by E. A. Copen
As I struggled not to pop like a grape under someone’s shoe, I counted myself lucky. If he squeezed me to death, at least I wouldn’t have to smell him anymore. The troll reeked of rotting fish.
You can’t go that easily, not when you’ve got someone counting on you. The burden of that responsibility slapped me hard. I thought I would crumble under the weight of imagining someone explaining to Remy that I’d given up. I had a chance to fight and stopped. I’d lost. That wasn’t something I could let her live with, not while I could still draw breath.
The staff smoked in my hand. I drew on the power as the troll lifted me off the ground, spewing noxious breath at me in a snort. The troll grunted through a tusked mouth, nostrils flaring. As he opened his mouth, I wriggled one arm free and slammed my palm into his forehead, pumping magic through me and into him.
His head split like a watermelon dropped from a fourth story window. Green blood, stringy gore, and fragments of bone went everywhere. The troll’s hand opened, and I tumbled to the ground while he teetered backward. A surge of familiar power flooded me through the coating of troll blood. Necromantic power.
It shouldn’t have existed in Faerie, which was notorious for being a place without death, and yet here it was. The body of a dead troll crashed to the ground, and I’d suddenly been hit with a dose of raw magic I hadn’t been prepared for. Bloodlust consumed me. One minute I was lying on the ground having been dropped by the troll, and the next I was on my feet with an orc blade in hand I’d grabbed from one of the fallen, rushing into the thickest ranks.
Kellas sat on his Nightmare in the rear, watching with his keen cat eyes. All I had to do was get to him. Then I could rip out his throat with my teeth and watch as the light went out of his eyes. The only thing standing between me and him was an army of confused prey with tough hides. I cut them down. It wasn’t beautiful like when Foxglove did it; it was brutal, wild, and fed the primal need to see my enemies suffer and bleed.
Do you see, Kellas? How easy your army falls? That’s right. I’m coming for you.
Another soldier appeared in front of me, his silver armor painted red, green, and brown. He held a sword, and I pushed it away, snarling at him incoherently, but he didn’t move. Instead, he gripped my shoulders and shouted, “Lazarus, you can’t kill them all by yourself!”
I blinked and saw myself reflected in his eyes, my skin ashen and eyes seeming too big for my face. My whole body was covered in blood and ichor. Jesus, how many had I cut down?
Foxglove grabbed me and pulled me along. “Come on! They’re about to break through. You’ve got to stop them.”
After several difficult steps, I was walking of my own accord, moving away from Kellas. I shot a glare over my shoulder at him. “I get to kill him.”
“We have to win first,” Foxglove reminded me.
The four of us had carved a considerable hole into Kellas’ army near the gate and forced them back to regroup. The flying monkeys were still at it with their battering ram, however. Until we stopped them from knocking down the door, the castle was still at risk.
Foxglove escorted me to the place where the drawbridge would normally have come down at the edge of the moat. The flying monkeys were unreachable for anyone who didn’t have wings, and our dragon was still down and out. In the absence of wings, magic would have to do.
I planted my feet. “Hey, uglies!”
Two of the monkeys poked their heads out from under the protection of the shields.
“Go back to Shadow.” Power flooded the staff without any urging from me. I fed it, mixing life with death. The end of the staff blazed a brilliant white that burned to look at. “You shall not pass!” I slammed the staff into the ground.
I’d always wanted to say that.
The air trembled and split in a shower of brilliant sparks. Water peeled back revealing the bottom of the moat. The spikes tore away from the mechanism that held them and sailed straight up, impaling the monkeys like shish kabobs, three to a spike. Wood splintered. Monkeys shrieked and dropped the ram. Those I hadn’t hit with the first strike were trying to flee.
I lifted the staff and pointed it at the closest fleeing monkey as it desperately flapped its wings. “Boom.”
The flying monkey exploded in a puff of black smoke and feathers, leaving nothing but soot behind.
The few that were left screeched and fled into the distance, not even attempting to rejoin Kellas’ forces.
I spun around and readied my sword, expecting the troops to charge. Instead, they were fleeing in the opposite direction. A hail of arrows launched above us, picking off the stragglers. Athdar reached into the moat to pick up the fallen ram and threw it at the fleeing troops with a grunt.
I held my breath, still expecting them to turn back around. “Foxglove, did we just win?”
He slid his sword back into the sheath at his side. “We have won today,” he said with a nod, “but they will regroup and return at dusk when they are stronger. Kellas cannot afford to lose.”
I spat on the ground and started forward, following the army. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Shadow army made their camp between two hills just over the horizon. By the time we saw it, the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still covered the sky, but the pinkish hues of sunset colored them from behind.
My adrenaline rush had worn off shortly after setting out from the Summer castle, and so did the magic high. All my aches and pains returned with a vengeance plus some new ones in the ribs. I was sure the troll had cracked a few, which made every breath feel like breathing in needles on the left side. My head pounded and my feet ached, but I kept going, using the staff to propel me forward like a walking stick.
Desperate cries rose from the fallen around us as we walked. They begged for mercy, for water, for their mothers. Among the piles of broken bodies, half laid still, empty eyes fixed on the sky above. Dead, just like the troll.
Declan looked out over the aftermath. “What is this?”
“Death,” I answered.
“War,” Foxglove added.
“But how?” Declan’s voice wavered.
Foxglove eyed me, worry creasing his brows, and said nothing.
We reached the camp long after the army, partly because they’d gotten a considerable head start, and partly because the four of us were sore and caked in mud and blood. Torches smoked, marking the entrance to the camp along with four tired-looking soldiers. Tired or not, they drew their weapons when we came near and demanded we halt.
“We come with terms of peace,” Foxglove announced. “Get your leaders and bring them here since you will not permit us into the camp.”
“Piss off,” growled the guard in the center.
I started forward, but Declan held me back. I glared at him.
He gave me an apologetic look. “Diplomacy isn’t your strong suit, sir. Best let Foxglove handle this. I’m too tired for another fight.”
After a nod of agreement from Foxglove, I stepped back again. They were right. If I opened my mouth, it would end with more blood. I might’ve lost my adrenaline rush, but I was still pissed as hell.
Foxglove sighed and counted on his fingers as he spoke. “Here are your choices. One, you escort us to Kellas wherever he is in camp, and we discuss terms there. Two, you bring Kellas here, and we talk here. Or three…”
The orc wrinkled his flat nose. “What’s three?”
Foxglove drew his sword. “I cut off your head and ask the orc next to you, hoping he’s a more agreeable fellow.”
The orc sneered and leaned forward. “The might of the entire Shadow Court is behind me. You wouldn’t dare attack us here. You might be strong, but the four of you can’t take on a whole army.”
Athdar creaked as he flexed his fingers. “Says the army that ran away.”
“A retreat is not a surrender,” came Kellas’ voice.
The orc guards parted, and he strode through on foot, his hands folde
d behind his back, black cloak billowing in the breeze. He’d added a crown to his outfit since the last time I’d seen him, this one murky black with gold filigree. His orcs dropped their heads in reverence as he passed, placing one fist on their chest.
Kellas stopped just beyond the orcs, yellow eyes glowing. “Retreats are a tactical move, a good one that any decent commander would have ordered when his initial attack failed. No need to waste more men when you’ve destroyed my siege towers and my ram.”
“You can’t win,” Foxglove said. “You’ve no way into the castle.”
“On the contrary. You four have shown me there’s another way in. I’ve already sent my scouts to find and map it for me, and when they return, all it will take for me to win is a few good men. I don’t even need to fight you.” He grinned, showing cat-like canines.
Shit, he meant the tunnel. We hadn’t had time to seal it. Kellas would find it, send a handful of people in to lower the drawbridge, and that would be it. He wouldn’t need to take the castle with his army. All he’d needed was us to do something stupid. We couldn’t let him launch that mission, which meant there was only one way to end this, and Foxglove wasn’t going to like it.
“You’re right,” I said stepping forward. “There’s no need for anyone else to be maimed or die fighting. Let’s end this with a little dignity and spare the lives of lesser men.”
“What are you doing?” Foxglove growled. “Get back in line.”
I ignored him and strode to the front of our party. “You and me, Kellas, here and now. Winner takes all.”
Kellas met my stare head-on. His grin didn’t fade.
Foxglove bristled. “You don’t have the authority—”
“Oh, but he does,” the cat purred. “As the Summer Knight, he speaks with Queen Titania’s own voice and strikes with her power. In the absence of Titania or Odette, he is the authority. How is she, by the way? The mother of your child.”
It took every ounce of restraint not to launch myself at him and eat him living. I ground the staff into the mud. “Dead.”
He stuck his bottom lip out. “Oh, a pity.”
“You murdered her.”
“And you murdered my queen! You started this war, Sir Knight. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t go around killing monarchs and gods if you aren’t prepared to live with the consequences.” He turned to walk away.
If I didn’t stop him and convince him to accept my challenge, we’d lost.
“Kellas, fight me here and now or I swear I will raise the dead from the killing fields and use them to murder every one of you.”
He stopped. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t.”
“I’d tear down every fae court in Faerie to protect my daughter.”
Kellas turned around very slowly. “The child lives?” Disgust and disdain dripped from his words.
That’s right, buddy. Do the math. It wasn’t happenstance that had given me my necromancy back, nor did I have chance to thank for killing the troll. The power had dropped like a veil over the battlefield, as tangible and potent as the rain. Death had come to Faerie. Kellas’ worst fears were confirmed.
Kellas strode back to meet me. His lips curled away from his teeth. “Even if Death has come to Faerie, you lack the power to wield that many undead.”
“Shall we find out?” I extended my arms and started coalescing power in my chest. With so much death and untapped power, there was plenty for the taking. I could raise ten, maybe fifteen, but that wouldn’t make an army. Even if I succeeded, I didn’t know if I could control them. Kellas didn’t have to know that though. It was a bluff, and I had a hell of a poker face.
The guards at the gate shuffled back, shrinking in fear.
I fixed my stare on them instead of Kellas. “On second thought, I might not need an army. There is a dragon back there. Undead dragon does have a nice ring to it.”
The guards stepped back through the gate. One more word and I’d have them running in fear.
Kellas snarled a curse and unhooked his cloak, letting the wind carry it behind him. “Very well, human. If you want a fight with the Cat Sìth, then you have one. Don’t say I didn’t give you ample opportunities to die clean.”
He hissed and flexed his fingers. Claws sprouted over fingernails. Black fur sprouted everywhere but for a small patch of white on his chest and his eyes glowed with dark ethereal energy.
I blinked and activated my Soul Vision. After the battle out in the open, a duel with an oversized furball should’ve been a piece of cake.
Until the furball cloned himself eight times in a flash of magic. One minute, there was one shining emerald soul in front of me. The next, there were nine. I was surrounded by snapping cat fangs and sharp claws. Shit, what kind of magic was this?
Kellas came at me before I could even begin to think about how to defend against nine angry cats. Claws ripped into my back. I swung my staff, but the damn cat did a backflip, and I missed him. Another Kellas clone swiped at my leg, and I landed a kick, driving him back only to have two more jump on me. They tore at my face, neck, and arms, clawing at my eyes. Kellas and his clones could’ve easily slit my throat and walked away, but that just wasn’t in a cat’s nature. Cats liked to play with their food.
I swung my staff in a wide circle, forcing the cats back, but it didn’t last for long before they leaped on me again. Fire erupted in my lower back as three claws sank deep. I staggered forward into more slashes. Teeth bit into my arm and tore away flesh. Kellas was tiring of his game, but he wasn’t letting up long enough for me to get in a single attack.
Fae souls glowed all around me, swirling into a solid mass of viridian. Nine of them were within reach. I racked my brain in a panic, trying to decide what to do. The nine cat fae clawing at me weren’t true clones, but magical constructs. Kellas had used a spell to create them. I could feel the magic buzzing around me. By circling me, he’d flooded my senses and made me dizzy. Knowing what he was doing brought me no closer to stopping it. I had to grab a soul. If I chose the right one, the one that belonged to the real Kellas, the other eight should collapse, and the magic should fade. In theory. I had never seen magic like this.
Yes, I have. These are just like shades and souls. Layers of himself. That would be the only way he could make half-decent copies of himself. He’d have to use a form of projection, casting layers of magic out of his body. It was similar to how I’d pulled myself into the After. My body stayed behind, but my shade traveled on. It meant only one of the cats was capable of inflicting real damage and the other eight were just powerful illusions on this plane.
But which one? I had no way of knowing. My Vision had proved useless for distinguishing a real fae soul from its copy, and my body was convinced that all nine were clawing and biting at me.
I swung the staff and connected with one of Kellas’ heads with a resounding crack. On the follow through, I hit another in the ribs. The staff’s glowing runes shifted from green to pale yellow. Crack, a strike to one of Kellas’ hind legs while two more chewed on my leg. The staff turned green again. I swung the staff like a bat and connected with another Kellas in the shoulder.
He snarled and gripped the end of the staff as it changed from brilliant viridian to deep crimson and smoked.
Gotcha, you son of a bitch.
Kellas pulled me in closer using the staff as leverage and drew a clawed hand back, sneering. One swipe and he’d tear out my throat. He was fast.
I was faster.
I plunged my hand into his chest and closed my fingers around the glowing green light that was his soul. The other eight versions of Kellas snapped back, merging with the one I had captured. He jerked with a gasp, and his soul grew larger as each one slammed into him. I waited until he was whole again to squeeze. I could’ve pulled that soul out of him at any moment and ended it, but I wanted him to suffer.
Kellas grimaced and twitched, unable to control his contorting body. He was a puppet and I had his strings, but to his credit, he was fighting
me with everything he had. Kellas managed to jerk his head forward and grin at me. “For Summer?”
“No,” I growled. “This one’s for me.”
I ripped his soul out of his chest and watched the light die in his eyes before his body turned to ash.
Silence fell over the camp before me. I looked up and saw hundreds had gathered at the edge of the camp to watch our fight. With their monarch dead, they had a choice to make. They could honor the bargain Kellas and I had struck, or they could attack. Blood seeped from wounds in my back, arms, legs, and face. Some of the cuts were deep enough I didn’t think I should move. If they decided to attack, I couldn’t do anything to stop them.
Unable to stand, I fell to my knees. Declan and Athdar rushed to help me up, but I waved them away. “Your king is dead,” I announced, still trying to catch my breath. “I killed Kellas. I killed Nyx. If you’re not going to kill me right here and right now, the Shadow Court had better not get any stupid ideas about revenge in the future. This ends here, today. One way or another.”
No one in the camp moved.
“Good,” I grunted and collapsed into the mud.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next things I remembered were a blur. Grass passed under me, the tall blades tickling my fingers. I remember wondering why it was red instead of green, but then Faerie was a strange place.
Indistinguishable voices murmured behind me, voices that belonged to people who couldn’t be in Faerie.
“She’s beautiful,” said Emma. “What’s her name?”
“She’s repulsive.” Morningstar. If I didn’t die, I’d kill him for saying that.
“Her name is Remy.” I didn’t recognize the voice. It was distorted because some asshole wouldn’t stop taking wet, raspy breaths. It must’ve been Beth, though. She was the only one I’d told that to.
“You have to make a decision now. In an hour, it will be too late.” Morningstar again. What the hell was he talking about? What decision?