Palace of Silver (The Nissera Chronicles #3) - Hannah West Page 0,135
and sinking deep. The shots from the trees were thinning out, clearing a way for me to duck and run to the pile of bodies without fearing friendly fire. I collected stray arrows from the snow on my way.
Approaching the heap of bodies in chain mail, I dropped to one knee and slid my bow off to load an arrow.
The cavalry tried to break through the ranks of struggling foot soldiers, many of whom were fleeing back toward the city. I couldn’t blame them; Glisette and Tilmorn made a fearful sight, their elicrin stones as bright as stars behind the gray curtain of misty rain, their spells discarding enemies like pieces on a game board.
I blinked the rain from my eyes and stretched my bowstring, aiming for the frontrunner of the cavalry, who steered his horse around the disorganized groups of foot soldiers. The commander had explained that the army’s chain mail could be penetrated with enough force and precision.
My elicrin gift wrapped around my ligaments and muscles like warm fibers. I closed my eyes to release the arrow, trusting my magic to take over.
When I opened my eyes, the leader of the cavalry toppled off his horse in a spray of blood. My shot had struck true.
But before I managed to secure another arrow, a hard force hit my side and flattened me on the ground.
It was an enemy warrior. An arrow protruded from his left shoulder, but his right fist wound back to strike me in the face.
“Sokek sinna,” I rasped, erecting the glimmering shield just in time for him to break his hand on its solid surface. He shouted and clambered off of me. I let down my shield and leapt to my feet, but he had already grabbed a nearby sword and slashed at my thigh, splitting the skin. I yelped and clamped down on the wound, nearly losing my wits before I used the slashing spell to tear the flesh across his throat. He gurgled for breath and collapsed.
I limped to retrieve my bow and arrow, looking for something to bind up the gaping wound. But I needed to slow down this cavalry before it was too late. Screaming through my teeth, I dropped to my knees to take cover again, my hands shaking as I nocked another arrow.
Someone gripped my shoulder, and in the dizzying clamor and confusion, I saw Mercer leaning over me, rain dripping from his face and hair. His bone-white eye served as a devastating reminder that even triumph didn’t prevent us from carrying battle scars for the rest of our lives, both outside and in.
Mercer tore a piece of his black tunic and said, “Just until Tilmorn can get to you.”
I nodded and accepted the strip of wool, knotting it tight around the open cut. Mercer sprinted to join Tilmorn at the front lines.
When I looked up, the other elicromancers had wiped out half of the foot soldiers and the cavalry was charging. Pain somehow sharpened my focus, and I took out one mounted fighter after another, my aim consistently truer than any mortal’s could have been—although I would have done a fine job as a mortal. Sev joined me behind the barricade of bodies, his wet face and hands streaked with blood. He abandoned the crossbow for a longbow and took several shots that synchronized with mine and struck accurately most of the time, although he did hit horse instead of rider twice.
Finally, Ambrosine’s army broke up enough to allow hope that this battle might end soon, at least as far as mortals were concerned. These soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Glisette could probably drive most of the remaining men away with another torrential snowstorm.
But there was Ambrosine to contend with, and maybe even Mathis. I knew which side had better odds; five elicromancers versus two was almost a sure bet for us, especially considering Mathis’s and Ambrosine’s elicromancy restrictions. But with Nexantius involved, it was more complicated. I had no idea what would happen next.
As the army thinned out, I glimpsed Ambrosine at the rear of the procession. She rode a black warhorse and wore scant metal armor that revealed too much of her ivory flesh to offer any protection. Glorious blond braids whipped behind her, wet from the snowstorm, and even from afar I caught flashes of silver in her eyes.
She drew closer, and those flashes became swirling streaks, spilling over every bit of exposed flesh to coat her contours in intricate designs of reflective metal.