[Book 3 of the Grounding the Storm series] Renit's worst nightmare has come true. Roux isn't at his side, and he's banished from his throne and his crown, leaving him nameless and on the run. While trying to escape his father's cruel reign, he has t...
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Imminent death has never tasted so sweet.
The ground shakes with the onrush of boots, an army approaching. Full-speed. I watch them, their blades raised in the air, determination in what will be the greatest bloodshed in history on their faces. They're ready to kill every one of our troops.
"Roux, we don't have much time," Binx warns from behind.
"You're aware of the plan," I growl, loud enough to be heard against the roaring army of witches and humans alike.
I can't see the whites of their eyes yet. Only when I can, not sooner and definitely not later, will I unleash my power on them all. The army of Esaria holds its breath, possibly for the last time, and waits. They're waiting for me.
My king, standing behind me amongst his kneeling soldiers, doesn't waver his stare from the onrush of soldiers. A twitch in my mind, like someone pinching my brain, tells me he's activated his power and is gathering it within his bones to kill whoever slips through. These soldiers charging against us believe they're fighting for who has the right to take the king's head, and following, his crown.
They'll meet a much different fate.
The soldiers of Esaria are becoming restless. The eastern flank is already being hit, powers blasting up at once, a shock wave of flame and water hissing into the sky as lines rupture. Yet, they're still fighting. Blades clash, swords ringing out in answer, bodies fall once swords tear through flesh. We do not balk.
Lay waste.
Lay waste.
Lay waste.
"Wait for it," I sing to myself in a silent tune.
Dropping my shield, I throw my hand back, covered in tattoos that snake up my arm. The soldiers tighten, gripping tighter onto their weapons. Flame ignites around the fists of a witch of flame leading the charge, a male soldier that reminds me nothing of my old friend. And as he raises his weapon towards the sky, bathed in flame, the whites of his eyes are clear.
Flame covers his entire body, and at the moment his weapon launches into the air, soaring over the space between us and finding its way into the crowd of soldiers, smacking into a shield, I bring my hand down—slamming it against the surface of the mud.
I open the doors to my power and instead of waiting for it to respond; I shove every bit out. The magic travels down my arm, finding its way into my hand and searches for an access point to the world.
The battlefield erupts. Ground explodes in front of us, the boom so loud in my head that I can hardly keep myself kneeled without toppling over. Enemy soldiers fly back as the ground uplifts itself, turning like snakes in storm-ridden waves of a solid surface. I look up, watching the ground crack and splinter, breaking into itself.
Some pieces cave into each other, creating crevices so wide that there's no way for the soldiers not to fall in them. Other surfaces explode, raining down and swallowing their victims whole. Like a shock wave through the battlefield, everything the soldiers knew to be secure underneath their feet is now gone. They fall, stumbling and slipping over their own two feet, some swallowed by the power itself and buried deep underneath. Dust replaces what once was ash and smoke falling from the sky, choking both armies, and as that solid wave recedes on the opposite side of the battlefield, taking down trees and boulders within its wake, I allow a wicked smile to spread across my cheeks.
