Page 343 of Of Empires and Dust

Farwen slicedher blade across a Lorian throat, blood spilling, then dropped to one knee, spun, and cleaved a leg along the shin. The bone yielded to her elven steel, the soldier screaming as he hit the ground.

Dust still filled the air, constantly whipped about the chamber by threads of Air and Earth and stirred up by the unceasing slap of feet and dead bodies.

She got to her feet and carved a path towards the six warriors clad in silver steel. The glow of their níthrals and the runes in their armour shimmered in the dust, a beacon calling to her.

Farwen turned aside the swipe of a blade, then opened the wielder’s throat with a backswing, shouting to Thacia and Moras. “None of us fall to a níthral, no matter what, understood?”

Thacia moved past her, shards of broken earth swirling about the Jotnar. “Do what needs to be done, sister.”

Moras grabbed a Lorian mage’s throat and slammed them down against the ground, splitting their skull, bone and blood smearing the stone. Every soldier that dared come close was sent to Achyron’s halls as the three Rakina fought like demons.

The three of them fell upon the closest of the six rune-marked creatures. The monstrous warrior was almost as tall as Thacia and Moras and far broader with shoulders clad in silver plate.

Thacia blocked the first swing of the warrior’s níthral with a thread of Air, holding it in place. As she did, Moras formed a spear of stone in his hand, threads of Earth, Air, and Fire pulling the rubble from the ground. He drove the spear through the warrior’s chest, not letting up until it burst out the other side. And still the man did not fall.

This was no mortal creature.

The runes in its armour glowed with a furious light. It reached out a hand and pulled Moras through the air with threads unseen. The creature relinquished its níthral, only for Farwen to see the crimson light once again coming to life as it thrust its fist towards Moras’s chest.

Farwen surged forwards. She knew her blade had no chance of piercing the creature’s seamless armour, so instead she dropped it and grabbed hold of the creature’s arm and dragged it down, the crimson blade scorching into the stone below.

Holding the blade arm down, Farwen reached within herself and pushed threads of Earth and Fire into the stone below the creature’s feet. She moulded a spike as fine as a needle and pulled it upwards with all her strength, letting it widen as it moved.

The spike ripped through the creature’s groin, into its stomach, then chest, before finally bursting out through that gleaming silver helmet, blood sluicing over the steel. Its arm went limp, and Farwen staggered backwards, the drain sapping the energy from her bones. She had already used so much holding the Lorians from the gates. The broken shards of her soul were aflame.

The rune-marked armour melted away, leaving the pale-skinned body of a young man, eyes black as a Fade’s, flesh marked by deep-gouged runes into which the metal flowed. These‘things’were human after all… and yet, they were not.

She turned her head to see Moras’s feet hitting the ground, her lips curling in a fragile smile. A crimson light shimmered and Moras’s head was cleaved from his shoulders, his soul shorn from the world. The Jotnar’s knees hit the ground, his skull a moment later, then his body collapsed.

One of the rune-marked creatures stood over Moras’s limp body, níthral blazing in its fist.

A roar sounded behind Farwen as Thacia threw herself at the creature. Threads of each element whirled around her, lightning crackling over her fists. The Jotnar slammed a fist into the creature’s side, sparks flying, energy pulsing. The impact sent a web of cracks through the pristine plate, and the creature staggered backwards. Thacia roared again, this time smashing her fist into the creature’s chest, sending more cracks shivering through the steel.

Farwen pushed down the pain that burned within her and joined Thacia. As the creature made to hack its níthral down into her collar, Farwen held its arm in place with threads of Air, fire igniting in her veins.

Thacia took advantage of the creature’s immobilisation to grab hold of its helmet and unleash a surge of lightning so powerful the force of it rippled through Farwen. The Jotnar roared as sparks flickered around her hands, blue and white light sparkling in the shifting dust.

Farwen held the creature in place, her bones aching, soul screaming. Its silver helm began to glow a bright red. In a matter of moments, the helmet collapsed into globs of molten steel, smoke billowing into the air as the flesh beneath burned. And for the briefest of seconds, Farwen saw the soul beneath. It was a woman, her eyes deep and black, her face marked by runes. And then her flesh was slopping from her bones, lightning crackling, molten metal searing down to her bones.

She dropped to the ground, the armour already slithering back into the runes in her skin. A flash of motion signalled to Thacia’s left, and Farwen leapt forwards. She grabbed the shaft of the spear before it pierced Thacia’s back and drove the tip into the ground. Farwen threw her elbow back into the Lorian soldier’s nose, rewarded with acrunchand a burst of blood. She whipped the spear around, the steel tip carving through the soldier’s cheek and the bridge of his nose, his helmet lost somewhere in the chaos. As he flailed, Farwen stabbed the spear into his throat and turned back.

She pressed her back to Thacia’s as more Lorian soldiers swarmed around them. Here and there, as the dust settled, she could see clutches of rebels holding their ground, shields and spears raised. But the Lorian numbers were too great, and the Battlemages simply carved paths before them, paths paved with blood and bone.

“Det er ata haydria na daui nai din siel, Farwen, davitir un Yanwë,” Thacia said, the power of the Spark pulsing from her.

It is an honour to die by your side, Farwen, daughter of Yanwë.

“Ar det harys von myialí na solian nai diar,” Farwen answered, gripping the spear shaft with both hands. “Draleid n’aldryr, myia yíar.”

And it has been mine to live by yours. Dragonbound by fire, my friend.

“Rakina nai dauva.”

The Lorian soldiers fell upon them like a flood. Farwen moved with every shred of strength in her body, twisting away from spear strikes and the swing of swords, pulling deeper and deeper on the Spark. Every second she lived was a second bought for Coren, for the one who had been her anchor, her pillar, her star. For the one who had pieced her soul back together when Syndril had been ripped from her. She owedCoren an eternity, but she could give her a few minutes. That would be enough. It had to be.

A burning sensation ignited in her side as a spear caught her, slicing through leather and flesh. She rammed the butt of her own spear into the wielder’s jaw and sent them sprawling before opening the throats of two others and jabbing the tip into the fallen man’s heart.

The drain pulled at her, and her legs begged her to stop, to lie down and die. She pulled the spear free of the man’s chest, only for a sword to arc downwards and carve through her left forearm. She roared and reeled backwards, attempting to move fingers that were no longer attached.

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