Page 107 of Blood of Ancients

Magnus fought two elves by himself, somehow holding his own. With his amplified bloodrending, he moved as swiftly as the dark elves, which seemed impossible.

He hadn’t Shaped himself for strength, opting for speed—genius since he could tell we were fighting a deceptively quick race.

Still, I charged through the darkness toward him, to give my man assistance.

A cry broke the night behind me, and it took everything inside not to look over, not to get distracted.

One of the dark elves nailed Magnus’ hatchet, flinging him sideways. He managed to stay holding the axe, and with his other hand he swung his bloodblade to keep the enemies at bay.

The splashy, liquefied bloodsword angled around the dark elf’s parrying blade when they made contact—flowingthroughit and then slicing into the elf’s side.

Just as quickly as that one backed up in pain, the other advanced on Magnus and caught him in the wrist, sending his hatchet spinning to the ground.

I was there a second later, vaulting my spear in an overhand stab that the dark elf anticipated at the last second and ducked so my spearhead sailed over his shoulder.

Magnus’ eyes went wide and he also ducked to avoid getting skewered.

Fuck, I can’t get sloppy!I reined in my anger. Grabbed the haft of my spear further up the barrel, and went on an offensiveonslaught in my usual style—quick jabs, whipping the tail-end of my spear around for extra attacks.

It kept the dark elf on his heels, pumping backward.

The first one Magnus had injured joined the fray, blade spinning wildly, catching my eye.

Magnus defended me with his bloodblade, making the gore solid and sturdy to parry the attack that would have sunk into my shoulder.

Then we were fighting side-to-side, pressing the attack—

“Brother, no!”

I gasped at the sound of the voice, coming from behind us where the squeal had erupted moments before.

Instinctively, my eyes darted left, away from my prey.

It was all the dark elves needed to leap back, into the mist and out of my range.

I scowled, cursing myself and my stupidity.

Magnus grabbed the lapel of my coat and dragged his face to mine—blooded, neck veins popping, wild eyes glowing white from his bloodrending. “Come, silvermoon! We must fight them together, or we fail!”

I gulped and followed after him toward the center of the melee.

Where Arne fought. Fighting like I’d never seen from him—blade slashing, stabbing, body spinning, icicles and close-quarters fire-shells launching from his other hand, creating an aura of fire and ice around him.

He finished his spin, keeping the elves back—

And his spitting image suddenly stood in front of him, mere feet away near Elayina’s barrier at the cave mouth.

Frida.

She raised her hands. One was wrapped around a sword, the other a shield.

The fighting raged around them as Arne froze in shock.

On our way over, Magnus and I got blasted by purplish dark magic tossed at our feet. We went sprawling, crying out, and Magnus shielded me with his body.

Arne’s ragged voice: “Why, sister?!”

Her voice was hysterical, high, hoarse. “Don’t you see, brother? The dark elves promise us the Runesphere from the light elves!”

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