Then the shorter one cast a spell of his own. He sent a glowing stream of energy, like a concentrated burst of steam, toward the orange spark, and when the two met, the orange one, with a popping sound, split into what appeared to be a dozen fiery asteroids. They left hellish streaks across the sky as they shot toward the forest.
“Whaaa…” Owen said.
Barrel shouted, “By the gods!”
The balls of fire landed in the forest.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
It was as if the sun had peeked over the horizon; all was bright as day, but only for a moment. The fireballs exploded in an earth-shaking tantrum of fire and heat.
The orphans screamed and fell to the snow as heat washed over them. Emma looked over at Calista and Lily. Calista looked stunned, as if someone had slapped her across the face. But Lily—
Lily was smiling.
“Milo,” she said, clutching her hands together against her chest.
The men sprinted toward the orphans. They had become silhouettes against the blazing forest fire, and yet Emma instantly recognized the shorter one’s awkward way of running.
“It’s true,” she said. “It’s him!”
Milo reached the group first, but he was a different Milo, not the twin brother she had spoken to yesterday morning, and definitely not the skinny, waifish boy she had grown up with, always complaining about his height or his lack of athleticism.
No—this Milo was a few years older and broader of shoulders and chest. His hair was a few inches longer and fell in wavy layers around his head. He had put on weight—mostly muscle—and he was so much taller than she remembered.
“Emma,” he said, and despite the slightly deepened voice, she knew at once that it was her brother.
He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her the way a brother hugs his sister when he hasn’t seen her in years. He pulled back, and Emma saw tears in his eyes. She found it odd that he could miss her so much when she didn’t miss him at all. (How could she? She had seen him just two days ago!) But the look he gave her was so full of affection that she could only respond by hugging him again and shouting, “Where were you?”
He released her and looked over the faces of the orphans, who had gathered around to stare at him. He had to shout over the whines of dying Elki in the forest, and the ringing of battle out in the field.
“You’re safe now! We’re gonna get you out of here!” Then Milo looked at the grizzly bear. “Ascher?”
The bear tipped its head back and snorted.
The man who had accompanied Milo ran with difficulty through the snow and was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the orphans.
“Let’s get to the shuttle,” he said. “Everyone follow us!”
Milo pulled something out of his bag that caught the light of the fires with a wooden gleam. It looked delicate, like a well-preserved antique—the leg to an old wooden table, maybe, except it had a bluish crystal stuck to one end.
“Lily!” Milo called out.
Lily ran up to him. “Yes, Milo?”
“You’ll need this.” He held it out to her.
Lily took it gently into her hands. Her eyes went wide as she inspected it.
“A short staff,” she said. “Where did you get…”
A loud growl interrupted them. Ascher loped past them, following the magician, his enormous hind legs kicking back snow. The orphans set off after him toward the craft, which turned out to be much bigger than Emma had thought. She was able to breathe more easily now. They were going to make it after all.
“HOLD IT!” The voice was deep, monstrous.
Whoever he was, the man had shouted with such primitive rage that Ascher skidded to a halt, throwing a flurry of snow forward. The orphans crunched to a stop as well.
It was the big, muscular man with the gray skin and the enormous hammer, flanked by Coscoros and the Pestilent woman. A fine layer of ash from the torches barely hid the scrapes, scratches, and blood streaks all over their armor.
Basher lifted the hammer with two arms and brought it down into the snow. The ground trembled from the impact.
Coscoros and the Pestilent woman walked around Basher to approach the group. The light from the ship reached their faces and Emma saw blood on them. They were panting from battle, weapons held at their sides. The Pestilent woman held a crossbow, while the Dark Acolyte held a short sword in each hand.
“Milo Banks,” Coscoros called out. “Stay right where you are!”
Milo balled his hands into fists. “It’s you!”
The magician accompanying Milo wove his hands through the air. Green light scampered over his fingers and leaped off the tips.
“Now,” the magician shouted.
The Pestilent woman, the Dark Acolyte, and the Berserker slogged toward Milo, lifting their weapons in preparation.
Milo brought his hands forward, made his fingers into claws. His hands faced each other, as if holding an invisible ball, and within that space, a twinkling orange spark was given life.
Emma knew at once what was happening.
“Do it, Milo.”
The spark became engorged with blazing orange and white light until it filled the space between his hands and made silhouettes out of his fingers. Light washed over his face and the moist ends of his hair, and his eyes were black with anger.
“For my father,” he said.
He pulled his right arm back, making shadows dance over him, and then he tossed the sizzling fireball toward the two men and the woman.
“Down!” the woman shouted.
She managed to avoid the fireball by rolling off to the side, but the other two weren’t so lucky. Basher took the brunt of the attack and fell back. He got up, shook the flames off, growling as his hands wiped at the burning liquid, and roared up at the sky. He might have been immune to the heat and the flame, but he wasn’t immune to an insult.
Ascher took over. He attacked the Feral woman and the Berserker. They wrestled against the packed snow, the woman stinging Ascher in his furry hind with her tail. The Berserker was doing his best to punch the grizzly bear. Ascher roared back at the orphans, a command meaning, Get out of here!
Coscoros experienced the worst of the spell. His black wings caught fire, and he loosed a shriek of agony so dreadful Emma broke into a fit of shivers. Lifting his flaming wings above his shoulders, he looked like a demon that had just climbed up from the depths of Hell. The smell of burning feathers was acrid and awful. He collapsed into the snow and rolled around like a dog to put out the flames.
“Let’s go!” Emma shouted. “Let’s get out of here!”
But Milo was just standing there, watching the Acolyte burn. The magician at his side gripped him by the shoulder.
“Milo, snap out of it! Let’s go!”
Milo blinked as if coming out of a dream. He found Emma and ran alongside her.
“We can survive this, Emma. Just stay with me.”
They ran toward the ship, slogging through the snow and panting from the effort. Emma didn’t know how many times she fell. At one point, Milo picked her up and began to half-carry, half-drag her along. He had to push aside her wings to do it. She tried her best to keep from hitting him in the face with her feathers. Nearby, Sevarin helped Ascher—now in human form and looking very pale—along with the group.
“You’ll be okay,” Milo said into Emma’s ear. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Emma was about to thank him when a current of energy made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
CRACK! The energy had come from directly above the ship, a bolt of lightning so thick and bright that it seemed to split the night sky in half.
The ship exploded, raining fiery debris all over the snow. Milo met Emma’s gaze, eyes struck wide with terror.
“He’s here.”
CHAPTER 75
A ring of fire sprang to life around the orphans.
It had begun as a single pillar of flame, whic
h then split into two towering bodies that slid away from each other to build a fiery wall, trapping them. Emma watched as the man from her nightmares emerged from the flames.
The light illuminated his sour expression. He was glaring at someone behind Emma. She turned and picked out the magician who had accompanied Milo. The man reached into his coat and took out a pair of coin-shaped sunglasses, which he planted on his face, and stared back.
“You’re going to lose this battle,” he said.
“Oh?” Iolus put his hands on his hips. “Is that so?”
The magician stood between Iolus and the group. “You’re outnumbered. Go back and try again some other day. There’s no shame in it.”
Iolus’s face twitched. He searched the orphans until he saw Milo. Then his smile spread into a malicious grin. Emma thought he might start dancing.
“Milo Banks,” Iolus said. “The one and only.”
He extended one arm and flicked his fingers open. A bluish light grew from his palm, brightening the snow at his feet. A moment later, the snow was gone, leaving only a hole. An enormous bubble filled with water hung from the sorcerer’s downturned palm.
Iolus swung the ball in Emma’s direction. She ducked, spun around, and saw the globe hit its intended target. Milo was now choking and trying to free himself from the flexing bulb of liquid trapping his head.
“Help him!”
The magician grabbed Milo’s arm with one hand and used his other—the fingertips bright blue with energy—to pop the bubble. Water spilled all over Milo. He fell into the snow, gasping for breath.
“Here, breathe,” Lily said, running to help Milo.
“Thanks,” he said, sputtering.
The magician, scowling now, turned his attention back to the sorcerer. “Back off!”
His entire left arm brightened and turned crystalline, resembling an ice sculpture lit with an inner glow. He tried to punch Iolus with the glowing arm, which stretched to an incredible length in an attempt to reach him, but Iolus ducked away.
Iolus’s arm burst into flames, and he did the same, punching in the magician’s direction, stretching the flaming arm to a length of at least six feet. The magician’s ice arm retracted instantly, just in time to block the sorcerer’s attack. Orange and blue sparks exploded from the impact.
“Elemental spells aren’t your specialty, Emmanuel,” Iolus said. “You’re making this too easy.”
Emma watched the man named Emmanuel—and there was something so familiar about him—stagger from the impact of Iolus’s attack. He shook his arm back to normal. Then he lifted it and summoned a ghostly, shimmering shield only moments before a cluster of red-hot, flaming arrows stopped mid-flight in front of him.
There were dozens of them, like a deadly spray. But they never hit the shield.
Halted by a force unseen, the arrows suddenly whipped around to face Iolus. Someone had reversed their course.
Milo.
“Die already!” Milo whipped his arm and sent them flying toward Iolus, changing their color mid-flight. The arrows became crackling, blue-white shards of electricity.
Iolus grunted as the shards made contact. An electric net gripped his body. His head was yanked back by the sizzling current, and his arms shot out from either side of him. Parts of his clothing caught fire.
Emma ducked again as a thunderous boom shook the sky. Milo had lifted his arm and was looking up, shouting a foreign-sounding chant, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it. Lightning crackled, and Emma could only stare in dumb shock as Milo pulled a massive bolt from the sky, his arm swinging as if to lasso it.
The lightning bolt struck where Iolus had been standing a split-second earlier. The sorcerer had ducked away just in time and lay convulsing in the snow, still wrapped in a web of electric currents.
“Now!” Milo shouted.
Emmanuel had a weapon in hand. He pulled his arm back, fist gripping a steaming white crystal, and tossed it at Iolus. The crystal exploded midair into a spiky ball of ice the size of a boulder and landed on top of the sorcerer.
Anyone not a Sargonaut would have been crushed by its weight. This had to be it—their moment of victory.
But it wasn’t so. Emma watched in despair as the boulder bounced into the flames, repelled by a shimmering force field that draped Iolus like a blanket.
Another man, this one dressed in a dark cloak, had emerged from the flames, carrying a staff tipped with a glowing red crystal. Emma thought it was Kovax at first, but this man had a face she didn’t recognize.
“Well played!” the low mage shouted, aiming the staff at Emmanuel. “Now it’s my turn!”
He shot a blast at Emmanuel that sent him flying backward into the flames.
Milo raised his right arm, and he seemed so tall in that moment that Emma was speechless. He made a broad swirling motion and plunged his fist into the snow.
There was a loud whoosh. The ring of fire expanded suddenly, and Emmanuel landed harmlessly on the muddy ground where the snow had melted. Heat lifted off Emma’s wings, and she could breathe again. She went to the magician and helped him.
“Thank you, Emma,” Emmanuel said, jumping to his feet and pulling her safely behind him. “Milo, kill that mage!”
The low mage was readying another spell. It burned bright green at the tip of his crystal, with toxic-looking strands snaking forward from its core—ones that instantly straightened as they shot toward Milo.
Emma screamed.
Milo shouted a command. “Void!”
He had summoned a black ball of some sort—a perfectly round, blacker-than-black orb that appeared to erase all light that touched it—and tossed it at the low mage.
The ball expanded as it left his fingertips, vacuuming the spell’s toxic strands and sucking in smoke and snow as it went. The low mage’s staff shot into the ball and disappeared. He staggered, arms going up in helpless surrender. He barely had time to scream as the black orb swallowed him whole.
“Emma,” came the magician’s voice next to her, and yet, she could not take her eyes off Milo. What had he become? Who was he now? “Emma!” he said again. “Go to your brother. I think he’s spent.”
She rushed to Milo’s side. He stood half-bent, panting as if he’d just run a mile at full sprint. She slung one of his arms over her shoulder and pulled him back from the fray. It was up to the magician now to finish this.
Emmanuel used a luminether crystal to summon a protective shield around them. It warped the air and made the fires in the distance blur. Iolus chuckled. There was soot on his face. Lines of smoke rose from burnt patches all over his clothes.
“I’m still here,” he said, and his voice rose into a shout: “And I’m not going away, kids!”
A figure rose behind him, shaped like a cross, or like a massive bird with its wings extended, rising on a powerful gust of hot air.
“It can’t be,” Milo said.
Emma squinted to make it out. It wasn’t a bird at all. It was a woman with dark hair.
And enormous white wings.
“Mom?” she said.
Her mother landed in the snow with a soft crunch, wings lifted above either side of her, a short sword held aloft in one hand. Her scowling face was visible in the firelight. Despite its fierceness, Emma felt a surge of affection fill her entire body and weaken her knees.
Iolus realized the twins were not looking at him, but past him. He spun around.
Too late. Alexandra lifted the sword and brought it down in wide arc, slicing Iolus from shoulder to hip. Stunned, the sorcerer staggered backward, hands leaping to his chest to clutch the wound.
In a flash, Alexandra stabbed the sword into his gut with enough force to make the blood-soaked tip emerge from the other side. It had gone clean through.
“You b—” the sorcerer began to say.
He choked on the word, as a swift kick from Alexandra caused him to crumple at her feet. She yanked the sword out of him. Iolus cried out in agony and tried to crawl away.
Emma would have cheered, but she was too busy running. Finally. This was the moment. They had won. She was so sure of it that she left Milo behind, sprinting toward her mother.
“Emma, no!” Milo shouted.
A weird, fuzzy feeling tightened around her waist. Coils of vibrant light ensnared her. They yanked her backward, and she fell into a pair of arms that immediately tightened around her torso.
She looked up and saw the magician frowning down at her.
“Bad idea,” he said.
His attention went to the sky. Emma saw three figures fall flapping to the ground, ready to fight.
The Dark Acolytes landed in a circle around Alexandra. She backed away, sword slicing the air. Milo tried to shoot an electric bolt at one of the Acolytes, but the current fizzled at his fingertips.
“I need to rest,” he said. “Just for a minute.”
“Take a knee,” Emmanuel said. “Use the technique I taught you.”
“But they… they’ll kill her,” he said weakly.
“Do it, Milo. Now!”
Her brother got down on one knee and closed his eyes. Emma’s attention shot back to her mother.
While Alexandra engaged the Dark Acolytes, two more landed and ran to Iolus, healing spells fizzling around their hands. The energy burned bright red, not blue like normal Acolyte magic.
Alexandra had become a whirlwind of flashing steel, cutting, slicing, and jabbing. The fighters didn’t stand a chance. When the last of the three had fallen, she turned to the ones tending to Iolus. Wasting no time, she threw her short sword. The blade caught one of the Acolytes in the neck, dropping him instantly. The other shot to his feet and spun to face her.
Emmanuel took him down with a blast from his crystal. The Dark Acolyte was flung back with such incredible force that Emma heard his wings snap like dried twigs.
Alexandra threw a glance at the magician, sword held high in case more enemies fell from the sky. “Do you have somewhere safe to take them?”
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 41