Page 156 of The Cruel Dawn
“Ssh!”
“And?”
She puckers her lips. “I’ll tell you the details later but… Obviously, it was good because he’s got me out here fighting to save the realm.”
I shriek and laugh. “Like that?”
“Kai…” Elyn pats her cheek. “He made me feel…silver.”
My cheeks flush. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
We reach the flats, and I lift my hand to halt our advance.
Up ahead, I spot a camp with banners fluttering in the wind. The dual leopards of Wake’s regime have been embroidered on those flags, their sleek forms emblazoned in gold on deep red, their eyes fierce and unblinking.
A cry cuts through the silence.
Here we go.
Soldiers from our right and left charge toward us, their eyes burning with bloodlust. The camp quickly becomes a living, writhing thing. Soon, I hear nothing but the sounds of clashing steel, shouted commands, and the shrill cries of fighters and beasts.
The otherworldly of the desert—windwolves, hydrasalts, cowslews, and urts—rush from both sides toward Elyn, the Raqiel, and the Renrians, their glowing eyes cold and their bodies twisting with a power, their glows flickering from blue to amber as blades and staffs strike them down.
My sword strikes true, and the bodies of these soldiers, Wake’s men, crumple from the force of my linionium blade and become heaps of black light. Feels like I’m pushing steel through fog. Yes, these fighters’ bodies feel like they’re made of foam and hope and not bone and muscle.
The otherworldly, though…
The ground shakes as massive worupines leave their dens, their bristling poisoned quills ready. They fire those deathly needles at Elyn and her guard.
Elyn summons the wind with a powerful sweep of her hands and sends the barrage scattering into the sky. Those deadly missiles slam into the necks and faces of Wake’s army. Their bodies fall like chopped timber.
Shari romps and chomps, fearless.
The Renrians, their lavender eyes glowing bright, step forward with purpose. Half an age has passed since they fought in the Great War—but they move with the same fluid grace and power they once did. Their staffs, topped with carved animals—bears, eagles, the day- and nightstars—unleash storms of energy that cut through Wake’s forces—soldiers and beasts—like sharp blades through brittle cloth.
The scent of battle hangs over us: acrid blood, spilled guts, all of it poisoning soil that already struggled between growth and restoration. No life will return here, not until the fires from the Mera roll across this land.
We all swing, slash, and summon. Wake’s army has no chance here. They are worms trying to fight lions. One by one, stronger forces trample them until their blood soaks the earth. The otherworldly, for all their power, don’t fare well, either. No resurrectors float over them to bring them back to life. Their bodies fall broken and scattered across the banks and flats of the Sea of Devour.
A soldier with a cruddy sword shouts, “For the emperor,” and charges at me.
I flick my hand and send him flying into the slot canyons.
The daystar creeps toward the horizon.
We’re losing time.
A herd of wolf-horse howlthanes races toward me, with its largest racing far ahead.
Where the fuck did they come from?
The howlthanes lift their heavy heads and bellow to the gritty sky.
“You must stop your incursion,” I shout at them, my hand held out.
But the beasts keep charging, their hooves striking the muddy, bloody soil.
