The Siege of Shadows: Book one

On the Edge (42)

ROWAN'S POINT OF VIEW

The air was thick with tension as the riders of the Wild Hunt closed in, their shadows merging with the mist. Their eyes gleamed with the hunger of predators. I could feel their gaze on me, sharp and unyielding. Beside me, Kael stood rigid, sword drawn, his body taut with readiness. I felt the same electric urgency running through me—a readiness to strike, to survive. But I knew it wouldn't be enough.

The first rider lunged at me with a shriek, his spear aimed directly at my chest. I raised my sword just in time, the clang of metal ringing out as his attack met my blade. The force of it sent me stumbling back, but I spun, using the momentum to bring my sword around in a wide arc. The blade scraped against his armor, drawing blood. He snarled and came at me again.

Before I could reset, a second rider emerged from the mist, wielding a broad, curved sword. He swung at me with such speed that I barely blocked his first strike. The force rattled my bones, and before I could recover, the second strike came faster, slashing for my midsection. I sidestepped just in time, but the wind cut through my clothes, sharp and biting.

Kael's voice rang out beside me, cutting through the chaos. "Stay close!"

He intercepted a blow aimed at my flank, his sword flashing as it collided with another rider's. The two locked blades, sparks flying. More riders appeared from the mist, surrounding us, their horses circling like wolves.

I couldn't afford to look at Kael. My focus was on the fight. I ducked under a spear thrust, spun to face another rider, my sword flashing in the dim light. The ice-coated ground was treacherous, but I couldn't let it slow me. The mountain's jagged rocks were as dangerous as the riders themselves.

Each blow was heavier than the last. The riders pressed harder, their weapons slashing with precision, the hounds growling at our heels. I parried one strike only to face another, my muscles screaming in protest as I fought to stay on my feet.

Kael fought with brutal intensity, his movements controlled, but I saw the weariness creeping in. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his strikes, while deadly, were slowing. Even he was feeling the strain.

A powerful blow from one rider sent me stumbling back, my feet slipping on the ice. The mountain's terrain wasn't just a battlefield; it was a trap. One mistake, one wrong step, and the drop below was waiting.

"Rowan!" Kael's voice rang out again, but another rider came at him, forcing him to parry.

I didn't dare look at him. My attention stayed on the rider in front of me. I sidestepped a thrust, narrowly avoiding a blade that cut the air beside my neck. The wind howled, but it wasn't the cold that made my heart race—it was the relentless pursuit of the riders.

The ground beneath me continued to slip as I backed toward the cliff's edge. One wrong move, and the fall would be the least of my worries.

Then, in a heartbeat, everything froze.

I felt it—a spark deep inside me, something raw, untamed, like an animal waking from a long slumber. It wasn't a thought. It wasn't even a choice. The panic, the fear—it wasn't just mine anymore. It was a primal instinct, thrumming in my chest like a heartbeat, and suddenly, the power inside me exploded to the surface.

Magic—wild and uncontrolled—roared to life. It wasn't like the practiced spells I'd used before. This was desperate, messy, instinctual. It was like fire unleashed from a cage, thrashing and snapping, beyond my control.

The earth trembled beneath me, and thick green vines burst from the ground with violent force. They shot up like serpents from the frozen stone, surging toward Kael as he plummeted toward the cliff's edge. It was an instinctive reflex, an automatic response to save him. I didn't direct it; it didn't listen to me. It just happened.