Chapter Five
Kell sat once more at her favorite vantage point, overlooking the tundra, where the undead army planned to march across in a week’s time, to begin their pincer attack from two sides of the Fractured City.
Mixed feelings plagued her. On one hand, she understood the logic behind raising the undead, even if the thought of such powerful and destructive magic crawled under her skin. On the other, it still felt wrong, to look into their glowing blue eyes, to see the rows of them standing side by side in silent vigil.
The total number of undead under Erlandur’s control and Yarrow’s respectively, since she too wielded the bones of the guardian, was forty-six thousand.
Still below the Fractured City’s numbers, but close enough to deal real damage if they took them by surprise. The City now barely had twice their number, as opposed to four or five times as much.
Loras glided beside her, bound in his human form, placing a hand upon her shoulder. She leaned into his touch, happy for it, but also sad.
“I’m going tonight to inform the resistance in the underbelly that we secured our objective. This might be our last time together for a while. You’ll stay upon the Island, yes?” His yellow eyes examined her with warmth, and she flicked a strand of lustrous brown hair back.
“I don’t know. I feel like my powers might be better suited to help your friends out. But I’m not happy with the fact you did this. Even if it’s good intentions. So much might have gone wrong. If you guys never managed to find control of them, we’d have an Island overrun by the angry undead. And your precious plans to conquer the Fractured City would be nothing but dust. Some things should be left alone.”
Loras nodded, not bothering to contradict her. “I agree with you. I just didn’t see us gaining the numbers any place else. And everyone seemed so confident in Erlandur, you know? “
“I don’t.” Kell shook her head, kissing his stubbled cheek, running her fingers over his jaw. “He’s not my leader. Neither is Helena. But I’ll help because of you. You’re genuine, you know?”
The werewolf’s eyes dilated slightly, and he kissed her neck, and she pressed her back against the glowing blue bark of an evergreen tree, sighing.
“Did you ever leave your homeland much, Kell? Have you seen the world, apart from your pilgrimage and a little bit of the Lunar Wastes?”
“No. Not really. This has been my world for a long time. The quiet. The spirits. Telling our stories to the travelers, about the long ago, when the Wastes used to be an oasis of green and a land of paradise, and the world was a much bigger place, a better place. The most exciting thing that happens is when we get visitors. At least, until this little event happened.”
Loras let out a choking laugh. “Right. And we only had to defile the graves thousands of heroes to do so.”
“Yes. I’m not happy with your lot.” Kell closed her eyes, thinking back to the years of her life, how gray and dull they seemed.
“I’ve not lived the most exciting life, either,” Loras confessed. “You’d think living in the Fractured Spine is a good place to get some action, because we’re so close to the city, but it’s not all that it’s lived up to be. Our defenses are usually sound. Most who want action try to go on long patrols around the Wastelands, visiting other tribes to either forge alliances, or to seek out any women past the borders. We don’t get so many.”
“Really?” Kell now placed her hands under his robes, brushing against his smooth, lightly haired skin, enjoying the rough texture against her palm. “Maybe you should come to Crescent Island more often. We have a lot of women here.”
“You’re all weird star readers on the wrong side of the map,” Loras said with a wry smile. Kell smiled back at him.
All things considered, she liked the werewolf. In the short time they shared together after the rising of the dead, she made a lot of excuses to go and visit him, just so she could take in the scent of his animal musk, and enjoy the soft rumble of his voice, the piercing gaze of his yellow eyes and the wonderful muscle structure he hid under the robes that kept him warm at night, when he didn’t resort to wolf form.
None of the elders in Crescent Island wanted to associate with these people anymore, but given that they control an army of forty thousand ruthless undead, it was best not to aggravate them further – even if they did destroy the entire homeland and most of the history buried under its surface.
Loras, at least, cared. They talked, they shared, they learned to love the world and the moment a little better, instead of losing it in the future of the stars, or over the sadness of a past that seemed dull and devoid of color.
Loras kissed her under the evergreen tree, his cold lips warming up against hers, his fingers hot against her skin, seeking out her heat and her thudding heart.
“I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t die,” Kell said, grinning. “I’ll lift you above the mess and we’ll fly away when needed.”
He smiled at her as well. “Maybe we can go live on a mountain or something. Less likely to be bothered up there, on the side away from the Fractured City.”
“Maybe,” she said, though they both knew the only place for them right now was the oncoming war.
The battle of their lifetimes.
Kell began kissing him in earnest, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as she drank in everything about him. Their hands dipped under each other’s robes, and in the chill morning, they clung to one another, making sure no warmth was lost.
“Stay with me,” Loras whispered into her ear, his hot breath sending spikes of pleasure through her spine. She lipped at his nose, before kissing him again, allowing her tongue to probe out and touch his.
They did attempt to take off clothes, but one jab of the cold air made Kell squeak, and Loras pulled down her robed shirt again with a laugh, nuzzling into her neck with a cold nose.
She tugged at his pants, cheeks burning in desire, eyes wide in lust. His big rough hands soothed her, and he now nibbled at her neck, before sucking at the soft flesh there. She felt his hardness press against her thigh and spread her legs to accommodate him better. She rubbed against him, moaning, and he groaned as well, aroused by the sound and her eagerness to take him.
She finally pulled down his pants enough to allow his erection to spring free, and he ripped at hers, exposing enough for him to be able to slide into her core, noting how easily she took him in.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she tilted her body backwards, gripping onto his shoulders hard as he moved in and out, keeping up the steady motion. She was already near enough to popping even before he’d started, since she anticipated him intensely, desperately, craving the intimate contact.
The cold became unnoticeable as the area around them heated up. Their cheeks flushed, hazed in arousal, and their heartbeats pulsed faster, pumping the blood to every extremity and tingling them from head to toe. The orgasm roared inside her, unrolling with a deadly force, like a shipwreck, as he continued thrusting inside her, close to climaxing himself. As her body shuddered and convulsed, he came shortly afterwards with a long, gasping moan, stiffening, before he extracted himself from her and helped roll up their pants again.
They cuddled together a while longer, happy to have experienced this moment together, even if the way they met at the start came with some deception in it.
One way or another, the shape of Kell’s home had been changed by the resistance’s plans, dragging the dead out of their graves. Though it was just their bodies or bones, it still felt wrong, somewhere.
But hopefully, once they finished their deed, they’d be allowed to rest again.
The difference between Yarrow and Erlandur remained in the fact Erlandur could permanently control something. Yarrow’s energies exhausted over time.
The resistance had a real, dangerous weapon in him.
Kell suspected her primary duty if she got involved in the war would be to protect Erlandur, so he kept his iron grip upon the undead, and sent them howling into the Fractured City, to vanquish the Shadows once and for all.
Well, not all the Shadows.
Her mouth pursed as she considered Helena, with the contradictory ability to use ice magic. It must cause her pain each time she went through with it.
Maybe she expected to die.
Maybe she’d seen too much, lived too long, and wanted things to end.
Loras kissed Kell on the top of her head, letting out a sigh. “Wanna come with me tomorrow instead? You can ride on my back and I’ll carry you.”
Kell contemplated his offer, before nodding.
“I will. I just need to go and speak to my mother and father, make sure they’re okay. Then I’ll come with you.”
“Good.” He lightly brushed under her chin. “I find I don’t want to leave your side. I never had much of a reason to care beyond my duties and protecting my family. I feel… better. Knowing that when I do something, I can expect to see you there with me as well.”
She smiled. I understand. “Oh, don’t worry. You won’t be losing me just yet.”
Together, they looked across the blizzard-laden tundra.
Tonight, they’d be making their way across the vast, lonely expanse, to pass the message of success onto the resistance.
One week later, the battle would begin.
Kell hoped she and Loras would live long enough to make it to the mountains afterwards.
The End
Malek’s Rescue
Guardians of Lunar Wasteland
Book 7
The Final Battle
Chapter One – Geraline
Darkness awaited them, in the form of a long sewage tunnel. A tiny glint of fear settled in Geraline's heart. She stood vigil with the werewolves of Ghost Lake and Dreadwood, eyes staring into the dark twists of the Shadow walkway ahead. The tunnel extended almost all the way across the Lunar Wastes, allowing her hated foes a method to navigate past the cold. The tunnels were too vast to be collapsed or blocked effectively. Even if they tried, by the time they caved in the entire network, the battle for the Fractured City might likely be over.
That was, if the Shadows didn't catch them in the act first and annihilate their small army.
Geraline's best friend, Faith, stood beside her, calmly polishing her weapon. Although Faith wore armor, it was light, allowing her full movement, since her ability made it almost pointless to wear any kind of protection at all.
Alyssa, now fully armored by Raine's enchantments, stood head to toe in black, cursed armor. Geraline chewed her lip, admiring for a moment how well decked out they were. Many werewolves, though not all, wore battle armor, requiring them to be bound to their animal forms.
Behind Faith was Yarrow of Dreadwood, along with the Surpreme known as Jael, a grumpier and older version of Helena. The rest of the witches lent themselves to the two main attacking forces – Erlandur's undead army, closing in from the west, and the werewolf southbound attack. All the leaders of each werewolf clan, along with their descendants, led the movement.
Geraline played absently with a strand of reddish brown hair dangling from the front of her head, staring around at their small fighting force, which held the perceived chokehold of the underground tunnels. Five hundred of them had been broken from the main assault of around twenty thousand or more werewolves, to defend against the things that had been discovered lurking there.
Everyone stood, wary but ready, knowing that right now, the battle upon the Fractured City had started.
“Even with that undead army,” Geraline said, touching Faith upon the shoulder, her ringmail armor rattling, “we're still outnumbered. Even with all our preparation. I'm scared we'll lose this.”
Faith turned her dark gaze upon Geraline, and her lips curved into a wry smile, as she clasped Geraline's hand. “It's true. Even with everything we have, it's still a huge gamble we're taking. It's just a shame we couldn't get more clans to join us.”
“I was the only one of my clan to go,” a deep voice interjected. Geraline's gaze shifted from Faith to the speaker, and a shiver infected her senses. It belonged to the werewolf she'd been eyeing up for the past few weeks, though she'd never gotten the courage to talk to him. She wondered what clan he hailed from, since his markings indicated nothing obvious. In his werewolf form, his fur shone with a peculiar pattern – black stripes upon dark orange fur, similar to a tiger from the jungles of the deep south, where Geraline had ventured only once in her lifetime.
“Strange,” Faith said. “I thought you might be a Dreadwood.”
“He's not,” Yarrow answered lazily, yawning, eyes constantly flickering towards the shadows of the tunnel. The black veins of her curse upon her arms drew Geraline's attention for a moment. Holding this point so far proved to be a boring task, but they all knew it might be one of the most vital, since if an invasion poured through here, the surprise from being flanked might decimate their army before it even got started. The Dreadwood witch grinned to herself when a tiny flicker of electricity rippled over her palm.
“I am Malek of Moonclaw.” The red haired werewolf gave a short bow, clearly admiring Geraline's reddish brown hair as well. “We are a fairly large clan, though smaller than Lunehill.”
“Ah, yes,” the werewolf known as Vrin said, his eyes narrowing. “I recall many of your warriors refused the call, thinking it a colossal waste of time. I was the envoy.”
Malek gave a shrug. “We are mistrustful, and too focused on surviving to care about what goes beyond our borders.” Geraline admired briefly his solid, noble face, the radiant aura about his body. A strong werewolf, she sensed. Strong to go against his tribe's wishes.
“So why you?” Yarrow asked, before accepting the dried meat from Faith, who had fished them out of her bag to pass around. “What made you join the effort, when it was against the wishes of your family?”
Malek's eyes flickered with something dark and unfathomable for a second, before he swallowed it into a mask of neutrality. “We never really got on. You could say I thought my tribe's policy of 'do nothing' got on my nerves. We claim to be a proud and ancient clan, but we won't even give other people the time of day.”
Geraline examined him sharply. “You were exiled, weren't you?”
Malek nodded at her. “Yes. All the more reason to follow the call.”
“Blasted moon,” Faith said. “Well. I'm glad you chose to come. Every single person here helps. I know we were super disappointed when the larger clans refused the call. We could have easily had another thirty thousand or so werewolves to our numbers, if everyone chose to come. The odds would be better.”
“Yeah, well,” Yarrow growled, her trademark moodiness seeping into her face. “We deal with what we got.”
“You Dreadwood types are so dour,” Vrin said, a huge smirk on his lips as she attempted to swat him.
“Don't you feel lonely?” Geraline said, looking into the Moonclaw werewolf's eyes, dark yellow with flecks of gold. She patted her side for the food she'd prepared earlier, a smattering of nuts and hardy plants the wastelands had produced.
“Sometimes.”
Geraline nodded thoughtfully. Her gaze shifted to the Supreme in their company, Jael, who appeared bored with the topic of conversation. Her gaze was permanently fixed upon the tunnels, waiting for the first hint of danger.
“Why don't we just go in and catch them off guard?” A werewolf asked, as he rubbed his hands nervously.
Jael flicked a contemptuous stare his direction. The Supreme held no humor in her tightly coiled body. “This is the main entrance. If we go deeper into the tunnels, they branch off into different areas. We risk being surrounded, and we're already outnumbered as we are. You realize we're meant to die here, right?”
An anxious silence fell over Jael's biting words. Then, Malek spoke, his voice deep and rumbling. Geraline focused on the tuft of red hair on his chin, the pale and freckled skin. “It would be more practical to hold our position until it's too obviously lost. Then we should retreat.”
“Not to mention that in the tunnel, there's nothing to stop them coming through all the walls from all directions. We may as well suicide,” Faith pointed out.
Geraline sighed, stamping her feet upon the snows that surrounded the entrance into the cave. The embankment and angle of their location meant they couldn't directly see the results of the battle, and how soon the Shadows had realized they were under serious siege. The enemy knew something was coming – if what happened to Erlandur's scouting party held any indication – but they didn't know enough to understand the full extent of the invasion. Hopefully.
Faith twiddled with her sword, and Geraline knew her best friend was anxious about Erlandur, probably almost as much as Erlandur felt about her, guarding this dangerous chokehold, where the monsters lay imprisoned in their cells, waiting to be unleashed.
Geraline knew her powers to be strong. Fire mages had a tendency to be quite destructive in their abilities. However, she'd just recently mastered one of the hardest spells a fire mage could learn – the Eternal Flame. Everlasting fire to warm them through the endless cold. Though using it in this context right now would be worse than useless.
Loaded with additional enchantments, Geraline wondered how long their small fighting force might hold out against any surprise invasions. Slowly, with Faith quirking an eyebrow and grinning at her best friend, Geraline sauntered over to Malek, which of course drew his attention.
She certainly wanted it. Close up, she admired his features, the bristles upon his face, the fiery red hair, a rarity in the wastelands. Her last partner hadn't been serious with her. He didn't want to be mated to a witch, to someone who might conceivably be more powerful than him. Despite the close bond witches and werewolves held, it didn't mean all of them liked it. It cracked her heart, and made her wary of relationships. Didn't stop her from pursuing affection when she could. Just nothing permanent. Nothing binding. Nothing that might break her heart further.
Especially since they might all be dead in a matter of hours.
The sun dipped low in the sky, beginning to convert the land into its long blanket of night.
“You look sad. What's your name, witch?” Malek stepped beside her, his yellow eyes soft.
“Geraline. And yes, before you ask, I hate the name. But my mother thinks it's the best name she's ever come up with.”
He chuckled, before glancing up to the blushing sky with her. A little bit of warmth in this cold world went a long way. He didn't seem averse to company. She wondered if he craved it, being alone, without the support of his clan. Geraline couldn't imagine being exiled from Ghost Lake. People were meant to belong somewhere. Her heart twanged in sympathy, and the tension between them wrapped tight, as if she could reach out and touch it.
“There's a lot of things I wanted to do,” Geraline said, mind now reflecting upon them. Such as exploring the world. Adventuring through the jungles of the deep south, and exploring the city of Fordrun, supposedly the biggest city in the world, and the jewel of the south. At least, until she'd seen the size of the Fractured City. The Fractured City dragged everyone down into the darkness it offered. The Shadows lived here, and the few humans that did dwell here acted craven under the iron fist of the ruling elite.
“Maybe you still can,” Malek said. “It's not a given that we’re all to die. There is hope we will win. Otherwise we wouldn't be here. And, well... I wouldn't mind seeing some things myself.” He chewed his lip absently. “I've known nothing but the Lunar Wastes, and the sparse grounds of my clan. Perhaps you can show me.”
Geraline allowed her lips to twitch into a grin. “It's a date.” Realizing what she'd just said, her cheeks flushed close to her hair color. “Uh...”
“Alright,” he said, not giving her a chance to take back her words. “I concur. Might be nice to have something to look forward to afterwards...” he let his fingers gently caress her hair. Though the smile illuminated his face, Geraline caught a deep sadness there, too. One that spoke volumes to her, of someone who had fully expected to come here and die.
He took his exile hard, I think.
A bolt of heat struck her senses, though the feeling quickly dispelled when Jael let out a hiss.
“I sense incoming. The tunnels are teeming with activity.”
“Wait, what? You can sense them?” Vrin stared at Jael, who gave him a withering look.
“I'm a Supreme. Of course I sense them. And no, before you ask your next stupid question – I can't control ones that are under the direct control of someone else. Otherwise us four renegade Supremes could have taken the city by ourselves. But we're against thousands of other Supremes, so it's not going to happen.”
“Oh.” Vrin scowled. “No need to be like that.”
“That's where I come in,” Yarrow said. “I can control those under another's influence. Just not so many at a time.” She then held up her fingers, and electricity licked about them. “And I've learned to access my former magic, which is nice. I missed this.”
“Enough chatter,” Faith barked. “Everyone, prepare!” She danced on the spot, eager to fight. Geraline gulped. Her friend was completely in her element. With her amazing talent, she'd be comfortable on the frontline, worth ten of anyone, and a solid choice for a dangerous defense. Jael began charging up her magical ability, which Geraline understood was a sticking essence. Around them, Jael could freeze the movement of anyone within a certain radius. A possible game changing ability for the fight ahead, when it came to being outnumbered.
Geraline closed her eyes after Malek morphed into his striped wolf form, which stood at shoulder height next to her. She took deep breaths, trying to empty her mind for the battle. No attachments. No fears. She needed to be efficient, like her best friend. Deadly and merciless, if they were to win this war. The enchanted amulets and bracelets she wore under her light armor crackled with energy, providing her with five, six times more than the magical energy her body contained.
She began charging up her fire.
“Let Geraline and Yarrow focus on the long range,” Faith said, whilst Jael nodded, not bothering to talk, content to let Faith lead. Vrin nodded, and he morphed, snarling as the first of the Shadows rumbled through the tunnel.
For a moment, Geraline gaped, paralyzed in shock. She'd never seen Shadows like this before. Monstrosities of twisted shapes and ominously glowing blue eyes – similar to the thing Echo controlled, but far more misshapen. Some topped over five meters in height. Their auras gave a sickening taint to the atmosphere – but Yarrow lashed out without hesitation.
Suddenly, ten of the Shadows had now turned on the others, scratching and clawing recklessly. Geraline fired off twin balls of flame, adding a little bit of her explosive speciality to them, so that the tunnels erupted in noise, and her flame bombs lit up the darkness.
Yarrow, possibly out of boredom, or possibly because it was more effective for her, alternated between possession and lightning bolts, usually interspersed between Geraline's flames.
The world around them rapidly descended into chaos.
“Remember, don't waste your magic when they get into close range!” Jael screamed above the noise, and Geraline saw the sticking effect apply to the first wave of monsters that made it past their barrage. The werewolves made quick, easy game of them. But once Jael's magic ran out, it would be far closer to a free for all clash of teeth and swords and Shadows.
Geraline's heart thundered in her chest, and the adrenalin kicked in, now she had a face to her enemy. The blue eyed monsters seemed to possess no intelligence of their own, they just pressed on, triggering Jael's magic in their dozens. It quickly became obvious to everyone there that the sheer numbers of the Shadows far outreached their position.
“Just as well we were sent here,” Jael shouted, her cold eyes fixed on the swarm, still focusing upon her magic. Vrin and Malek leaped between Shadows, their teeth ripping through them like paper. “Looks like the assault on the Fractured City's gaining ground if they're responding this heavily. Might have been a disaster if we didn't know about this.”
Alyssa, on the edge of Jael's spell with the other werewolves, pirouetted on the spot, slashing through three Shadows at once with her ancient blade. It was clear her armor was well designed, fitting in with her movements. She retreated for a moment to wipe her brow, speaking to Geraline. “I have a horrible feeling we won't be able to hold this for so much longer. They're coming out on the sides now. They're flanking.” She pointed towards the mass of Shadows oozing through the snow, slowly spreading across, though the main concentration still funnelled through the dark, warm tunnels, the path of least resistance for the Shadows.
Geraline grunted, lobbing more firebombs, choosing to focus her efforts on the largest concentration of Shadows rather than the outliers. Her skull began to throb with pain. She instantly began tapping into one of her amulets, holding to give her body time to recharge, so she could squeeze out more energy.
“Stay within the spell!” Faith yelled, repeating the order over and over until the werewolves got the hint, and the more reckless of them edged off from the entrance, which allowed more Shadows to scramble out.
Yarrow continued flinging black lightning bolts towards the enemy, before in a wave of concentration, she got about fifty of them to turn on their brethren. Geraline panted in dismay when she saw that the Shadows from the tunnels now outnumbered the five hundred strong defense line by at least four times the number. Fire bombs were the most cost efficient spell she could muster. Flamethrowers required a lot of energy to maintain, and wild fire spells required the enemies to not crumble into ashes after they died. Why, if the Shadows just died like any other living person, Geraline might just be the deadliest weapon here.
Alyssa slammed her visor back on and returned to the frontline, the edge of Jael's sticking radius. Faith danced there as well, taking on the largest and most terrifying of the amorphous monsters.
Even with the food supplies in the heart of their group, it became increasingly clear to Geraline they wouldn't last. It boiled down essentially to Jael and Yarrow, who easily influenced the battle the most. Within an hour of battle, they had run out of the spare amulet stash that lay with their food supplies, and were down to the enchantments they wore on their bodies. The Shadows now swarmed them from every angle, groping out of the ground. Several hundred as well ignored them altogether, and Geraline and Yarrow needed to focus on letting as few of them escape as possible, though some still made it past.
“If we had any runners to keep replenishing the amulets, we might be able to last longer,” Geraline said, lobbing another firebomb towards a thick enemy mass. “Otherwise I might have to give you some of my amulets, Jael. It's clear you're what's stopping them overwhelm us.”
As if in answer to her prayers, Geraline spotted someone from behind their position drifting to them from the air, with several large bags floating around them.
Kell. The Crescent Islander glided into their midst a few moments later, and bags of amulets clanged onto the ground.
“Courtesy of Raine and her enchanting gang,” Kell said, her voice low and gentle. “I can't stay, I need to do the same for the southern army. Good luck.”
“Moon bless you, child!” Jael said, as Kell drifted quickly away from them, heading towards the weapons stash they kept in the underbelly.
“Once this supply runs out, we should begin a tactical retreat,” Jael said. “There's no point having us die when we can live. I'm agreeing with the werewolf”
“Me, too,” Geraline said, nodding, scooping some of the new amulets up and siphoning the magic from them, so she kept up her barrage against the Shadows. She incinerated large groups at a time, sometimes pausing between spells to allow them to cluster again. Yarrow did better spread damage with her bolts and her possessions, and all the fighters upon the rings kept tearing into the motionless enemy as they froze in Jael's web.
It occurred to Geraline that if the Shadows didn't crumble like they did when defeated, they might have been overwhelmed a while back simply due to the mounting pile of bodies pushing in.
Even despite their near perfect defense, some werewolves fell to the Shadows, caught by unlucky swipes, or overstepping their bounds in their battles. Every single number on their side counted, and every last fall made Geraline wince. Slowly, the mass of Shadows whittled away at them.
Faith came back, panting, grabbing some of the amulets. The snow beneath churned into slush and mud, and the werewolves kept baying as they danced and took down the enemies that got too close, and Yarrow picked off stragglers who bypassed their fortification altogether.
Like this, with the war of attrition, their numbers would just be gradually depleted into nothingness.
Ten werewolves dead. Eleven. Deep into the night, and almost all the way through one of the four supply bags, the odd warrior took a break off the scene of battle to drink and eat, and Geraline calculated that they'd lost about fifty werewolves now, whilst having killed at least five thousand of the monstrosities. A shame the numbers here didn't count for the estimated numbers of the Fractured City.
Geraline kept her eyes on Malek, seeing how the lone wolf fared. He fought like the rest, with unbridled ferocity, ripping into their hated foe.
“Something's not right,” Yarrow hissed, even as she flicked off more lightning, electrocuting a dozen Shadows at once. “I feel a pervasive aura on the Shadows I'm trying to control now.”
“Great!” Geraline said in a chirpy voice, though her face remained sour. “Just what I wanted to hear. Complications. Love them.”
“It was bound to happen,” Jael said, her blue eyes scanning the environment, though it was hard to see in the darkness. “Watch me. I think some of the Supremes are coming to see why their tunnel army isn't making it past the tunnels.”
Geraline nodded. She'd expected as much. No competent army would allow their troops to go unaided for so long without wondering what in sun and moon was happening. She glanced amongst the werewolves, checking on Malek, making sure he lived.
The effort they put into this was monumental. Something any nation would be proud of.
Just a shame it felt like it didn't matter how many fireballs Geraline slung at the enemy. More appeared in their place, an endless swarm that promised to slaughter them. “Yarrow!” Jael screamed – but it wasn't Yarrow who saved her. It was Faith, who in a blur of movement, shoved Jael and Geraline aside – just in time to avoid two glinting rocks that had smashed into the ground where they stood just a fraction of a second before.
“They're here,” Faith said.
Six Supremes surveyed the battle, their faces indecipherable from this distance. One continued spitting the rocks, another flung fireballs like Geraline – and the other three flared out with bolts of lightning. The sixth appeared to be doing nothing.
“I need to change the focus of the spell. I can't unstick anymore,” Jael warned. No sooner had she said that, then the Shadows around them began pressing in earnest, no longer frozen useless. Instead, it seemed Jael had transferred her energy to freezing the Supreme projectiles. Geraline started flinging more fireballs, and she frowned when they bounced off the sixth one's shield.
Yarrow screamed, snaking out her lightning to crackle along the shield, revealing an electrical dome above the six Supremes.
“Geraline! Help the werewolves!” Faith now dashed towards the Supremes.
No, Geraline thought. “Be careful!”
“I'm always careful!”
With Yarrow focusing on the shield, and Jael stopping the projectiles, the werewolves were falling in earnest. Faith was right. They needed her help.
Geraline spat her fireballs at the Shadows, now realizing she needed to pick up her pace. Soon her hands pumped out the fire, draining her energy at a frightening rate. She saw dozens of werewolves falling, and her heart leaped into her throat. Oh no.
She chanced a glance back, and saw Faith had killed the shield Supreme, and Yarrow's lightning did the rest. One managed to survive Yarrow's voltage, but with one slicing swoop from Faith, it dissolved.
More Supremes appeared. Jael groaned. “I can't do both. I'm sorry.” The Supreme's eyes crinkled in alarm.
Faith instantly ran for the other Supremes, before she cursed. One Supreme leaped to meet her, swords clashing – and to Geraline's horror, she saw that Faith couldn't chop through the defense – leaving her vulnerable upon the field.
“That's her blasted grandmother, isn't it,” Yarrow said, directing lightning at the Supremes. She cursed when the lightning reflected, snaking back her way.
“I need to help the werewolves.” Jael redirected the spell, and the werewolves took advantage of the newly frozen foes to chomp their way through them. Alyssa fought furiously, her blade a whirl of steel. Faith, despite her double blades, couldn't punch past the older Supreme, who wore a grin upon her face as she duelled Faith.
Yarrow stopped casting lightning, focusing on the Supreme attacking Faith.
“I'm not sure... if I can control one of them...”
“Impossible,” Jael said. “You can't control a Supreme.”
“This one, I might,” Yarrow whispered. “She feels different from the others.”
Jael glanced sharply, noting the combat witches as they duelled, avoiding a jet of fire. She redirected her sticking ability upwards again, the brief reprieve for the werewolves over.
“We have to retreat,” Alyssa said, stumbling back into the inner circle, panting, her arm shaking from effort. “We can't hold this. We've lost almost two hundred werewolves.”
Geraline felt the exhaustion and sleep creeping up on her. She saw the lethargic way some of the werewolves moved, weary from relentless battling.
They were losing.
Several Shadows broke through the werewolves, groping towards the witches entrenched in the center, and Geraline sent off a panicked reaction to incinerate them.
We're all going to die like this!
No way they could hold this off. Without the Supremes, it might have been plausible. With them, Jael could no longer cover the front line as efficiently. And Faith, well – she couldn't reach the spell reflector, because of the combat Supreme.
Geraline gasped when Faith took a hit. She'd never seen Faith be injured. Ever. The combat Supreme took a hit as well, though she ducked out of a fatal swipe. Is this what happens when two combats witches fight?
“Retreat! Retreat!” Jael kept screaming the words, and the werewolves, embattled and weary as they were, obeyed. Alyssa grunted as three Shadows tried to overwhelm her at once, before a shaggy russet werewolf ripped each of them off. What was the name? She'd seen him hanging about Alyssa before. Kin? Kain? More werewolves crumbled under the assault.
Yarrow shrieked, eyes bulging madly as her limbs trembled.
Just before Geraline could inquire why, or dread that the corruption in Yarrow was now spreading over her mind, because she knew Yarrow's infection could turn worse any time – the combat Supreme against Faith abruptly backed off. Faith followed, leaping to attack, before dodging to the side instead to avoid a fireball. She was in easy stab range of the combat Supreme, but instead – the Supreme darted back to the gathering of Shadows – and stabbed the Supreme casting the reflector.
Yarrow fell to her knees, and in an instant, Vrin was beside her, nuzzling her palm. The combat Supreme decimated the remaining four Supremes, and Faith watched on in bewilderment. Yarrow clambered onto Vrin's back, and now all the werewolves retreated in earnest. Risking it, Geraline seized several amulets and rushed to the backline, before focusing, the energy licking through her. Twin pillars of flame spewed out of her hands. They engulfed the Shadows, killing them instantly, and she hosed the Shadows with the powerful bursts of flame, the headache tickling in her skull as the energy drained out of the amulets fast and furious. Setting the ground on fire wouldn't work, since the Shadows if they wanted would slide under it. At best, she could walk backwards like this, protecting the rear retreat by clearing the back completely.
So many Shadows... it's insane. We could kill thousands and there'll be thousands more to take their place. We can't replenish our numbers the same way!
Someone pressed into her side. She started, before realizing it was Malek, whimpering at her, urging her to jump on. She temporarily halted her flames to climb on, dropping one of the amulets, before using one hand to gout out flame, as Malek zipped from side to side, helping to protect the rear retreat. On top of the hill, Geraline saw with a sinking heart that the Shadows pouring out of the tunnel had barely even slowed. She couldn't see how the other two parts of their invasion was doing. She didn't know where Faith was, where Yarrow was – werewolves fled on either side of her.
Stopping her flames completely, she clung onto Malek as they ran through the streets. More Supremes filtered through some of the buildings. Geraline hugged Malek, her heart heavy, her bones tired. Her stomach growled, her mind spun, faint and dizzy. The werewolves she saw ran in a lethargic, spaced out manner, struggling to focus, to keep themselves going.
They'd failed. Now the rest of the armies lay under grave danger from the invasion none of them had anticipated.