Fay swayed on his feet nearly ten meters behind where the roadway met the bridge. He was illuminated in the swinging light of the lone streetlamp. His vision darted from the north to the south. His face was awash with pure terror and revulsion.
Ryl dipped into the power as he retreated to his friend’s side.
He focused his emotions, pushing the wave of calm, hope and light over Lord Eligar’s soldiers hidden along the river back to the south.
“Bring the bridge down,” Ryl screamed as the emotions surged from his core.
The feeling was desperate.
A sinking sensation threatened to topple him from his feet.
Ryl could not succeed here on his own. He was outmatched. Overpowered.
The moments that stretched by seemed like an eternity with no response. At last, sparks broke the darkness of the night. Flames jumped to life as the fuel-soaked wicks of a trio of arrows caught fire.
Ryl watched in horror as the first sailed wildly into the churning water.
“Fay, take the horse,” Ryl growled. “Warn your troops. Warn Breila and Aelin. Fall back to The Stocks.”
The lord hesitated for a moment. He clutched his sword, squeezing the blade hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Ryl could see the determination to join the fight. The animosity of disgust at the massacre of his troops loomed over him like a cloud.
“Go. Now,” Ryl screamed.
Fay snapped from his resistance. He scrambled to the south, stumbling as he charged toward the waiting horses.
The flaming trail of the second arrow sparked as it slammed into the stone side of the bridge.
The Horde was upon him. With a feral growl, Ryl unleashed the speed that flowed within his veins. The incoming charge slowed as he fell into them with the unrestrained wrath of a storm. Behind him the hoofbeats of a retreating horse echoed like thunder in the night.
The burning Leaves in his hands never ceased their lethal assault as they cut down the incoming Horde. Ryl ducked under an errant slash, severing the offending body in two, while plunging the burning blade in his opposite hand through the neck of another. Spurts of black blood clouded the air. He hacked off limbs and appendages. Severed heads and spilled piles of foul entrails on the stone surface of the bridge.
He danced among the sluggishly moving bodies of his assailants, destroying everything that came within reach. The stone was soon slick with the putrid stench of rot as their blackened blood ran like water. Still the assault came. They poured from the garrison in a never-ending river of bodies.
The red glow of an arrow streaked from the east. The wind swelled around his right arm.
Ryl jumped back a step, unleashing the torrent into the continual assault. As with his previous release, the soulborne wind carried the lanky Horde backward with little effort. His wind held the flow of the Horde for an instant. The tenuous break was momentary, like holding back a trickle of water with your breath alone. For a moment it will succeed. It may back up the water.
Your breath will at some point fail. The water will release its pent-up flow once more.
There was a distinct thunk as the flaming arrow hit wood.
The light from the blast preceded the detonation by an instant. Ryl had a split second to harden the woodskin over his body, dashing away from the explosion. He let the Leaves fade out.
There was a moment of chilling silence.
The center of the bridge stood bathed in a blinding, yet serene white light. All sound ceased; all motion paused in anticipation. For an instant, the black silhouettes of the Horde stood in stark contrast to the aura that swelled around them. There was a massive sucking sound, almost like that of a giant set of lungs inhaling a deep breath. The dark shadows of the harriers panicked as they fled the epicenter.
The white light vaporized them as it detonated outward. From serene and sterile, the color morphed from yellow to red as the explosion unleashed its fury. Flame, heat and jagged chunks of stone demolished everything in their path.
Even with his speed, Ryl was unable to avoid the detonation. The shock wave caught him in the back, tossing his body forward. The woodskin likely saved his life. He felt the sting of stone shrapnel and the slap of stray chunks of flesh against his back as he was tossed wildly across the Kingsway. The heat was intense. It singed the hairs from his arms. The small shrubs bordering the road burst into flame.
Ryl’s body tumbled wildly. He brought his hands to his face in a desperate plea for protection. He rolled across the cobblestone, careening through a burning bush, coming to a violent stop against the low stone fence that bordered the track.
A shower of sparks and stone rained down around him.
Chapter 38
Comfort surrounded every fiber of Aelin’s being. For the first time in ages, his belly was truly full. The substantial meal had sent his road-weary body into overload. The hearty, flavorful concoction of mouthwatering scents and textures proved altogether too much for the young man.
The food and idle time, though short, had acted like a drug. Aelin had barely made it to the carriage before sleep took hold. He had told himself he was only closing his eyes for a moment, only until Ryl arrived.
His body contracted, his arms sliding easily across the silken sheets. The smooth texture wrapped him in blissful serenity. He sighed aloud as he squeezed the pillow, hugging it to his chest as he rolled to his side.
For once, terrors hadn’t plagued his slumber. He was too afraid to open his eyes for fear the dream would end abruptly.
The jarring note of a distant wail caused his eyes to snap open though his body remained still. His eyes roved the darkened ceiling high overhead as they struggled to adjust to the lack of light.
Aelin worked himself to a sitting position.
