Page 75 of Forged in Fading

So many bodies.

The stench of fading and the moans of the barely living ravaged her senses. Short, ragged breaths did nothing to stem the tide of panic threatening to drag her into its depths. They were outnumbered. The only hope lay in defending the king.

And what a pathetic hope it was.

She lost track of how many throats she sliced and how many guts she stabbed. Her spear was slick with blood, and her fingers screamed from how tightly she clung to it, but she made it. Elan soldiers swarmed the castle entrance, its simple beauty cracked and marred.

“Clear a path to the throne room. I want him alive.”

Alvara could hardly hear his distant voice above the din of the battle, the voice that haunted her nightmares. King Einar. His victory was close.

Alvara moved, as quick and vicious as a dalvi wind, battling her way inside the castle as if her one life would make a difference. A few paces away, a hulking bear, its fur matted with dirt and grisly liquids, slammed an elf into the stones with its massive paw. The wielder crumpled to the ground in a motionless heap.

“Boden,” she breathed.

The bear snapped its head in her direction and stood still. Boden shifted into his demi-elf form, eyes wide. “Alvara. You’re alive.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

For just a moment, the fading and destruction melted away, leaving only him before her. He was bruised and battered, and would no doubt need a long bath to clean whatever gods-awful things stuck in his hair, but he was here. Boden’s gaze traveled up and down her body over and over again, searching for injuries. She had plenty, but nothing lethal. At least not yet.

“If you useless idiots cannot manage a few Malvan soldiers, then I will have to do it myself.” King Einar’s words, moving ever closer, shattered whatever sliver of peace they had found, and Alvara’s pumping heart turned to ice.

Boden barreled up the stairs in his bear form and trampled enemies like pesky weeds while Alvara followed, climbing over corpses and dodging the few elves that had survived in his wake. Every muscle in her body protested, but she pushed on. There was no other choice.

They burst into the throne room, where at least twenty guards surrounded King Ulivar, all of whom pointed various forms of metal at Alvara and Boden. She doubted they knew how to properly wield them, but at least it afforded her an array of weapon choices when the time came.

“He’s coming.” The words felt like gravel climbing out of her throat. The king’s eyes flared, and his soldiers tightened their flesh and blood barrier around their ruler.

A chorus of boots stomped in the hallway outside, and Alvara pulled on her magic one last time. She formed a thick wall of ice in front of the entrance, one that likely wouldn’t last long, but it was the best she could offer. Spots flooded her vision, and she hung her head below her knees until she could see again. Her well of magic had run dry.

Boden readied himself behind the wall, his bear ears twitching at every sound as he locked his muscles and ducked his head. Bodies and magic slammed into the barrier. Cracks fissured through it like veins ready to be sliced open.

Alvara tightened her grip on her spear. It was all she had now.

The wall fractured, and time could only be measured by the constant thudding of corpses on the floor. The stream of enemies was endless, flowing into the room like a current that no stone or boulder could stop.

Alvara’s limbs grew weaker with each blocked blow and the impact of each hit she couldn’t avoid. Boden positioned himself next to her, swatting away elves and cracking spines on pillars. Vibrant green vines exploded into the room, wrapped around each Malvan soldier, and lifted their struggling bodies into the air.

She chopped vine after vine, but they only multiplied, wrenching her spear out of her sticky hands. They bound her so tightly she could hardly breathe. It was impossible, this volume of magic from one elf, especially after expending his powers earlier in the battle. How did King Einar still have this much?

Thorns gouged Alvara’s skin, but none of it mattered. Because they had failed.

“Bring the king. And those vermin.” King Einar flapped a hand toward Alvara and Boden. “Kill the rest.”

Perhaps it was a small mercy that cold metal crashed into Alvara’s skull. Blackness greeted her, and the world slipped completely from her grasp.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Alvara woke on a patch of dirt to a sour smell tickling her nose and a bitter taste coating her mouth. No doubt something they forced down her throat to keep her unconscious.

Gods, everything hurt. She could hardly breathe through the pain, each inhale a stinging reminder of the horrible reality awaiting her. Liquid dribbled down her forehead, and she reached for it, only to find her hands shackled with familiar blistering metal. She brushed a finger over her wet skin and stared at it in a daze.

Blood. She was so tired of blood.

Where were they? Pain radiated through her scalp as someone yanked on one of her braids like a leash, forcing her upward to her knees. She struggled against her captor and the blade at her throat in vain.

No magic. No weapons. No escape.