The young prince was bold, indeed; dangerous for both the continent and humanity to grant those creatures such power.
“How is this possible?” Dobbs asked, face paling as he stared open-mouthed at the stagnant scene before him. Until the barrier came down, there was no point in sounding the charge. “I thought the faerie girl could only open doorways?”
“The units leaving Gloaw Crana were entirely decimated by fire and other savage things. That couldn’t have been the work of one faerie,” said Commander Shaff.
Rayghast watched from his position on a mound of earth next to Shaff, Dobbs, Silex, Chul and another Varanese commander, and flag bearers from both countries.
“It wasn’t,” Rayghast said. “Nevandia has several.”
Chul sent Rayghast a bitter glare. “You never said anything about faeries in Nevandia—”
Silex blanched, cutting off the Varanese commander. “I thought we rid the world of them years ago!”
Chul and the other commander bowed their heads together in serious conversation.
“It appears we weren’t as thorough as we thought,” Dobbs said with a sneer. His face then went taut with concern as he beheld Rayghast upon his horse. “Your Grace, are you certain you don’t wish to don your armor?”
Rayghast sat in his saddle wearing nothing but black pants and tall boots. He’d left his crown in the fortress, not that he ever wore that heavy ornament, except during important state events.
“I’m sure we’d all feel much better if you’d at least wear a gambeson, My King,” Silex said, glancing down to Rayghast’s bare, black torso. “Any injury to you, our most sovereign and powerful king, would be a great blow to Tacorn. Not that I believe that will happen, of course. You are a superior warrior to any of them.”
Rayghast ignored their comments. Why would he need armor when he had all the protection he’d require within his own body? His eyes narrowed as he scanned the field.
They were wasting arrows. It was quite clear that until the barrier fell, their assault was pointless.
Magic rushed to Rayghast’s fingers. It seared behind his eyes, blazed in the wiring of his brain. It sped up the beat of his heart to a frantic gallop. The mere sight of battle, and Rayghast could scarcely contain it. The dark beast paced back and forth through his veins, whispering thoughts of murder.
“How do we fight against magic?” asked the other Varanese commander with wisp-thin hair and an equally slim mustache.
A rider appeared, carrying a message with the Nevandian seal. He cantered to Chul and handed him the folded letter. “This was given to me by a Nevandian envoy, Sir.” The rider, mussed and harried, then bolted back down the hill and into line with the other cavalry.
Chul read the letter, crumpling it in his fist when he finished. “They have Princess Eriu.”
The other Varanese commander swore under his breath. Rayghast had had a feeling that was where the little imp had run off to.
“Did they threaten to harm her?” asked Silex, but Rayghast heard no true concern in the lord’s voice for his young bride-to-be.
“This Commander Avilyard says that he’ll return the girl to us if Varana retreats and returns home. He also rambles on about magic—”
“You will do no such thing,” spat Silex, taking the note from Chul and reading it himself.
The other Varanese commander gaped. “But, my lord, she’s to be your wife. We cannot let harm befall her—”
“If they kill her, then I’ll get another wife. There are other princesses in Astye,” Silex said imperiously, facing Rayghast and chucking the message over his shoulder. “The important thing is to win this battle.”
Rayghast, bored by the conversation, drawled, “Princess Eriu is of no concern to us now. Once we win the day, we’ll take her back, if she still lives.”
The two Varanese men glared at him, mouths jerking in anger and withheld comments.
A shimmer in the gray sky caught Rayghast’s attention. A filmy shield peeled away from the right side of the Nevandian army. It pulled back and back towards the left.
Suddenly, Tacornian arrows hit their marks. Golden soldiers and peasants fell after a Varanese volley.
The shield was down.
“Go. Send the men in now,” Rayghast ordered sharply to Shaff.
The commander bowed his head, then hastened down the hill towards the lesser-ranked commanders on the field. Horns blared and the troops, en masse, marched forward to cross the dirt road.
Nevandia had already begun their charge. A golden-clad man on a white horse barreled straight down the center.
The prince.
Rayghast could still see the slight gloss of the magical shield in place over the left side of the Nevandian army.
That’s where they are.
As long as the fae remained, Nevandia had a chance to win. Rayghast didn’t know what kind of powers they had in their arsenal, nor how many of them there truly were, but the one person capable of eliminating them, fighting against them, was him.
Rayghast jumped from the saddle; his boots slammed into the grass. He knelt down and put his hands on the earth, resulting in gasps of concern from Dobbs and Silex.
“Your Grace, is something wrong?” asked Dobbs. The fool thought Rayghast was ill.
Magic swirled within him. It burst from his hands in dark, mirthful release. He could almost feel the magic smiling as it tunneled underground.
Finally, we’re free, it cooed as it fled from his body and into the soil, heading towards the left Nevandian side. Black flames rose from the Underworld, encircling Rayghast in blazing, cold darkness.
“Your Grace, what . . . what is that?” asked Silex, pointing to the writhing flames surrounding Rayghast. The smell of sulfur permeated the air. Rayghast tasted the familiar scratch of pepper in his pharynx. “Is that . . . ?”
