Page 41 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)
Zepharali
Zepharali ascended into the atmosphere, moving fast on his east wind.
He approached from the side nearest his suns and shot a golden flame of light through the thick red clouds.
His suns were there, burning brighter than usual as he pulled on their energy.
Before the enraged witch could lock him in her range of fire, his stallion, Fire Breath, swept under him and bolted him higher into the sky.
His war steed’s powerful hooves pounded the air. His blade pulsed with power as Fire Breath whipped around on their element and dove for their enemy.
The wind roared at his approach, and the mage’s eyes went wide as she murmured something—a spell he couldn’t hear—and launched jagged, intertwining coils toward Fire Breath’s legs.
They came close, but he was able to yank the reins and move them in the opposite direction of his wind.
She seized the moment and made a dark ripple of vapor penetrate the air around him.
Zepharali wasn’t able to clear it as he went through it. His stallion convulsed with erratic jerks that bucked him off his back.
She shot another bout of poisonous gas, but he threw his robe over him and deflected it back toward her.
The witch must not have anticipated him being a formidable foe because she bared her sharp fangs and hurled toward him with astonishing speed.
Without his stallion and the full use of his suns, he wasn’t able to move as fast.
He’d have to get close enough to fight her hand-to-hand while she hurled paralyzing spells at him without mercy.
Her hands were outstretched with her fangs aimed at his throat. He raised his sword, prepared to strike.
Zepharali was startled by the sudden break in the dark clouds and the blizzard of snow whipping across the sky.
The witch toppled over and didn’t have a chance to recover before Boraleashe flew past her on his white stallion and swiped Weeping Glass across her back, leaving a sizable gash spewing onyx blood.
She snarled, throwing erratic fireballs in his direction, but Boraleashe was already gone, his white frost clinging to the atmosphere the only visible sign he was ever there.
The sky continued to rumble and split with the violent approach of his brothers.
Notalus and Adres rocketed across the bright sky with their mates—Macauley Volkov and Dustin, the Alpha of the Harvest Moon—already in their wolf forms. They were at the flank of their war stallions riding on their Autumn and Spring winds.
The wolves descended into the center of the battle still raging on the ground and began tearing the heads off the soulless creatures as if they were pieces of raw meat.
The mage spun and turned in an attempt to track Adres and the Notalus, but their synchronized winds continued to disorient her.
The mage wasn’t able to speak her offensive spells fast enough and resorted to brute force, focusing her efforts on Zepharali and his suns, determined to cripple him.
If he perished, so would the protective enclosure over Lazaar.
Her black blades were as thick as tree trunks and sharper than spears.
She shot them in Zepharali’s direction. Adres dove toward her and threw his midnight cloak across the witch’s face.
She shredded his cover with her knifelike nails, but not before Notalus was able to heave his Hwando swords at the flying blades, cutting them in half before they reached him.
Her fight was losing its finesse, her rage blinding her ability to focus.
The dead army’s numbers were decreasing at a rapid speed, especially after the vicious alpha wolves joined the fight.
Boraleashe reappeared in a storm of freezing ice, his brilliant white hair whipping as hard as his Arctic wind.
He rocketed around their challenger’s back, and she turned just in time for a direct blast of Boraleashe’s frost. The ice was so cold it burned the ghostly skin off one side of her face and made large, raw blisters appear on the other.
While the witch was debilitated and maimed, King Theodor Cavalerie soared from above in a flurry of red and orange maple leaves that glistened in the sunlight.
He leapt from his chestnut stallion wielding Gold Reaper—the most dangerous weapon in the realms—in both hands.
The hellfire and magic-infused blade burned bright with the fiery colors of his Autumn sun that was so blinding the three of them had to shield their eyes.
Theodor’s and Boraleashe’s energy synced, creating a god-like force of power.
With one devastating strike, the Titan King plunged his sword into the witch’s back, sending her slamming into the ground.
The near-fatal wounds and shrill screams gave Zepharali his first feeling of hope.
The five titans combined their winds in a configuration that created an overpowering energy.
They landed on the ground with such a cataclysmic impact that it shook the towering mountains and made tsunami-like waves rise in the oceans.
The mage was on her knees, locked in the clutches of the titan’s merged powers.
“You cannot kill me.” She spat blood on the ground.
Her strength was unbelievable.
Gold Reaper slicing through her core should have been the death of her. But they all stood stunned as the terminal wounds she’d endured began to heal.
The mage was far more dangerous than his oracle and seer had predicted.
With the five of them still holding her tight, she struggled off her knees and began to tug at the bonds.
“Damnit! Hold her,” Zepharali yelled, pulling harder on his suns.
One of them had to get close enough to cut her head off her shoulders, but none could let go.
There went his minuscule amount of hope.