Page 50 of What Courses Through Her Blood
Then, with everyone in place and the camp unsuspectingly secured within our grasp, I open my eyes and give the signal.
Silence reigns as I step forward, the shadows of the trees cloaking my movements. I draw two throwing knives from my belt, my fingers brushing against the cold metal imbued with ancient Fae magic. I spot the first two guards, their backs turned, oblivious to the impending doom. In one fluid motion, I hurl the knives, watching them spin through the air and embed themselves between the eyes of each guard.
Before their bodies hit the ground, I flick my wrist, igniting the knives. Flames burst forth, enveloping the guards in a fiery shroud that stifles any sound they might have made—a gurgled moan of blood-flecked breath extinguished in an instant.
The initial shock of our assault allows each member of my team to dispatch at least one enemy silently. However, the stillness of the night is abruptly shattered as an alarm pierces the air—a spell cast by a Sorcerer sentinel. In response, the camp transforms before our eyes.
Tents that appeared mundane seconds ago ripple and shimmer, revealing hidden enchantments that harden their fabric to the strength of steel. The ground beneath our feet begins to tremble as earthen walls erupt around the perimeter, attempting to enclose us within a makeshift fortress. Sorcerers emerge from their shelters, hands aglow with the buildup of potent spells, their lips moving in silent incantations.
From my peripheral vision, I see Brady—one of the men I trained with many years ago—channeling his own formidable magic, his hands weaving through the air as he summons vines that burst from the ground. They snake around the emerging barriers, tearing through the spell-forged earth with supernatural force.
The air crackles with magical energy, a tangible tension that feeds the chaos. I dive into the melee, my own Fae magic pulsating through my veins. With another wave of my hand, I conjure a gust of wind that snuffs out nearby torches, plunging sections of the camp into darkness. This elemental manipulation gives us the cover we need to advance.
“Push forward!” I shout to my fighters through the cacophony. I leap over a fallen log, landing amidst a trio of Sorcerers. My sword—bathed in a radiant, ethereal light—slices through the air, meeting the magical shields they conjure with sparks and the shriek of stressed energy.
Fuck me, the new sword Dorian forged for me is proving its worth, melding seamlessly with my magic, almost anticipating my movements. In the midst of the fray, I kick out at an approaching attacker to gain some space, and then with a swift arc of my blade, I slice cleanly across his neck. He clutches at the gaping wound, but it’s too late. He crumples silently to the ground.
As I whirl to face his comrades, I see the other two Sorcerers already casting. Before I can interrupt, one of them blows through his cupped hands, unleashing a dark swarm of shadow moths that surge toward me. My vision blurs as the swarm envelops my head, their tiny bodies biting into my flesh. This isn’t a normal Sorcerer spell—manifesting creatures in such a tangible form requires a dark spell, revealing that Samael’s twisted practices are spreading.
With urgency, I reinforce the shield around my connection to Lyra, ensuring our mission remains hidden. With a furious wave of my hand, I incinerate the swarm assaulting me. Moments later, as one of the men hurls a bolt of magic aimed straight for my chest, I dodge to the left. In the same fluid motion, I call upon the roots below. They burstfrom the ground, wrapping tightly around the men’s legs and anchoring them in place.
Seizing the moment, I strike—my sword cuts through them with lethal precision. As their bodies hit the ground, I pause, using this brief respite to connect with my illusions and check on the progress of the other two groups.
The feedback from the illusions is clear: the battle rages fiercely on all fronts, but our strategy holds. With renewed determination, I ready myself for the next wave of combatants, my sword thirsty for the justice we’ve come here to deliver.
Some of these Sorcerers might be innocent, mere pawns blindly following their leader, but I’m acutely aware that many, especially those loyal to Samael, have committed atrocities against the creatures and women of Cloudrum. The thought alone sends my blood boiling, fueling a raging tempest within me as I navigate the battlefield.
I round the next tent, my senses sharp, searching for a rightful target for my pent-up fury.
The clash of weapons fills the forest, and the air hangs heavy with the mingled scents of magic and metal. Although we’re outnumbered two to one, our superior strength keeps me from worrying. Scanning the area for Drew, I note she’s moved to the far end of the camp when the chaos started. I push aside my concern for her. She is far more experienced and formidable than most.
Suddenly, a man emerges from behind the tent, now reinforced with steel, and lunges at me with a dagger. I dodge effortlessly, and as he starts whispering a spell, I quickly punch him in the face, interrupting his incantation. With a snap of my fingers, I summon the river’s water. It gushes forth, engulfing him, and he begins to drown under my magical command.
It’s far too easy to use my elemental magic when this close to the waters edge.
I halt, alerted by a growing whooshing noise. The man, choking and gasping, begins to laugh—a deranged, unsettling cackle. His laughter unnerves me, but it’s the sound that truly alarms me. I look up as the moonlight dims, clouded by hundreds of arrows arcing overhead.
Without hesitation, I conjure a protective shield above me and drop low.
“Take cover!” I yell, urging those nearby to shield themselves as the sky darkens further with the descending volley of arrows.
The arrows make contact, and to my shock, my shield is penetrated instantly. I brace for the pain, but instead of piercing my skin, the arrows combust into a cloud of golden mist. Holding my breath, I anticipate some kind of poison, but as the mist subsides, I see no immediate effects. The man in front of me, previously choking on water, is now laughing, unaffected by the river I had summoned.
Frustrated, I try to call upon the river again, but nothing happens. Desperate, I look down and envision roots breaking free to entangle him—still nothing. I attempt to check in with the other two groups, closing my eyes and seeking that familiar connection, but find only silence. It hits me like a wave—the Sorcerers have found a way to nullify our magic. It seems impossible, yet here I am, stripped of my abilities, isolated from my illusions and cut off from the others.
In a swift motion driven by urgency, I reach out and snap the man’s neck, silencing his laughter instantly. The camp falls eerily silent, the shock of our sudden powerlessness hanging heavy. How long will this last? I wonder if the Sorcerers are also affected. If so, hand-to-hand combat will still favor us due to our training. But if this spell selectively targets Fae magic, they might have tipped the scales in their favor—a devastating blow none of us anticipated, especially not in theheat of battle.
I immediately unsheathe my sword and start pushing my way through the camp. Instead of working toward the center as planned, I pivot, searching for Drew. I dispatch several Sorcerers before they even register my presence, leaving a trail of bodies in my wake.
Suddenly, a bolt of pure, hot power slams into my right shoulder from behind. I whirl around to face my attacker—a Sorceress with long black hair draped in a purple cloak. Her lips move silently, and beneath her hood, a subtle glow emanates from her mouth, confirming my fears about the magic.
Seeking cover, I duck behind a nearby tree. It’s clear now that their magic is still functional. I attempt to summon my own powers once again, but nothing stirs within me. Resigned, I realize I’ll have to handle this the old-fashioned way. My shoulder burns painfully, a stark reminder that without my magic, I lack any advanced healing abilities.
Gritting my teeth, I prepare for her next spell. As I peek around the tree, she hurls another fireball. I dodge in time, and before she can begin another incantation, I’m upon her.
Our swords clash, sparking in the dim light. Her agility surprises me. She is far more acrobatic than anyone I’ve faced, leaping and flipping over my blade with a speed I hadn’t anticipated. This Sorceress is clearly more skilled than the men I’ve taken down before.
She lunges at me with her sword and a dagger in her other hand. I duck and roll to evade her attack, and when I turn back, Drew is there. The sight never fails to startle me—Drew’s jaw extends unnaturally as she bites into the Sorceress’s neck, spewing blood in a gruesome display. The Sorceress collapses, and Drew turns to me, her eyes glowing fiercely red, her facesmeared with blood.
