Page 52 of The Tracker's Rage
Misra shrugged. “And what if their target is the Prince.”
“He can judge for himself. He would not be afraid of them.”
Misra nodded in agreement, then flicked her knife in the direction of the mound. “Walk.”
We turned and did as we were told. The guards stayed close behind, their knives at the ready. As we approached, the sounds of battle grew louder. A shrill scream of something like a banshee on its way to hell rent the air. A shiver slid down my back, and it was all I could do not to shift. I bit my lower lip and winced at the pain, but I had to admit that I was doing much better than I would have expected. This was the first time I’d had to use pain to keep my wolf at bay, which was a great improvement from a week ago.
As we rounded the corner, something flew through the air and thudded to the ground right in front of me. I yelped and jumped back, staring at the hideous green gremlin that lay at my feet. The creature was the size of a Chihuahua and had spindly limbs tipped with razor-sharp claws and covered in slimy warts. Its ears were long and floppy, and sharp teeth set in rows filled its mouth. I covered my nose as an awful stench rose from the creature, a mixture of sulfur and garbage rot.
Afraid that the little beast would jump back up even though it appeared as dead as a doorknob, I reluctantly glanced up at the raging melee that spread before us. On a wide farm field, royal guards armed with long swords and shields fought against hundreds, if not thousands, of the green vermin. Attacking like swarming locusts, the reapgrubs pushed on their skinny limbs and soared toward their opponents, claws extended and ready to disfigure whoever stood in their path. As they rained down, the guards sliced with their swords, trying to cut them in half with varying levels of success.
As if that weren’t enough, more of the gremlins scuttled over the ground and climbed on the Fae guards as if they were trees. There they found gaps in the guards’ armor, and sank in their teeth and claws.
Already many of the little monsters lay on the ground, spewing slimy blood and twitching as they died. But a few of the guards had also fallen, and their bodies now crawled with reapgrubs like lollipops in an ant pile.
In the fray, one warrior stood out. He was massive, taller than all the rest. His blue-black hair whipped through the air along with twin swords as he cut down creature after creature, slicing them to bits as if he were some sort of Ninja blender set on high.
Prince Kalyll looked magnificent in his shining armor, maiming his foes with such skill that none of them managed to lay their scrawny fingers on him.
Despite their efforts, however, the group as a whole wasn’t doing so well, and it wouldn’t be long before they got overwhelmed by their enemies’ sheer numbers.
“Do something, mage!” Misra snarled.
Not waiting to be told twice, Damien took a step forward, eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. I tensed all over, hoping he had some good trick up his sleeve. After a long moment that made me doubt he could actually help, he crouched next to the dead creature at my feet and stuck his hands into the gaping wound in its belly.
Bile rose up my throat as the reapgrub’s awful stench redoubled.
Unfazed, the mage rummaged inside the beast’s abdominal cavity as if he were searching for treasure.
“What in the name of Oorus is he doing?” Misra demanded. “He’s mad. He’s right mad.”
When Damien rose to his feet, his hands were dripping with thick slime, and his eyes were glowing an intense red. That was when I noticed his lips were moving at a prodigious speed. Clearly, he was issuing some kind of spell, though I had no idea what kind.
“Maybe we should step back,” I said, cautiously retreating from the mage.
The Fae guards seemed reluctant, but when red energy started crackling between Damien’s slimy fingers, the two put some distance between themselves and the mage.
As the energy grew brighter around Damien’s fingers and started climbing toward his elbows, he pointed his hands toward the sky and released a spider web of thunderbolts. A second later, a clump of clouds gathered above the ongoing battle. They churned with sizzling red energy, promising an electric storm from hell.
Prince Kalyll glanced up as he impaled one of the reapgrubs through the eye. His fierce gaze darted to and fro until he spotted us. His already-determined expression grew sharper, and even from a distance, it managed to intimidate me.
“By the light of Tresta!” Ladresel exclaimed. “That’s going to kill everyone.”
Arms extended, he lunged in Damien’s direction.
“No!” I cried out, trying to stop him, but it was too late.
The guard crashed into Damien, wrapping his arms around the mage’s waist. But even as they fell, Damien twirled his wrist toward the clouds and spoke in a commanding voice.
“Decursus incitatus!”
As soon as the words left his lips, red lightning began falling from the sky. Its booms were deafening and echoed through the open field, and its flashing energy blinded us all.
