He gripped his talisman. If he destroyed Druan now, Bree would die with him. No matter what she was, he couldn’t do it. Another warrior would have to kill her, which was why warriors were warned to avoid women. He started to move, when Druan turned and looked at him. Fear flashed over Druan’s handsome, human face, shifting into a cunning smile as he focused on a spot behind Faelan. The smell came too late for him to react. Not again.
***
“Faelan, behind you!” Kieran shouted.
Faelan turned from the three demons advancing on him, and a halfling’s blade sank deep into his left arm. The pain was fierce, but at least it wasn’t his sword arm or his head, where the halfling would’ve struck if Faelan had turned a second later. Holding his injured arm close to his side, he raised his sword and met the halfling’s blade. Metal pinged against metal as the half-human backed into a corner. Faelan’s arm tightened as he swung. The evil in the halfling’s eyes flashed a second before the head separated from the body, sizzling as it vanished.
“Not bad for a novice,” Kieran said, before Faelan had even lowered his sword. He turned, gritting his teeth against the pain. Kieran grinned, but Faelan saw the concern in his mentor’s eyes before Kieran moved to help the others with the remaining demons. Faelan added his sword, and they quickly destroyed them.
“You should’ve called for help,” Kieran said.
“I thought I could handle it.”
“The others can take care of this. Let’s get that arm fixed while there’s some blood left in you.”
His arm burned like it had been gouged with a hot poker. This was his second battle since he left training and his first real injury. He was lucky he still had his head, and his arm. He never should have let the halfling sneak up on him. He followed Kieran through the corridors, clean except for the blood of warriors. Everything grew hazy.
The battlefield changed. Smoke and sulfur filled the air as swords clashed amid screams of horror.
He saw Kieran again, his face older, pale. He stood outside the circle of demons advancing on Faelan. Onwar, the ancient one, stood farther away, his teeth bared in a triumphant smile. Faelan knew he had to do something fast, or both he and Kieran would die. He couldn’t use his talisman on all of them; Onwar was too powerful. If he could kill Onwar by hand, then the talisman might be strong enough to take care of the rest.
“Kieran, get out of here,” he yelled.
Kieran’s face set. He dropped his sword and pulled his talisman from his shirt.
Faelan’s eyes widened. “No!”
“Close your eyes, Faelan,” Kieran said, his gaze resolute, sad.
“No! Kieran. I can—”
“Close your eyes, my friend.” Kieran didn’t give him time to react. He began the chant, and Faelan felt the air churn.
No, his heart screamed. No. He pushed through the deformed bodies, shoving aside claws and swords as he tried to reach Kieran. The blinding light appeared. Faelan squeezed his eyes shut and threw his arms over his head. There were screams and the clatter of metal from the halflings’ swords. He opened his eyes, his breath raw. The demons were gone, except Onwar. The ancient demon let out a howl and leapt at Faelan. Faelan roared out his own rage and sprang, meeting Onwar in midair. He swung his sword with a ragged cry and took the weakened demon’s head. Faelan landed in a crouch, his throat closed, and forced himself to face the lifeless body on the castle battlement.
A hiss shattered the dream, and Faelan cracked open one eye. His stomach heaved as the light pierced his head. He remembered something nasty being forced down his throat and Bree’s intimate smile as she reached for Druan’s hand.
“How was your sleep, warrior?”
Faelan’s head jerked. His vision was hazy, but he could see he was in a dungeon, smell the dank air. Druan stood by the door, his human lips curled in a sneer. Faelan flexed his muscles, and cold metal bit into his wrists.
“Rejuvenating.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as rawhide. “Michael sends his regards,” he rasped through a split lip.
Druan’s skin rippled, bones lengthening, but he stopped the change. All the Underworld feared Michael, even the Dark One himself.
“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Druan said, smiling. “You thought the war was the best I could do, but I had far bigger plans. I always have. This world will be mine, without the stench of humans.”
“Tristol might have something to say about that. He didn’t seem pleased to learn about your virus.”
“Tristol.” Druan spat the name. “He wasn’t supposed to see you. Grog was supposed to bring you later, after the others had gone, but Tristol won’t be a problem for long. I manipulated him and the others as easily as I did you.”
“Bree’s trap worked. You have me. Now what?”
Druan threw back his head, laughing so hard he almost shifted again. “Ah, it’s too good.”
Faelan clenched his jaw. It ached like it was broken. “I’m honored that you’ve been waiting for me all this time,” he mocked.
“Your family kept me entertained. Your brothers…” Druan smirked. “Little Alana. She grew into a lovely woman. So… generous.”
