The rhythmic throbbing of the drums continued, and then the double doors to the castle swung wide open. Maeve’s fingers tightened around her hilt and she glanced down at her already bloodied blade. Let them come. Anger gave way to rage, but she was still taken aback as an army of orcs swarmed out of the castle. Their sweaty bodies were covered in mail and they waved battle axes in the air, thick blades, hatchets, and spiked bats. The stench of their unwashed bodies soiled the meadow and suddenly the brightness of the clear skies seemed nothing more than a mockery.
“Fight!” Maeve screamed, and, without waiting for an answer, dashed forward.
She struck the shield of an orc hard with hers, shattering it, then lopped off the head. Blood spurted in the air as she swung her sword in an upward stroke. It slid into the side of another and she ripped it free, spilling blood and guts as she did so. She sensed an orc behind her and spun, bashing it with her shield. The orc fell back, stumbling into another and Maeve leaped, sword raised as she plunged it through its eyeball. It sunk through and slid into the orc behind it, only nicking it. The creature fell with a howl but Maeve was already up and kept moving, her blade singing as she whirled and kicked, bringing death with every blow. Behind her she heard the grunts of her companions as they fought and the scent of burning flesh filled her nostrils. Eyes stinging from the smoke in the air, she continued her forward fight, slicing and dicing as she went until she reached the broad steps of the castle.
A single row of orcs stood at the top of the steps. Instead of armor they wore long robes of mail, and their eyes glinted with an odd light, as though there was something wrong with their minds. Maeve dashed toward them as they lifted their hands. A memory of what had taken place in the ruins of Carn came back to her and she lifted her shield as a crackling sound filled the air. Balls of light slammed into her shield, one after the other. The impact was hard and solid, as though stones were being thrown at her. She gritted her teeth but couldn’t help but cry out against the impact. Even though it wasn’t painful, her arm went numb all the way up to her shoulder.
The scent of tainted magic hung in the air, and a curse rose on her lips. She had to be smart. Last time, she’d unknowingly walked blindly into their magic, but this time, she wanted them dead. She knew where it came from, magic stolen from Carn, magic that should have sung in her blood, but she did not know how to use it. Her birthright had been stolen from her and it rang back bitterly. Maeve of Carn. Queen of Nothing. Pawn of the Dark Fae. Once again she’d fallen into their trap and she could almost imagine King Mrithun’s evil laugh.
No more. She swore and dashed up the steps, even though another rain of magic slammed into her shield. One of those balls of power smacked into her leg. She tripped and crashed down hard on her shield. A scream tore out of her mouth but she leaped to her feet and hurled herself at the first orc mage.
A gurgling sound came from the orc’s throat as it waved its arms, attempted to make another ball of magic. Maeve was quick. She thrust her sword up into its neck and the orc’s hands dropped to its side. It fell with a sickening thud and a wave slammed into Maeve’s back. Eleven orc mages turned to face her, and she brought up her shield, but not fast enough. She crouched as magic flew around her and her back burned. Pain radiated up and down her spine, but she remained in position, teeth gritted to keep herself from crying out, so they would not see how much they hurt her. Just as suddenly, the storm relented, and she was up on her feet, driving her sword into the side of a mage and slicing off the head of another. She willed her feet to move faster while their power regenerated, but just as she reached the third, those balls of magic brightened in their fingers.
Maeve raised her shield as a wall of flames slammed into the mages. Three of them went down, screaming as flames rode them and the remaining stepped back and turned their attentions to the battlefield. Maeve followed their gaze and saw Ingram, his eyes dark, his fingers charred. He nodded at her before turning, fire glowing on his hands.
Thankful for the distraction, Maeve fought through the remaining mages, slaying them before they could deal out any more damage. When the path to the castle was clear, she glanced at the open doors. They tempted her but she wasn’t sure if she should rush in. It was clear the fae weren’t there. They were likely laughing into their hands as she went the wrong way, thrown off by her desire for the Crown of Erinyes. She glanced at the castle again and then backed down the steps. They had to leave before something else happened.
The small army of orcs was quickly defeated, and they regrouped among the steaming pile of bodies, chests heaving, clothes covered in blood. Maeve blinked back disappointment.
“We have to go,” she pointed toward the trees, where they could still hear the hollow beat of drums.
Imer nodded. “The dark fae fled.”
“It is clear they used a portal, can we follow them?” Faelyn asked.
Maeve shook her head. “It’s too late for that. I imagine they went to Imperia, if they know the way, to wipe out the mages while they can.”
Distressed expressions crossed her companion’s faces.
“We need to go,” Ingram growled. “Now!”
He sprinted toward the edges of the grove, back to the forest. But before they could leave the dark fae’s kingdom, an army of orcs stepped out of the woods.
16
Alarm Bells
Willow climbed the stairs and opened the hatch into the wizard's sanctum. Together, she and Jacq had rebuilt the glass dome that hung over it, shattered when Maeve of Carn dropped through, covered in golden armor like a celestial herself. She was different from what Willow had expected. She'd thought a warrior would come, bold and relentless. Maeve of Carn was just that, a warrior, but she carried a shadow of distrust behind her eyes. After what had happened to her, Willow could not blame her. But Maeve of Carn had to learn that all those with magic weren't evil.
"Willow," Jacq said, without facing her.
He stood with his back to the door and gazed out over the land. Magic hummed in the room and Willow once again caught that taste of power and deep, undeniable arousal. She wondered if the other mages felt it, the magnetic pulse of power and the way it thrummed when used together. The way it awoke desire. When she and Jacq used power together, it was almost more erotic than the very act of lovemaking. Part of her was torn, for although she longed to use her magic in war, she also wanted nothing more than peace. While she yearned to see Jacq in his prime, using the highest of his power, she did not wish for evil to befall him, even though she’d done enough to become his successor. He’d let her in, partly for her power, and partly because he saw her potential. In her past, none believed she’d amount to anything, but she’d proven them wrong.
"Do you sense it?" Jacq went on.
Willow joined him. He took her hand, clasping it tight in his broad one. A surge of power made her senses tingle and she closed her eyes and waited. The voice of the wind reached out to her, humming a warning. An itch began on the top of her head and her limbs trembled. She couldn't quite see it, but she heard, and she knew.
"They are coming," she whispered, wondering how it was possible.
Imperia was supposed to be a forgotten city, hidden by magic. Yet they came anyway, likely spurred on by the power of the Crown of Erinyes. Instead of fear, excitement raced through her veins. For a chance to fight, for a chance to display their united power.