Page 297 of The Edge of Darkness

My heart was pounding, my muscles burning.

The right side of his helm was covered with black ichor. Beneath, his cheeks were flushed, his forehead slick with sweat.

A sword clanged loudly to my left. It was Roirdan, whose lightning skittered and crackled along his blade as he blocked an attack. He raised his sword and called down bolts from the sky, then thrust them into a spider-legged beast that was three times his size. At that moment, he looked like a god. His eyes were lit with the reflection of his power, and his roar ground against my ears like a raging storm.

All around us, Niall’s High Legion swept through the enemy. They were in league with the Dionachs in the way that they cut down creatures with lethal force and precision. One pulse of their power, and their opponents cowered. One move, and bodies fell in their wake, bathing the ground with black blood. Their maneuvers were as sleek as a Cheshm Zadan’s. They worked in twos, each watching the other’s back while tearing through entire sections of beasts.

But no matter how efficiently any of us fought, the opposing force didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. Dreki soared above, breathing fire, while their riders shot arrow after arrow, every assault aimed at the larger barb-tailed beasts that ravaged our ranks. But more kept coming, like there was an endless spawn of evil lurking deeper in Salterra, replacing every fallen monstrosity with a fresh one.

The fighting continued on. And on, and on, and on.

Where one foe went down, three more emerged from the fray.

And there was no sign of Lyceius.

How many hours had it been now?

What was it that Roirdan had said? In battle, and in war, the fighting will last until either your enemy’s breath gives out, or yours does. And you will have an entire battlefield of enemies.

The true weight of his wisdom pressed heavily on my shoulders right then.

I found Niall again, and the moment I did, the ground shuddered. The battle seemed to momentarily halt as everyone, creature and fae, searched for the source.

A low-lying mist slowly spread along the ground, curling around everything, and when it pressed against me and climbed up my body from where I knelt, a chill shot up my spine.

There was only one being I knew of that evoked mist in her wake.

Niall’s voice sounded in my head, confirming my very thought . . .

Torin.

War was always an oddly amusing turn of events. It was never the same thing twice. One would think death and slaughter would get monotonous, but it didn’t. Each death unfolded differently, and each came with a different feeling. I’d felt regret, scorn, self-reflection, self-loathing, courage, pride, and vengeance. Such a drastic mix of conflicting emotions—some of which made no sense at all.

At the end, there was nothing left to be proud of or to praise the gods for. The emotional roller coaster took its toll, and I was always left contemplating if I was even worthy of being alive—a much more complicated thing to feel at the end of an already grueling experience.

But we were nowhere near the end of this battle yet. And I had begun to worry—seriously worry—when I saw the frustration in Auren’s eyes as she stared at me from across the field. The last thing we needed was for her to exhaust herself before she even had a chance at facing the fallen god.

Where the fuck was Lyceius!?

My rage boiled in my veins, and shadowfire whipped like a torrent inside me. Fae were dying by the hundreds, and nothing we were doing was putting a dent in our enemies’ forces.

Fates. Why did it feel like all odds were turning against us?

The High Legion was our additional line of defense, the safeguard I’d waited to call upon until we knew what we were dealing with. I’d hoped it would not be necessary, but when I saw what Lyceius had lined up for us, I knew the Dreki would not be enough. The last thing I had up my sleeve was to call in the remaining troops that were waiting just beyond the valley entrance. But before I would resort to that, I had one final option in my arsenal . . .

Myself.

I met Auren’s stare once more, and then the ground shuddered. Mist crept in, spreading in all directions from somewhere nearby.

Mist . . .

Torin, I said to Auren in her mind.

I twisted, searching the area, and found the witch goddess materializing in all her glory closer to where Auren was kneeling.

Gone were the billowing robes she usually wore. This time, she had adorned herself in black leather and armor, a swath of dark, shimmering fabric draping from one shoulder like a cloak of dark magic. She was dressed for battle. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a series of braids that met in a single bundle, bound high upon her head and hanging down her back.

She carried no weapon—she did not need to when she dealt in spells. Why draw blood when you could render life useless with the simple uttering of a few words? The notion was much like my shadowfire. I hadn’t ever needed to carry a sword because of my power. I did not even need to lift a finger, unlike most fae, whose power often required channeling through movements.