Warrior, Opposed: Book One Of The Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Fourteen - Fight, Flight and Fornicate

Deòthas stared into the blank faces of the twenty odd marionettes directly in front of her. Yet more were stood, still and motionless, back in the storeroom which first group must’ve escaped from. It was not a good place to be, especially as the creatures began to chant in the same mocking tone Dr Howard had done while under the Manipulator’s control.

“One, two, I see you,

Three, four, fey-born whore,

Five, six, with your tricks,

Seven, eight, found a mate?

Nine, ten, let’s kill him then.”

“And that doesn’t even make sense,” she hissed and she raised her claymore, preparing to make any necessary defensive strike. “Tor, pass me one of the amulets from the vault, or the crown, anything!”

“An amulet?” he queried, clearly confused. “Why the hell..?”

“Just do it,” she screamed back at him, having neither the time nor inclination to debate an order.  Did the rookie think this was a social gathering? “There, pass the sceptre of the leannan sìth!”

Thankfully, Tor snatched up the guilt and bejewelled wand and threw it towards her, just as the marionettes sprang into action. With one hand she wielded her red bladed great sword, beheading and stabbing at her enemy with every ounce of strength and speed she possessed, more than grateful for her preternatural ability to wage war. Vaguely, she sensed Tor join the fray, taking some of the slack as she raised the ceremonial staff over her head.

She didn’t even know if what she planned to attempt would work. Theoretically, it was possible. She wouldn’t try to harness her own, sacrificed magic, after all. She only needed to harness the magic of the sceptre for the briefest second, just long enough to get them past the wall of puppets.

“Loisg!” Deòthas’s voice rang out, carrying a command more potent than any simple word.  It had been a long time since she’d dared to wield such magic, let alone powered by fey sorcery which wasn’t even born of her own people.

Gods, let it work.

Searing heat flared up before her, rippling out through the room in a burning wave of heat haze and fire. Smoke billowed where the simple spell hit the marionettes, and Deòthas felt a rush of relief when she saw Tor remained unharmed. That had been her aim, and intention made up seventy five percent of spell casting, but she hadn’t been sure it would work. Not that she’d ever tell him that… Still, cremated would’ve been better than tortured by the Manipulator or his puppets, right?

The bodies of their enemies bubbled and boiled before eventually crumbling into billowing ash clouds. Deòthas sheathed her sword and grabbed Tor’s arm, pulling him through the choking smog and towards the exit. They had to get out, and quickly, before more marionettes spilled from the store room. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to use the sceptre too many times, not with the energy it took to do so, and she didn’t want to be there when her strength failed them.

Charging back through the warehouse, they made it through the door and into the yard before they ran into the next batch of enemies. Dammit! Had the Manipulator already sent reinforcements? Or had the puppets watched the warehouse from some nearby building? Maybe the dead had witnessed them entering the yard. Either way, the puppets left no route to the wall and escape, not without another blast of the sceptre.

“Loisg!”

She screamed the word again, desperate for it to work, but she swayed on her feet as the blast of energy tore away from her, leaving only half as much damage in its wake as her previous attempt.