Death Wind (Elven Alliance #3) - Tara Grayce Page 0,89
by five other trolls. Next to Weylind, Averett held an elven shield and fended off a troll swinging a mace. The trolls pushed back both the elven and Escarlish royal guards, isolating Weylind and Averett.
King Charvod swung a large, two-handed sword, iced over with magic. Weylind gave a step, but a rock heaved from the ground, tripping him. He raised a hand, a root shooting up to block the sword’s swing.
But the root was too small, too weak here in the rocky, icy ground of Kostaria. King Charvod’s sword sliced through the root and continued its arc, aimed at Weylind’s head.
Farrendel gathered a fistful of power and thrust it forward. A bolt of magic cracked across the courtyard, slicing through King Charvod and punching out a section of the stone wall behind him. King Charvod’s limp body fell to the ground even as the wall crumbled with a roar, falling into the gorge below.
Far too much satisfaction burned alongside the magic in Farrendel’s chest. King Charvod was dead. He would never pin another elf to the ground and fill them so full of stone they could not move or breathe with the pain of it. Never again.
Magic built around Farrendel as he strode forward. He let it pour from him in waves, crackling on the ground and bursting in the gathering clouds above. He swept away the rest of the trolls around Weylind and Averett, along with more of the wall.
More, ever more magic. It hurt in his chest, his bones, yet still it came. And he let it, sinking into the magic more than he ever had before.
He stalked closer to Prince Rharreth, blasting aside any troll that attempted to stop him. He halted a few feet from the troll prince, his fingers dripping magic. “You will never hurt me or any of my family ever again.”
Sweat beaded on Prince Rharreth’s forehead as he strained against Farrendel’s magic. The troll prince had gathered his magic enough to push Farrendel’s magic a foot away from his body, but no farther. He met Farrendel’s gaze and held it. “Is that it, then? You’re going to kill me?”
Farrendel flexed his fingers, bolts of power twining up his arms. It was temping to take his magic and drive it through Prince Rharreth’s chest.
But the troll prince was pinned, helpless. And he had treated Farrendel with far more honor than his brother had.
Instead, Farrendel poured more magic into the troll prince’s restraints, his magic sizzling the ice into nothing. “Surrender. We are no longer in Tarenhiel or Escarland. I do not care if I tear the very bedrock of your kingdom.”
“No.” The veins along Prince Rharreth’s neck bulged, and a wave of power surged around him. Back at the Escarlish border, the troll prince’s magic had been formidable. Then, Farrendel had cared if he burnt himself up with power or if he destroyed all of Escarland by unleashing more power than he could control.
But not here. Here Farrendel just bared his teeth and let the last of his iron control drop. Magic roiled into the air. The ground shook, cracks spiderwebbing jagged lines across the courtyard.
Behind him, Farrendel could sense Essie and her brothers as they stumbled out of the door of the passageway, safely clear of the dungeon tunnels.
Farrendel poured his magic into the ground. It groaned as his magic tore through stone and the magic the trolls had embedded into their fortress. He coated each and every dungeon tunnel, wrapping his magic through the stones that had once held him captive.
A few troll soldiers remained inside the fortress, but no elves or humans. And no noncombatants that Farrendel could sense.
Clenching his fists, Farrendel let his magic tear out the foundations of Gror Grar. A whirlwind of lightning-blue magic whipped around him before he blasted it at the remains of the fortress.
With a mighty groan and the rumble of stone, Gror Grar collapsed, its walls and towers falling into the gorge around the mountain it had been built on. Portions of the mountain crumbled, the stones lit blue and shattered with Farrendel’s magic.
Dust filled the air, even as Farrendel’s magic crackled through each mote of dust, swirling into storm clouds rumbling with magic in the sky above.
Pinned to the one remaining wall of Gror Grar, Prince Rharreth had stilled, his eyes wide.
Farrendel growled and stabbed a bolt of power through Prince Rharreth’s shoulder. “Surrender.”
Prince Rharreth flinched and cried out. He gritted his teeth and glared at Farrendel. Magic pulsed around his fingers, but