our soldiers must have brought down at least two Tavrasian soldiers. There can’t be more than three hundred left on the battlefield, yet we’re watching at least double approach us with a promise of malice on their features.
We’re not the only ones realizing what’s going on. The fairies are murmuring and cursing between individual fights, and I notice the poisonous tang of fear sneak through our ranks as the enemy numbers don’t seem to dwindle.
Silas and Herinor draw closer toward us, the former guarding Myron’s flank while the latter takes up a spot next to Kaira, his silver shield extending around her as if that’s the most natural thing to do.
My next opponent is upon me before I can ready my blade, and magic doesn’t seem to touch him when I hurl it toward him, flashing through the air behind him instead and bringing down a man who was lining up to drive his blade into me the moment I brought down the guy in front of me.
Beside me, Myron curses, and I spot from the corner of my eye how he stumbles into the soldier he’s fighting.
“Shit.” Something is seriously wrong, and I can’t put my finger on it. We’re relentlessly fighting, and despite the new soldiers padding the enemy ranks, we don’t seem to be losing any of our own soldiers. It doesn’t feel right.
“Watch out!” Silas’s shout comes a split second before a broad Tavrasian sword comes down on me. He’s there to shove me out of the way, but not fast enough to prevent the impact from happening.
Only, it doesn’t. Wide-eyed, I watch how the blade cuts through my shoulder, then through Silas’s back as he leaps into harm’s way—but the pain isn’t setting in .
Myron’s shout of panic makes me think it’s the shock preventing me from feeling anything other than cool numbness and anticipation of agony, but then I realize the sword didn’t cut into us, neither did it push Silas and me off course.
We’re still standing amidst the fighting pairs, and the soldier who hit us has disappeared.
“Are you all right?” Silas beats me to asking the same question. From beside us, Myron is inspecting my shoulder where a huge gash should be cleaving in my flesh, but there’s nothing. Only the smooth, black leather of my armor.
Fury in his eyes, he whirls around, driving his sword through the nearest soldier and nearly stumbles as it swings in a wicked arc straight through the figure, but never actually meeting any resistance.
“Fuck—” Clio watches her ice crystals fly through another soldier, unstopped by the aim they’re supposed to hit. “They are?—”
“Projections.” Myron is one step ahead of us, putting two and two together as he slices through another soldier, and this time, I pay close attention to the way the outline of the man’s body doesn’t fully seem to touch the ground, how his boots remain clean when he steps into a puddle of blood, how his eyes aren’t filled with the same blend of fear and blood-lust as the soldiers’ who are really here.
“They are projections,” I repeat. “Watch for signs of them not connecting with this location like dirt or blood and how they fit into their surroundings. The projections can’t hurt you.”
Tori is quick to relay the message to his troops, and where fear was sneaking up on us before, ire replaces the expression on their faces as they hack through every last real enemy on this battlefield.
The battle is over so fast, I can’t even begin to feel hope or relief, bodies piling up between the projections of soldiers now disappearing on a gust of air. It’s almost too easy, our magic effectively matching the Flames’ attacks until not one enemy is left standing.
“We did it,” I huff at Myron as he comes to my side, one arm winding around my waist, and kisses my forehead. “We stopped them.”
I can barely believe it, and judging by Myron’s expression, neither can he.
“This was too easy.”
Tori is right. Something still feels enormously off, even when there is no one left to attack us.
“Do you think it’s another trap?” I barely dare ask.
Royad glances around the flat, treeless land surrounding us. “How could it be a trap when there is not a single place to hide another army?”
“Ephegos lured us out of Aceleau before.” I’ll never forget the sight of destruction in the western district. “What if this was just another trick?”
“This time, Rogue is watching over the city, and we have soldiers stationed along the walls and even within the city.” Tori’s reassurance is much appreciated, but the sense of wrongness won’t go away.
“Plus, Ephegos already made a deal with Shaelak. I doubt there is anything else he can ask of the traitor of a deity.” I’m not surprised Silas’s dark, sarcastic tone is back .
“Besides, this time, we ambushed them ,” Kaira adds, coming to my side to inspect me for injuries.
I’m about to tell her I’m fine when two shadowed, tall figures pop up in my peripheral vision, both clad in inconspicuous gray with silver swords in their hands.
On instinct, my magic flares, and I aim a silver spear at the one closer to us. Myron had the same idea, only his flash of power is laced with darkest night.
The Askarean soldiers tense for another fight, as do my friends, but our attack rolls through the two figures like a gust of wind through a curtain of paint.
The left one—the shorter one—takes a step toward us, sheathing his sword. “Nice try, Wolayna, but you should have learned by now that I’m untouchable.” Erina’s voice runs through me like ice, and my pulse spikes as I make out his features first, then those of the traitor beside him.
Ephegos cocks his head, tugging off his headpiece to reveal his rye blond hair and a smirk on his tan features. “There you are, little runaway queen.”