He was lost in a sea of black.
Chapter 27
Ruenen
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. His teeth slammed together. His helm toppled from his head.
Ruenen lay on his back, too stunned to move. A jagged rock underneath him broke one of his ribs. He’d narrowly missed the hooves of his horse. Two combating soldiers tripped over him, stepping on his arm.
Ruenen was surrounded by Tacorn soldiers. Panic flooded through him. He saw no light, no gold. He reached for his fallen sword, inches away.
“Kill him,” shouted a gruff voice.
One of the black-armored men who’d stepped on him raised his sword. “Nevandian scum!”
“Protect the prince,” shouted another, someone not so hostile.
Ruenen’s fingers grasped his sword. Arms linked under his own and yanked him to his feet. Two men dressed in rags pulled Ruenen to safety as others blocked the Tacornians with their longshields.
“Thank you, friends,” Ruenen said in breathless relief.
The men spun, raising their pitchforks into the air. Soon enough, a wave of gold swept the cluster of Tacornians back, led by Commander Filitto.
Sharp pain shot through his side as Ruenen tried to breathe. He lifted his sword, ignoring the rib the best he could before he sliced into Tacornian flesh. Blood spurted across his golden chest plate. The soldier keeled over, and Ruenen moved on to the next.
There were too many. When one trained killer fell, three more took his place. The ground was covered in bloody viscera. Bodies stacked on top of bodies from both sides.
And the screaming . . .
The sounds brought Ruenen back to the day Chiojan collapsed. The screams he’d heard then, cowering in that alley . . .
Well, Ruenen wasn’t cowering now.
As his men began to lose steam, as black soldiers battered down the line, Ruenen kept his courage. He kept swinging and tried to rally his exhausted army.
“Come on, men! Push forward!” He thrust his sword high into the air. “For Nevandia!”
His soldiers released a mighty yell, gathering their strength. Ruenen led the charge back into the fray, but it didn’t last long.
One of the farmers who’d saved Ruenen’s life was cut down in a ravaging slice across his torso. The man’s face froze, dropping his pitchfork, falling to the ground.
“No!” Ruenen rushed to his side, killing his Tacornian opponent, and held the farmer’s hand as he drifted off to the Underworld. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he whispered a silent prayer for him before leaping to his feet and striking down another Tacorn soldier.
The weight of the farmer’s death and heroism pressed against Ruenen’s breastplate. Another son of Nevandia lost.
Anger fueled Ruenen, mixing with adrenaline, becoming a mighty force inside him.
He hadn’t spotted the mad king yet, but Ruenen had seen the earth move and roll. He’d felt it rumbling beneath his feet. Black clouds gathered and roiled in the dark sky.
I won’t die until I fight Rayghast.
Chapter 28
Rayghast
Rocks and dirt and dust bombarded him.
The faerie battling him beneath the earth had sent a mighty pulse of magic his way. The black smoke that had been tunneling underground was vaporized as lush, green power shattered his magic. Rayghast hadn’t had time to dodge before the ground pounced.
Pebbles and stones assaulted his face. One may have knocked out a tooth. Grit and dirt worked its way into his eyes and mouth. A heavy rock landed on his leg.
Rayghast hissed at the pain and shouted curses from his prone position on the ground.
Why was this weak little creature able to use his own technique against him? Rayghast seethed. Only I control the earth!
Thankfully, no one had seen him falter. No one had seen him be overcome by such frangible, soft elemental magic. He was alone on the hill. His army and Varana’s were entirely engrossed in the battle below. Reserve troops waited patiently in the valley, surveying the slaughter of Nevandia.
They’ll get their turn soon. He wouldn’t leave a single Nevandian son alive on the field. Not one faerie would remain.
Rayghast stumbled to his feet. His knee was swelling; he could feel the contusion, but it wasn’t a break. Blood from small lesions dripped down his face and chest. The pain was minor, but humiliating. Rayghast couldn’t let anyone see him in such a state. Any sign of weakness was his death sentence, now that he’d revealed his magic.
“Heal me,” he ordered the darkness, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose. It appeared so starkly crimson against the black stain of his skin.
In response, a sensation of disappointment rose in him.
You’re failing me, it replied, sounding so much like Rayghast’s father that it made him, a grown man, wince. You let a weakling overpower you.
“I can kill the faerie. It used up all its strength. One more push is all I need. Just give me your power,” he said.
