Page 79 of Realm of Nightmares
Tiernan struggled to his feet, swaying, as Balor seized the otherfaolan, tossing it aside like it was nothing more than a sack of grain. Slowly, though just as severely wrecked, Aran dragged himself from off the ground. He limped through the darkness.
“Balor.” Tiernan stumbled toward him.
The Fury spared him a glance as he wrenched thefaolan’s head back before snapping its neck. “My queen would never forgive me if I let you die.”
He lurched for the other one, snaring it by one of its horns, then yanking it clean off the beast’s head. Blood poured and thefaolanyowled. In the distance, another howl answered its cry.
“Get out of here,” Balor demanded, beating the creature to death with its own body.
Aran hobbled toward them. There was a gash across his chest and blood soaked his armor. He was bleeding from his forehead and his pants were ripped down one side.
The howls were closer now, and the ground thundered beneath their feet.
“Run,moh Rí!” Balor shouted, not once looking back as he charged toward the forest.
My king.
Tiernan faltered, but Aran slung his arm around his back, hauling him toward the blood-soaked shore. “Let’s go, Your Grace. Through the river.”
Right.
Through the river.
Using the last remnants of his strength, Tiernan threw himself into the river of blood, Aran following his lead.
It was freezing, so cold it burned, and a wash of agony nearly drowned him.
Images flooded his mind, none of them belonging to him.
In a blink, he saw wars from thousands of years past, ancient faerie kings and queens, who fought against those whose vile power sought to wreck and ruin. They flipped through his mind like the pages of a book, battles waged and wars won. He saw the will ó wisp, all of them, before their slaughter. Flashes of dozens of drakon circling mountains, setting fire to a land he didn’t recognize. Clashes of dawn and night, of power and magic, and through the mist, through it all, came the rise of the Wild Hunt.
This was a river of memories, forged from the blood of the dead.
It was too much, more than he could fathom.
The frozen river of blood overwhelmed him, pulled him under. He was sinking, wave after wave dragging him further downstream with every vision that bore into his head.
There was a tug on his collar, a forceful yank, and he was dragged from the rushing rapids.
Coughing, he crawled through the snow, covered in sludge and blood. Aran hauled him further up the bank to safety and they collapsed, heaving from exertion. The healing magic of his fae blood burned furiously, desperately trying to mend his numerous wounds. Powerful currents coursed through him as he struggled to catch his breath, to remember to breathe.
“Are you alright?” Aran asked, sprawled on his back beside him, one hand still clenched around his sword.
“I think so.” His broken arm would take the longest to heal, the restoration of bone tedious even for the most gifted of healers. “At least, I will be. You?”
Aran chuckled, then took a handful of snow and smeared it across his mouth, ridding himself of the excess blood from the river. “I’ve been better.”
He offered Tiernan his flask. “Here. Drink this.”
Tiernan expelled a half-hearted laugh, easing himself up onto his elbows. He took a large gulp, expecting water, but the smoky fire of whiskey burned down the back of his throat instead. Fuck if he didn’t want to finish the damn bottle.
“Thanks.” He handed it back to the High Prince, who took a hefty swig. Then another. “Where’s Balor?”
Aran nodded across the river. “There.”
Tiernan glanced over the wide expanse just as Balor plunged the world around him into eternal darkness.
ChapterTwenty-Three
