The Sun Sídhe

15 - Room for Mercy

"Ronan!" I barked, watching the burned man notch another arrow. "Get down and keep your knife close. Morrigan, warn me if we're going to die. No incomprehensible wailing, got it?"

She nodded, crimson already flooding her eyes. Ronan had his knife drawn, the blade crossed protectively over his chest as he pulled her behind a boulder. "Careful!" he yelled. "There must be others!"

"Obviously!" I turned to the side, letting the second arrow streak past my head and plunge into the sand. It was just as precisely aimed as the first. I scanned the rocky beach. How many humans had Shayne taken with him when he fled? Three? Two? I hadn't been paying attention, too distracted by Aeden's sudden vulnerability. Hefting my staff, I half-limped, half-ran at the one that'd revealed himself. He shot another arrow, which I batted aside before leaping onto the rock beside him.

"You only stood a chance if you caught me by surprise," I growled, striking at his middle. He hefted his bow to block; it was painfully easy to smash through the taut wood. My staff struck his side. Something gave beneath it, and he crumpled. "Too bad."

"Indeed it is," a cold voice came over my shoulder.

Mist clung to Shayne's clothes as he materialised beside me, perched delicately on the rough surface of the boulder. I whipped about, clenching my free hand, and swung at his face. He caught my fist before it could make contact with his jaw, arching one brow. A shame. I would've liked to break his perfect nose.

The man's fingers tightened, shifting to cage my wrist in a painful grip. Before I could hit him again, the stone trembled beneath my feet, growing liquidy and thick. My left leg sank ankle-deep before I managed to jerk free. Damn it, damn it, damn it. How could I fight the earth?

"Cael," Shayne said, his command ringing out clearly. "I'll take care of her. Kill the other two."

I tensed, aware of Cael jolting into motion behind me. He'd said that the geas rendered him under Shayne's control; he had no choice but to follow the man's orders. I wanted nothing more than to race over and help my brother and Morrigan fight him off, but Shayne wasn't going to let me. That much was clear. I had to trust that their skills and Cael's reluctance would somehow give them time.

I leapt for Shayne, placing as little weight upon the ground as I could, and swung my staff at his head. He raised a hand to block it and moved away, a bladelike rock spearing from the boulder. It shot past my stomach—I'd only just avoided being skewered—and struck my staff instead, knocking it from my hands. I lost my balance and tumbled onto the sand, spitting curses. Shayne smoothly leapt off of the boulder, his boots sinking into the sand as he retreated towards the ocean.

Fighting wasn't something I'd been taught. Perhaps our father could've told me its secrets, if sickness hadn't taken him when Ronan, Conor, and I were mere children. It was a hard-earned knowledge, mine, brought by driving less friendly sídhe out of Tirlagh and fistfighting the boys in the village who despised my presence. They'd swiftly learned to avoid me.

Those twenty-some years of brawls told me that the man before me was terribly unsuited to close combat. He was obviously trying to keep distance between us—after all, messing with the ground wouldn't do him much good if it threw him off balance too. Naturally, I matched his movements as closely as possible, a mere pace away at all times. Catching the sleeve of his long, embroidered shirt, I yanked myself close and made a valiant attempt to knee him in the crotch.

My leg met his palm. He shoved it down—pain stabbed through the half-healed cut Niamh had given me, and I staggered. He glared down his nose. "You attack crudely, child."

"So?" He'd left an opening. I grabbed his arm, the sun's heat spilling through my palm. Skin blistered beneath my fingers, giving way like brittle paper. "No battle is beautiful."