Flame of Ruin (Spark of Chaos #2)

Chapter 2

"They're swarming!" Acacia shouted.

Stone bit into Isiilde's bare feet as she ran. A jangle of armor, haggard breathing, and hurried boots joined her flight. The group raced towards a ruined tower, its top shorn but its foundations strong.

Oenghus roared. And lightning answered. It charged the air, slammed to the earth, and seared holes through the reapers. They dropped like flies. But there were so many of them—an endless horde of shadow and claw.

Isiilde flew through a stone archway and was headed for the next when Marsais dragged her to a stop. They stood in the ruin of a toppled tower, its stone walls crumbling but intact.

The paladins planted themselves at the exits while Oenghus turned to face the swarming pack of reapers nipping at their heels. Over seven feet of fury, of death and carnage, made for a formidable gatekeeper.

Isiilde was lost in the chaos, detached from her body as battle raged around her. Time moved sluggishly, and she watched as a reaper crawled across the ceiling like a spider on its web.

There was no flame nearby. No knife in her belt. She was helpless. Somewhere, in a distant corner of her shocked mind, a voice urged her to scream. She obeyed.

The reaper sprang at her. Quick as a whipcord, Marsais slammed into the reaper, catching it in midair and knocking Isiilde to the ground. He drove a shoulder into the creature, ramming it against the tower wall. But his hands were useless; he couldn't hope to defend himself.

Rivan rushed forward to help, pinning the reaper with his shield and running it through. It went still.

Oenghus roared, shaking loose dust and stone, as he sent another charge of lightning into a knot of reapers. They fell dead, piling up at the archway, but more surged to fill the gap.

Dust swirled in the air. Isiilde sneezed, sending three fiery bursts puffing from her ears.

Marsais raked his eyes over the debris. Decay in all its morbid stages surrounded them: rotting flesh and dried bone; brittle timber and climbing vines.

"Rivan," he ordered. "Gather timber, dead vines, anything that will burn." Marsais kicked a branch against a thigh bone that was still attached to a brittle trouser leg.

Rivan blinked in confusion. Blood and sweat streaked the young paladin's face, but Isiilde was used to confusing orders from Marsais, so she rushed to obey without question. She picked up a rotted sack and tossed it in the pile. Rivan caught on, adding more kindling as he found it.

It felt like she was moving in a fog. Fear was distant. The sounds of battle muted. She could only hear the rush of blood in her ears.

And then Marsais was standing in front of her. "Forgive me, my dear." He shook out a filthy cloth in front of her face.

A puff of dust tickled her nose, and she sneezed, fire bursting from her ears. The cloth ignited. He dropped the burning fragment onto the pile of debris, and it caught on fire.

Isiilde stared at the growing flames, transfixed. It filled her vision and consumed her mind. The raging fire in the dungeon seared her memories. Sweet release and power, as she had never known. It terrified her.

"More," Marsais urged. "Reapers fear fire."

Isiilde watched the fire grow into a bonfire, captivated by its hiss and seductive dance. It whispered to her and drew her away from the carnage to a place of tempting beauty.

An explosion of sparks made her blink. She came back to herself with a start, her toes buried in the fiery ashes of the bonfire. How long had she been standing here?