Page 85 of Oathborn
“There’s movement down there!” Drace yelled.
“I saw glowing eyes,” another called.
“We don’t know—” Tobias began, thinking of how Javen’s eyes had burned. What if they had spotted someone with fae blood, but not an enemy? “Hold fire!”
Drace spit on the ground. “Not now.”
No. The Accords were at stake. If they killed a fae, it would not be an act of self-defense.
“I said hold—” Tobias’s warning died on his lips. The fog wasn’t just fog anymore. It was a thick miasma of purple smoke. Cold sweat broke on his skin. Flashes of memory came back to him, just as they had in his room, while the cadevesh had burned. Just like then, the smoke grew more opaque, as if taking on a life of its own.
Someone cursed.
Wild, heavy vines of smoke shot out from all directions. They grasped at soldiers’ ankles, arms, knocking guns loose and pulling men to the ground. The purple fog thickened. Each breath Tobias sucked in burned his lungs.
Tobias shouted. “Retreat!”
Smoke spiraled outward, snatching at his arms, leaving razor-sharp cuts in his coat sleeves. He batted them away, not wasting time or energy drawing a weapon. None would work, not against that damned purple smoke.
One twisting vine yanked hard at his leg. He stumbled, falling hard on the dirt, but pushed himself up. He was halfway up the hillside as the low roar ofan explosion shook the earth beneath him. Smoke mingled with fog, and the night’s silence was destroyed by screams.
“It’s an ambush!” Erik yelled. “Fire at will!”
Shots rang out, a volley of gunfire cutting through the eerie silence. One soldier readied a grenade. The fog wrapped itself around Erik like vines. He screamed, and Tobias rushed forward, to pull them off him. He was too late. A shadow twisted around Erik’s neck and snapped it.
With an almost lazy toss, the smoke discarded Erik’s limp body.
Still, the Crimsons fired into the smoke. The bullets did nothing.
There was nothing for them to penetrate, nothing for them to kill.
Weapons were useless against the smoke’s thick vines.
One by one they fell. Tobias, above the line of fire, out of reach of the smoke, watched with horror. He screamed, begging the survivors to run, to give up on the fight.
Nothing they did would have any impact on its dread magic.
A heartbeat later, the shadows lurched, surging toward Tobias. No, not shadows. Afae, his figure swift as a storm rolling in, blade drawn and glinting. It was no longer just the smoke that held danger, for its thick clouds had hidden a fae warrior. Cloaked in dark leathers, he melded with the night, save for the shocking brightness of his gold hair.
The blade arced through the air, flashing with the cold sharpness of moonlight, a silver streak against the dark. Tobias had never seen speed like that before. It was all he could do to register the danger before it was nearly upon him.
“Stop!” a woman’s voice screamed. “Please!”
Were there civilians also under attack? That was a Rhydonian, he was sure of it.
A second voice called out something in a foreign tongue that made the fae warrior pause. He hesitated, sword still drawn, blue eyes wide.
Tobias’s chance. A perfect opening. Still kneeling, he pulled the trigger.
The recoil of the gun slammed into his shoulder, but the shot was true. Blood bloomed on the fae’s dark clothing.It’s as red as my own,Tobias thought. The fae staggered toward him, the blade still lifted.
Tobias’s fingers shook, and the shot went wide. Not a direct hit, not like he’d practiced a thousand times. No time to fire again. Despite the agony on the fae’s face, he lunged forward, his blade slicing toward Tobias. He tried to dodge.
He was too slow. The fae’s blade plunged into him, slicing down his leg, just as he collapsed and the sword fell from his hand. Pain exploded within Tobias. A howl of agony tore from his lips. Someone screamed, running toward him. A second figure, with flowing blonde hair, cried out.
Tobias couldn’t answer… couldn’t lift an arm. Agony coursed through him, every heartbeat weaker than the last. His wound throbbed. Silverbane. He needed silverbane. The small pouch Javen had given him was buried in a pocket, so close, and so impossible to reach in his current state.
Where was that bastard of a captain? Why wasn’t he back? The damned smoke had rendered all the Crimsons’ training pointless. There was nothing they could have done to fight back. Had Javen known it would come for them? Or had he too fallen to its choking vines or deadly vapors?
