Page 207 of Flame and Sparrow

I was done with disguises. I wanted to look like myself when I met Andrel and whoever else on this battlefield.

We didn’t have far to march from our landing point; the Star Goddess’s messenger had communicated the location of the breach well enough.

Our targets hadn’t wandered far from the barrier itself; we merely had to land close to it, find the spot where the veil had torn—a place marked by a rushing wall of chaotic energy—and then we followed the obvious signs of where they’d traveled.

The veilhounds led the way, their long noses lifted to the air as they tracked, and we followed them as planned…but I could have tracked our enemies easily enough on my own, I thought.

They seemed towantus to find them.

Which struck me as strange. Wrong. Recklessly bloodthirsty, even by Andrel’s standards—they couldn’t possibly believe they could win a direct battle against the gods, and on divine territory at that.

Could they?

Before I could voice these concerns out loud, the first glimpse of our targets came into view. Only a small group of them—but there were more ahead, I guessed, disappearing over a hill that prevented us from seeing their true number.

Regardless of how many there were, once we caught sight of them, there was no quieting the restless energy of the gods alongside me. None of them made any sort of obvious show of power—not yet—but the air began to teem with their collective, rising energies.

The syrinx drew to a stop well behind us, but the veilhounds raced ahead, a chorus of low howls rising up as they sighted their prey.

The last line of the elves stopped on the hilltop and turned to face the approaching creatures.

One by one, most of our party stopped, too, watching the Death Marr’s beasts closing in. A few of the middle-gods laughed, no doubt expecting they were about to witness a slaughter, and I felt strange and hollow to be standing among that laughter, unsure of whether or not I should be eagerly anticipating such a thing along with them.

I had chosen my side, and I would have walked hand-in-hand with the God of Fire toward whatever battle lay ahead. But my heart was still raw from the battles behind me, the line between ally and enemy still painfully blurry and confusing.

All I knew was that I did not particularly want to witnesseitherside being slaughtered.

For better or worse, the elves on the hilltop did not meet such an end.

Instead, they moved—in almost synchronized, planned fashion—to nock arrows and lift bows, which they quickly drew and aimed at the approaching beasts.

Arrow after arrow landed in the pack of hounds, scattering most of them and sending them off yelping in all directions. The ones who didn’t scatter in time—who were struck by the arrows—let out a terrible symphony of growls and barks and whines as the arrows struck and unleashed plumes of grey smoke upon impact.

They fell, one after the other, as the darkening cloud of noxious energy swelled around them—a cloud similar to the ones I’d witnessed when I first returned to this dried-up ocean…only thicker. These puffs of poison didn’t linger, however; once they’d consumed their targets, they were gone, leaving the air clear enough for us to see the damage they’d done.

Even from a distance I could see the way the hounds bodies had shriveled and curled into themselves, the heap of them like a pile of crumpled, discarded paper.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

The laughter around me had stopped.

The energy of the Marr’s rising anger and magic twisted in the air all around me, a tangible weight that settled heavily over my shoulders and made it hard to breathe.

For the first time since I’d stepped into this dead ocean, my legs began to shake with fear of what we were truly walking into.

Dravyn moved to my side, his hand brushing mine as he took in the sight before us.

The elves on the hilltop were holding the line they’d formed. They’d been joined by others who had doubled back from the other side of the hill, so that now no less than thirty soldiers were watching our approach. Most of them held weapons—bows and blades and bombs that swirled and glistened with the same wisps of smoky poison they’d used to slay the hounds.

“I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Dravyn said, not taking his eyes off the enemy ahead even as his fingers briefly intertwined with mine and gave them a light squeeze.

“I had the same foolish hope,” I breathed.

The elves were clad in dark colors that blended in so well with the cracked ground it made it difficult to count their true numbers, even as we drew closer. They wore masks as well, and hooded cloaks—all the protection they could get against the divine airs around us.

The God of Storms snorted at this display of armor. “They can’t even breathe the air in here for long without succumbing to its power, can they? We could simply trap them, somehow—let them die a slow, withering death while we watch from a distance.”

“I’m sure they’ve accounted for the air of this realm in some way,” I said.

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