Page 65 of The Maleficent Faerie
Shit. The Caennithwerelying in wait for us—they guessed where we were going, got ahead of us somehow, and set a trap. They shot down all the crows that could have warned me of their presence in the field.
Whips of green light lash from my staff, turning aside most of the incoming projectiles. A few arrows manage to skewer the legs of two horses, who whinny their terror, staggering and rearing as the magic eats into their flesh. Aura darts away from the thrashing animals, barely escaping their hooves.
The Caennith aim to pin us down, incapacitate us, and take the Princess. The seeker magic guiding the arrows takes time to produce, and it requires a stationary anchor, which means the Fae performing the spell can’t follow us if we leave this place. We have to keep moving and get clear of this trap, or we’ll have no chance. Judging from the quantity of arrows, we’re far outnumbered.
The thoughts skim through my mind in an instant, and I’m already shouting “Mount and ride,” when the next volley of arrows rains down on the hollow. An arrow skewers one of my wings. Instant agony shears through my bones and nerves as the magical toxin chases along my wing, heading for my torso, intent on reaching my heart. I crash to one knee, momentarily stunned, but I manage to slam the butt of my staff against the ground and call on my powers, transforming some of the grass into thorns, urging them to grow high, high above, forming a protective circular wall around our camp, with a single path of escape.
A gleam of golden hair, a strong tug, and the pain in my wing recedes. Aura tosses the arrow aside. “On your feet, Your Majesty.” Her blue eyes blaze in her flushed face.
Andras is dragging Kyan onto his own horse. Ember’s fire magic incinerated several of the incoming arrows from the last volley, but he ignited some of the dry grass as well. If we don’t move quickly, we’ll be roasted, along with our enemies, in the burning field.
Despite what Reehan did, my heart suffers a pang as we leave his body behind and ride out of the hollow on our four undamaged horses. Andras holds Kyan steady on his mount, while Vandel and Ember ride their respective steeds, and I ride behind Aura. Ember and I dare not take to the sky, not with seeker arrows in play. Besides, I can’t leave Aura to ride alone, unprotected. In close quarters she might be a match for these warriors, but not at this distance, not weaponless. Not without magic.
She could have run into the grass while I was injured, and escaped from me—rejoined her people. But she pulled the arrow from my wing, and she mounted the horse readily. She doesn’t fight me as I ride behind her, pinning her close to my chest with one arm.
Is she really a prisoner if she’s choosing to come along with us—with me?
Flames lick through the fields at an alarming rate. Mine is not the type of magic that can douse them. If I had more Void magic, maybe. But I must save the bit I possess, and I must take care not to run out of energy before the Caennith do. So I use my natural abilities sparingly, sending bolts of green light to dispel or redirect incoming arrows. Some of them are trickier than I expect; they dodge my countermeasures, whizzing between us as we ride and then darting in to strike the horses.
Our enemies are trying to bring us down. Trying to keep us from getting clear of the spell’s range.
“Faster!” I bellow to Kyan and Andras. Kyan seems to be recovering—he’s fortunate that I pulled the arrow out immediately. When the invasive magic of a Caennith seeker arrow reaches the heart, healing becomes impossible. It’s a death sentence for Fae or humans. Fortunately for us, such spells are difficult to cast, short-lived, and require a rooted point of origin. They also drain the caster’s energy swiftly.
I suspect more than one caster is hidden in the grass, because even as we streak across the fields, arrows continue to chase us, diving and swerving, trying to break through our scattered defenses. My men are wearing armor, but the arrows seek out the vulnerable joints and grooves, any tiny crevice where they can touch skin and begin spreading their magical toxin.
“Eyes open,” I cry to my men. “Watch the sky, but keep an eye on the field as well.”
Scythes of green light whirl from my staff and slice through the grass ahead, clearing our path; but I can’t expend too much magic on that. Since worship yesterday evening, I’ve used greater amounts of magic than I usually do, and I can’t afford to run dry at such a time.
Aura has her slim, strong fingers buried in the horse’s mane, and she’s leaning slightly forward, as if mentally urging him to run faster.
“Not so eager to return to your people, Princess?” I ask. “Maybe they won’t kill you. It seems the seeker arrows aren’t spelled to hunt you, but rather to eliminate the horses, and me, and the Edge-Knights.”
“If I wanted to go with the Caennith, would you let me?” Her voice is taut and sharp.
“No. Too much at stake.”
“As I thought.”
The arrows are thinning now, fewer in number. We must be clearing the caster’s field of influence, or perhaps the fire took out some of the archers.
I risk a glance behind. Someone among the Caennith must have a water gift or an air gift, because the flames devouring the grass have died, leaving stretches of charred black stalks.
None of the Caennith have emerged from hiding to confront us directly. Is it because they fear me, or simply that they wish to accomplish their goal with as little risk to themselves as possible?
Our horses are running up a slope now as we move into the hilly country between us and Ru Gallamet. There used to be fine orchards here, and fields of berries, but most of the people have moved inland at my urging, so the trees and bushes lie untended. Soon the Edge will devour them all.
“I think we have cleared the ambush, Sire,” Ember calls to me.
I’m about to respond when a tall, robed figure rises atop the peak of a craggy hill ahead of us, silhouetted against the gloomy sky. On either side of the figure rise more shapes—archers, eight of them.
The robed figure lifts their hands, and a whirlpool of rainbow magic forms in the air above them. The magic forks outward, sparks catching on the tip of each arrow as the archers let them fly.
These arrows are seekers, too. They do not fly in a prescribed arc—they dip and rise, shearing through the air, streaming light—and they’re not branching off to target the horses and knights. They are all converging, focused on a single point.
Aura.
I vanish my staff and yank her off the saddle into the air, just as the first few arrows reach us. One of them slices the side of my horse’s neck, releasing a spurt of lifeblood—another carves a deep groove in the saddle. The other arrows turn and shoot up toward the Princess as I carry her higher, buoyed by frantic beats of my wings.
