Page 107 of Prisoner of Darkness and Dreams
The carriage lurches as the rebel coaxes the horses into a gallop. We round the corner onto Mariste Avenue, soon catching up with Leon and the others.
And there it is ahead of them—a large carriage surrounded by clerics on horseback.
“Now, Corrin,” Damia orders.
The crime lord concentrates, and in just a few moments a swarm of shadows is cascading down the buildings on either side of the street, swirling across the cobblestones and shrouding the carriage in a bubble of darkness. The few civilians on the street scream and run for cover, while shouts of alarm go up from the epicenter of the darkness.
We launch ourselves from our carriage as the escort grinds to a halt. Damia grabs an incendi torch from Esther’s outstretched hand as the others lift torches of their own. I cast a ray of sunlight between my fingers, then together we all charge into the shadows, leaving Corrin standing at the edge of the darkness, his face taut with focus.
Inside the lightless bubble, it’s chaos. Horses whinny and rear, and clerics curse in confusion. Some of them are incendi and have enough power to fight some of Corrin’s darkness with light of their own, but once you’re inside Corrin’s artificial night, it’s almost impossible to tell where it ends or how to escape.
It’s enough to have the clerics close ranks around the carriage as they try to work out what’s happened, and that’s when we strike.
The clash of blades and the fizz of magic surrounds me as the rebels fall upon the clerics. I’m no expert with a blade, so I keep my hands free and my eyes peeled. No one can be allowed to leave the shadows, or they might attack Corrin. A cleric to my right half disappears, having found the edge of the shadows, but before he can turn to call to his comrades, I strike him down with a sun beam.
Then I search for Damia and see her ducking and dodging the escort’s defenses, crippling the clerics with laughter as she makes a beeline for the carriage.
There’s sudden heat by my face, and I throw myself to the ground as a flare of flame bursts through the air I was occupying a second ago. My hand goes to my belt when I lock eyes with a cleric, his face contorted with rage as he lifts his hands again.
“Heretic!” he spits.
I fling the knife I’ve pulled from my belt, calling on the fact that I want nothing more than to survive this moment.
My orbital magic buries the blade in the cleric’s neck, and he slumps to the ground.
Gasping with fear, I’m suddenly aware of a hand reaching down toward me.
“Stand up, Ana.”
I grab onto Leon, knowing it’s him without any need to look, and let him pull me to my feet.
He squeezes my hand, then rides back into the fray before we can exchange another word. We don’t need to. We’ll know if the other one is in danger—we’ll feel it. And there’s a battle to be won.
“Fuck!”
I recognize Damia’s voice even over the din of the fight. She’s reached the carriage by now and has flung the door open, but something’s clearly wrong. I push forward. Between the clashing bodies and horses’ feet, I glimpse the face of a terrified child crouching on the floor of the carriage.
Behind him is another, and another.
There’s not one but six children in the carriage. Of course, one wasn’t enough for Caledon. He’s found all the solari he can.
“I need more hands!” Damia screams. She was supposed to grab the solari and run for it, but even with her strength, she’ll only be able to take three children at most.
A cleric charges toward her, and I sear his legs so that he topples to the ground.
“I’m coming!” I shout, my heart thudding with fear for those children. We have to get them out before a stray spell or blade finds them.
But before I can get any closer to the carriage, light floods the street, blazing through the shadows until they disappear like whisps of smoke. I blink at the sudden daylight, my eyes struggling to adjust, and when they do, I see two things that cut like ice through my veins.
Corrin lies on the ground, blood welling from his stomach, and a small army of more than fifty red-uniformed figures surrounds us.
Chapter 35
Morgana
The fight around the carriage slows. The escort realizes that help has come, just as the rebels and fae notice we’re outnumbered nearly three to one.
I stare around at the Temple men and women. Most of them are ordinary clerics, but there are some cleavers here too, their dark maroon uniforms and soulless eyes meaning even their comrades give them a wide berth.
