Page 86 of Blood and Thorns

Valeria gives a short nod, eyes burning with readiness. I slip a runic token from my belt—a small but potent bomb. With careful aim, I toss it at the edge of the warlock cluster. The device lands silently, illusions muting its clink. Then I flick my fingers, triggering it. Awhooshof arcane flame erupts, sending half the warlocks stumbling back, illusions shattered.

We leap from the balcony. I spread my wings mid-fall, a rush of wind jolting me as we descend in a blur of illusions. The warlocks scramble, illusions tangling in confusion. General Soralynn whirls, eyes widening as she spots us. She raises a gleaming sword, runes igniting along its blade.

Valeria hits the ground in a forward roll, coming up with her dagger at the ready, illusions swirling. I swoop low, spelled sword igniting with my ancient magic. A single glance at Valeria, and we coordinate: she tears at the illusions around the brazier, while I barrel into the warlocks trying to reform them.

The courtyard roars with sound—shouts of alarm, steel on steel, crackling illusions. General Soralynn lunges at me, sword blazing with arcane wrath. Our blades clash, sparks dancing in the gloom. My wings buffet the air, giving me an edge in maneuverability. She fights with ferocious skill, each strike threatening to carve through my defenses. I realize with a jolt that she’s not just a warlock—she’s a seasoned commander who’s evidently faced winged foes before. Her illusions swirl around me, threatening to ensnare my limbs.

I hiss, letting my own illusions flare, weaving them with the scalding rage that’s built since I watched House Draeven burn. My spelled sword surges with ancient magic, unleashing a torrent of vampiric energy. We lock, weapons sliding against each other, her blade spitting arcs of azure flame while mine crackles with violet sparks. Sweat beads on my brow. Our illusions collide in a chaotic lightshow, neither gaining an immediate advantage. The clang resonates in my teeth.

I see Valeria slip around the brazier, half-crouched to avoid stray spells from warlocks. She touches the swirling illusions, tearing them away with her half-blood senses. One warlock notices, screeching in panic, but she leaps over a chain, driving her dagger into his chest. Another tries to cast a stunning hex, but Valeria’s illusions swirl in a tight spiral, deflecting it. She emerges, savage and unstoppable, eyes blazing with that lethal mixture of anger and newfound power.My heart clenches with awe.

“Enough,” General Soralynn snarls, pushing me back with a mighty blow. I grunt, boots skidding on the courtyard’s stone. She flings a sphere of illusions that morph into ghostly chains. They lash out, tangling around my arms. Pain lances me as the chains bite into my flesh. My wings beat frantically, but the illusions bind tight.Damn—she’s skilled.

I fight to keep calm, ignoring the searing arcs. My illusions can break these, but I need a moment. Soralynn smirks, stepping forward to deliver a killing strike. The warlocks behind her chant, illusions swirling to reestablish the protective wards. If they succeed, our outcasts can’t join the fight.We must disrupt them fully.

Just as Soralynn raises her blade to strike me, Valeria appears behind her with a hiss. Her fangs glint—true fangs, half-Vrakken unleashed. She rakes claws across Soralynn’s back armor, sending arcs of sparks. Soralynn cries out, illusions faltering. The chains around me slacken. I seize my chance, channeling my spelled sword’s energy into a single thunderous arc. Soralynn parries, stumbling as Valeria slashes at her flank. The general spins, illusions flaring. My chains dissolve, letting me spring free.

“Go—break the wards,” I gasp at Valeria, meeting her gaze in a frantic heartbeat. She bares her fangs in determination, nods, then leaps away, illusions swirling around her. Soralynn tries to follow, but I intercept, wings flaring in a wide slash that knocks her off balance. “Face me, general,” I growl, adrenaline surging.Valeria has her part—destroying the brazier, unraveling the final illusions. I must hold Soralynn here, no matter what.

Soralynn roars, eyes blazing with arcane fury. “You’ll die, traitor prince!” She surges, illusions shaped into spectral blades that swirl around her. I meet her strike for strike, every blow rattling my bones. The courtyard fills with chaos: warlocks conjuring half-formed illusions, our infiltration teams bursting through side corridors, illusions scattering. I catch glimpses of Vrakken outcasts engaged in fierce combat with dark elf soldiers.

Soralynn lunges low, nearly skewering my thigh, but I twist my wings to rise above her slash. I retaliate with a downward strike. She barely blocks, illusions cracking. Sweat drips downmy brow, the clang of steel vibrating my arms. Her skill is formidable—the final champion of Xathien’s fortress. But I fought my entire life under House Draeven’s strict training.I can match her.

Suddenly, a wave of illusions radiates from the brazier near the courtyard center. My heart lurches. Valeria must be at the heart of that surge. The illusions warp violently, arcs of purple lightning dancing across the courtyard, shorting out the warlocks’ wards. Shouts resound—some warlocks collapse, illusions backlashing, while our outcasts cheer. The wards are crumbling.

Soralynn’s eyes widen with dismay. “No—!” she spits, swinging desperately at me. She sees her fortress illusions failing around her. The gatehouse is compromised; our forces can pour in. That knowledge fuels her rage. She slams her illusions into a single thrust at my chest, raw with desperation.

I grunt, parrying with my spelled sword. The clash flares in a brilliant explosion of arcane sparks, sending us both staggering. I plant my wings, forcing an opening, then pivot, ramming my blade into her chest armor. The runes carved there flare once, resisting, then buckle under my vampiric energy. A ragged gasp escapes her. She tries to retaliate, illusions fluttering in half-formed arcs, but I twist my blade, finishing the blow. Soralynn collapses, choking on blood. Her illusions fade with her last breath, eyes filled with stunned betrayal.

I stand there, chest heaving. The greatest champion of this fortress lies dead at my feet. The courtyard whirls with motion. Our outcasts flood inside, illusions swirling as they engage the remaining dark elf defenders. Warlocks scramble to salvage the wards, but the meltdown triggered by Valeria’s half-blood power leaves them reeling.

I stagger forward, searching for Valeria amid the swirling chaos. Then I see her near the brazier, standing in a ring ofbroken illusions, panting hard. At her feet lie two warlocks, throats slashed, and a fallen dark elf soldier. Her hair is in disarray, braided strands undone, revealing partial wings flared from her back. She stands with one hand braced on the brazier’s rim. A swirl of smoke rises around her. My heart leaps with concern.

“Valeria!” I call, stumbling across the cracked stones. The illusions roil from the fortress interior, swirling among the last defenders. She raises her head, eyes meeting mine. Relief flickers—we’re both alive.

She moves toward me, limping on that injured leg, face contorted with pain. My illusions wrap around her as I catch her, arms sliding beneath her shoulders to keep her upright. The moment our gazes lock, the swirl of the entire battle recedes to a hush in my mind. She exhales, trembling with adrenaline. “We did it,” she rasps.

I nod, brushing dust from her face. “Yes… but it’s not over.” The fortress gate stands ajar, war still raging in the halls. Our outcasts push deeper, but I sense a shift in the illusions overhead—the fortress’s final wards might be collapsing. The central labs, presumably filled with arcane equipment, must be destroyed.

Valeria nods, reading my thoughts. “We have to—finish it.” She grimaces at the pain in her leg, yet steels herself. “Come on.”

We rally a handful of outcasts near the courtyard center. Daron appears, battered but grinning. “The upper ramparts are ours,” he reports. “Dark elves scattered after the wards fell. Some flee, others barricade themselves in the labs.”

My wings twitch. “That’s where we’re headed. Torch the labs, deny them any chance of continuing essence experiments. Then we retreat. We have no wish to hold this fortress.”

Valeria clutches my shoulder, breath hitching. “Lead the way.”

We push into the fortress’s inner corridors, illusions swirling around us. The few defenders left mount desperate resistance. My wings slice through illusions, my spelled sword felling soldiers. Valeria’s half-blood speed and lethal claws shred wards and armor alike. Our outcasts follow, flames licking at the walls from the sabotage bombs. The fortress trembles—a storm of fire and magic.

At the end of a broad hallway, we find a sealed door etched with thick runic wards. The labs. We gather, illusions dimming as we concentrate. Valeria steps forward, half-limping, anger dark in her eyes. She presses her hand to the runic symbols, unraveling them with her half-blood sense. The wards crackle and fade. Daron and another outcast heave the door open. The stench of acrid chemicals wafts out, burning my nostrils.

Inside, rows of alchemical tables, caged apparatuses meant for draining Vrakken essence, and arcane contraptions line the walls. My stomach knots at the sight—this is the heart of Xathien’s atrocities, the place they refine living captives into raw magical power. Unholy. Valeria’s face contorts with fury. She stumbles to a table covered in vials of shimmering fluid. One sniff confirms it’s distilled essence from some poor soul.We must destroy everything.

“No captives here,” Daron says, voice tight. “Either they’ve been moved or… used up.”

Valeria’s eyes glisten with tears she won’t let fall. “Then we burn it,” she says, voice harsh. “Deny them another day of butchery.”

We spread out, placing the last bombs among the apparatuses and shelves. Vaelorian illusions swirl in tandem with the outcasts to keep watch. A few dark elf warlocks cower in the corner, illusions flickering. One tries to conjure a defensive barrier, but my spelled sword cuts through it. Another begs for mercy. Valeria’s lip curls, though she spares him with a glare.We’re not here for slaughter alone; we want this twisted lab gone.

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