on us like a swarm of locusts.
“Stay together!” Tor shouts, as he lashes out at one of the forsaken, his axe slashing clean through his neck and chest. Naril is using a short sword, his fae speed making it difficult for me to keep up with his movements, while Vaeril uses daggers to stab his foes.
“Remember, they’re already dead, they feel no pain. To kill them, you have to sever the head from the neck,” Naril instructs, his voice smooth, even as he ducks and battles one of the forsaken, not sounding at all out of breath. The others make noises of agreement while I stand in the middle, clutching my staff and feeling helpless, wishing there was something I could do. After all, this is my fault. The queen sent the forsaken here because of me.
Tor cries out, and I spin to see him fighting with a fierce-looking forsaken, the blade of the axe buried into its chest, but it doesn’t seem to affect him in any way. Tor tries to pull it out, but the forsaken grins and grabs onto the shaft, starting a tug-of-war for the weapon. With my heart in my chest, I leap forward, jabbing the pointed end of my staff against the forsaken’s chest with just enough force that he lets go of the axe. With an almighty heave, Tor removes it from the creature’s chest and swings, cleaving its head from its neck. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he gives me a quick, feral grin. “I fucking love you.” I grin back at him. Sure, I’m covered in blood and grime, but right now, I don’t care. His expression shifts, and he gestures for me to move. “Now get back.”
I’m not sure how long this goes on for, but there are too many of them. Where one falls, two more appear, and I start to fear that we might not make it out of here. But from the distance, I begin to hear a strange roaring, and the sounds of battle grow closer as a triumphant bellow echoes off the mountains around us. Tor returns the hollering sound, his face stretched into a grin as tattooed, painted warriors appear from behind the tents, jumping on the forsaken and taking them down. We are still hugely outnumbered, but we might now stand a chance.
“Sorry we were late, Torsten. These bastards don’t know how to die!” one of the tribesmen from the tent we had met earlier calls out, as he swings a huge, carved sword at one of the forsaken. Blood splatters across his chest in the process, only making his grin even larger.
“You just couldn’t stand the thought of the elves getting more kills than you!” Tor goads, as he pulls his axe from another body. The sweat and blood of the forsaken covers his now bare chest, his jacket lost in the fighting. The two of them stop their bickering as another wave of forsaken arrives, descending on us out of nowhere. A tingling sensation falls over me, landing on my skin like a thousand tiny ants are crawling all over me. Gazing around, I try to work out why I feel so strange.
Look up.
The words are whispered in my mind, and I can’t tell if they’re from the Mother or my own subconscious, but I’m powerless to resist. Looking up, I follow the feeling and see that Kaelir is watching me from the side, and as if the goddess planned it herself, there’s a clear pathway that would lead me straight to him. I know I shouldn’t go, Tor said to stick together, and I know it could be a trap, but I just have this feeling that I need to try and save him. They’ll try to stop me, and with good reason, so I have to do this fast, even though it feels like I’m betraying them with each step.
Go to him.
My wrist glows as the goddess’s words echo in my mind. So, gathering all the courage I have, I run through the gap in the battle before I lose my nerve.
“Clarissa! No!” Vaeril shouts, panic ringing out in his voice as he immediately tries to follow me, cursing as the gap closes and bodies collide in a clash of metal and limbs. My companions try to reach me, but a wall of forsaken keeps them away. My heart breaks a little when I feel Vaeril lose control of his feral fae side, tearing into anybody who comes