Page 56 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
“Rhianelle!” The raw sound of Garrett’s voice accosts me before I see him wrapping a garrote around the monster’s neck.
The wire snaps but more elven warriors emerge from the forest to surround the monster. I try to get to them, but my knees buckle, and I fall to the ground. My vision blurs. Healing Ragnar has taken its toll on me.Not yet,I beg to the gods, to my patrons.I need more time.
Please. Please. Please.
A firm hand graces my shoulder. I whirl to see Rainer behind me, arriving with his mercenaries. I think a tear of joy might have spilled from my eye at the mere sight of him. Warmth flows into my veins when he transfers some of Anastarros blessings into me.
Rainer’s face of unyielding calm breaks when he sees the carnage around us and the dark god rampaging in the clearing. “Did he hurt you?” he asks against the near deafening commotion. The question dances in my mind for a long moment.
No, Svenn did not.
A grunt resounds beside me before I can answer. Ragnar is slowly opening his eyes, his chest rising and falling from the pain. Shadows lift from my heavy heart. He’s alright…
The demon suddenly grips my uncle’s coat. “Fix me.”
Rainer studies the male wordlessly before relenting to that request. He is not a Hlaryan elf but his combat medical skills do a great job patching the demon’s deep wound. Ragnar grimaced as he tries to get up. His deathly pale face is angled towards the beast, eyebrows creased with determination. It takes a while for me to realize that the berserker is not asking to be healed. He just wants to be battle ready.
“You can’t go out there again.” I clasp the corded muscle of his forearm, pulling him back. One wrong move and he could tear his artery open again.
His eyes snap to the half-dead Kheirall lying broken on the ground. I see the hard swallow in his throat.
“I can’t watch him die,” he says, peeling my hand to join the battle again. I wish I had more strength to stop him, but I barely have the energy to lift my head. Rainer returns to restoring me and all I can do is gather my strength.
The fight rages from every direction.
I glimpse from the corner of my eyes Tierra’s barrier crashing down, Eamon’s greed as he tries to seal the beast, risking the lives of his Valorians and my knights, Ragnar failing to land a single hit on the monster, Kheirall sprawled on the ground—the chaos is complete.
Rainer’s face goes taut with disdain. “He’s toying with them.”
Even his Grimsbane fail to contain the creature. One by one, the assassins of Tiamat are thrown back like flying pebbles.
“This isn’t happening,” I mutter to myself. I hate how helpless I am to stop this savagery.
“He’s coming here. Stand back, Rhianelle,” Rainer says wearily, finishing the last of the blessings he can spare me. Garrett tosses a heavy spear towards my uncle, and he seizes it with expert ease. I catch the silent exchange between the two servants of Kvatosh.
A chill goes through me the moment I feel this unmistakable energy flowing through Rainer. Sometimes, I forget he is a legendary warrior among our kind, one worthy of being memorialized in paintings and sculptures. They say even the Aeonians are intimidated by him. The tattoos on his skin bleed into the spear like a coat of poison. It’s a deadly technique, one that took Rainer hundreds of years to master in the Kashran mountains.
Everyone understands the charged air is a warning to steer clear of the Silver Stag’s opponent. Faster than a lightning, the spear strikes its target. The explosion is seismic, like a rupturing volcano.
I cover my ears from the blast, the gust of wind nearly toppling me down. Sparks of currents discharge through the atmosphere before smoke and particles envelope us.
Blood erupts from Rainer’s mouth. I try to brace him from falling, but we both end up crumbling to our knees on the ground. Kvatosh is a cruel god. I don’t know what my uncle sacrificed to launch that deadly attack. A kidney? A lung?
Everything is painfully quiet in the aftermath of the violent attack. Dust slowly settles, revealing the weapon and the creature struck by it. Half of Svenn’s torso is partially singed by the blast. He remains standing but his body is bent backwards facing the sky, limp and unmoving, his massive wings splayed on the ground behind him, the vision of a fallen angel.
The folks begin cheering over the victory, but a strange feeling blankets me. Tears track down my eyes involuntarily. I don’t understand it, but I feel completely empty and lost.
“It’s not over yet,” Rainer mutters, sweat gleaming on his brow as he stares forward.
I look at the lifeless body across the clearing. Svenn’s mouth slowly curves into a smirk, his bright crimson eyes snap open, glistening with dark menace. All of a sudden, the shadowsaround us pulsate, coming to life. They surround him as he removes the impaled spear from his chest.
A maniacal laughter invades the air, low and deep. The malevolent, mocking tune draws a deep-seated fear in my heart. I cover my ears from the sudden flutter of wings and screeches. Thousands of night creatures; owls and bats scatter above us, responding to his wicked calling.
They’ve all come out to play.
Terror fills every face in the field as we watch the dark scene unfold before us.
Svenn turns to me, the shadows swirling around him like he’s some underworld king. The earth cracks and shudders wherever he steps with his feet. My muscles tense, urging me to run or fight.
