Nickoli
We raced our way back to Montibello—an army of elves at our backs—and had stopped at the river’s edge to water the horses and take a much needed break when Smith’s baritone bellow disturbed the quiet.
“Soldiers!”
I surged to my feet, sword in hand, and swung into my saddle, apologizing to my glorious mare for interrupting her rest before I urged her toward the elven scout cutting through the brush.
“The Guardian,” he called out. “Xander and a band of men head this way.”
Smith’s black stallion appeared at my side as the scout’s news penetrated my brain. His tired eyes met mine.
“Did you see them?”
Smith nodded. “From a distance. Twenty, possibly thirty men.”
“And you saw Xander? You are sure he was with them?” I asked Pelleas, the scout elf Griffin vouched for when he sent half his army with me.
“I am. They were crossing the channel. He spotted me.”
“Why would he leave Montibello?” I asked nobody. And where is Skye? Fear coiled within my stomach. My fingers tightened around the reins in my palms as I circled my antsy mare. “Hang back and make sure everyone is ready to move,” I ordered.
With Pelleas at my side, we rode through the brush quickly, snapping branches and stirring wildlife in our haste to reach the forest's edge. When we broke through the dense shadows of the trees, Xander and his men came into view. Out of habit, I skimmed the group. Smith was right, twenty-six heavily armed men.
Xander’s shout reached me as his arm went up, halting his men behind him, before he spurred his horse harder.
“Nickoli!” I did not miss the relief in his tone. Sweat dripped down his red face.
“What is happening at Montibello?” I asked, skipping niceties. “Where is Skye?”
He stroked his mare’s neck and leapt down. “Drink,” he murmured as he swatted her flank and sent her toward the river’s edge. He turned back to me, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his arms and back much the way I had moments ago when I dismounted my own ride. “Tabor has attacked.”
I stilled.
“He sent his army to attack Ridgecrest and Ballinger.”
“Montibello?” I managed to ask with a firm tone.
Swiping a hand across his forehead, Xander looked past the river to the west. “Secure. For now.”
“He intends to weaken our defenses and harm any allies we have outside the castle grounds to make us as vulnerable as possible,” I said, immediately going into battle mode. I swung down from my mare and joined him on the ground. “I have half of Griffin’s army. We can defend the castle—”
“He has Skye.”
He was so devoid of emotion that it took a moment to comprehend the words. Tabor has Skye. The tone he used was neutral but his body language was anything but. Barely contained fury flashed in the blue eyes returning my stare. Determination was evident in his clenched jaw and furrowed brow. Every muscle, every limb, was drawn tight—at the ready—waiting for a fight.
My gaze settled on the clenching and unclenching of the fist at his side as I asked, “How?”
Xander offered a cynical huff. “She went to him willingly.”
“She what?”
The rigidness of his stance faltered at my anger. With a sigh, Xander turned his back on me. “She swore it was the only way. She told me to come after her…” A curse ripped from his chest as he bent at the waist and raked his fingers through his hair. “I have these memories, these thoughts that make little sense.”
My gaze fell on Pelleas, a quiet statue perched on his horse watching us with unnaturally bright eyes. My human mind had rebelled against the ideology of magic and prophecies. McClintock raised me to believe in brute strength. Yet, he’d kept a dark magic wielding wizard as his second-in-command. He was surrounded by the unnatural my entire life and I chose to ignore it. I could not ignore it anymore.
Closing the distance between us, I surprised even myself when I laid a hand of comfort upon his shoulder. “Our world makes little sense, Xander. Skye trusts you implicitly. What have you seen? What are you thinking?”
“My father made me study weapons as a child. Not only the kind we fight with, but magic as a weapon. How the force behind us and within holds the greatest strength.” His fingers brushed at the weapon at his hip. “He trained me to recognize magic spelled into everyday items.”
I stared and waited for more.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I keep thinking he wouldn’t have driven that into me so relentlessly if it wasn’t important.”
A shadow darkened his eyes and I cleared my throat. We had no time to linger on the past.
“We will join you. The elves are not susceptible to his magic, and they are stronger than the fae, possessed or not.”
Xander frowned.
“Do not tell me no, Guardian.” I shook my head and stepped back as though that alone would prevent him from denying me. “I know she is yours. I know she loves you … but I fell in love with her too. I cannot not try to help.”
His hand scrubbed over his head. “Nickoli, I would welcome your help if Tyalbrook didn’t need you more. Ridgecrest, Ballinger … Cillian and Rioden led men to fight, but they are fighting fae and Semvon. I’ve fought them both, and I can tell you our men will lose without this army’s help.”
I looked over my shoulder at the crowd of elves and my small band of men. They awaited orders as I had asked. “I can send them with Smith.”
“Montibello needs you”—he blew out a deep breath—“If something should happen, you are the Prince the Kingdom knows.”
Denial raged in my blood. It was not in my nature to walk away from helping Skye. But it was not in his either. And he owned a claim on her heart that I did not. He had the right where I did not. War would have to be my recourse.
Leaving Xander and his men with the highest of hope for success, I divided my men and the elven army into two groups. One half headed for Ballinger with Smith in command, while I rode with the remainder for Ridgecrest and Montibello. Protecting this kingdom for the Queen’s return was my sole focus with every beat of the hooves beneath me.
Smoke billowing into the pale winter sky was our first visual of what was to come. We pushed ourselves harder, faster.
This land will not belong to a creature formed by darkness. The evil Tabor and the Drakoon had inflicted would be extinguished. He would not breach Montibello. He would not win.
I maintained my chant—a chant for strength—as the first sounds of battle reached us. A chant for victory as the carnage of war came into view.
Then I dove into the fray with no regrets and little to lose.