Chapter 38

CHAPTER38

Lore had known everything would fall apart after that. She’d threatened Margaret with the reality of what she’d been faced with, but also with the truth that her elves now knew her lies.

Lore was not a weak little half elf who was playing at taking a kingdom. She was a goddess, a warrior, a woman who had fought countless enemies to get to this point, and nothing was stopping her from taking what she wanted.

It was a hard truth. Perhaps a bit unfair to those who had believed Margaret’s nonsense. But their reality was now a battle.

And Lore hadn’t lied when she said they could run. She hoped they did. A world without elves in it would be sad indeed. And she had no intention of hunting them down afterwards. They could live their own lives. They could hide in the ancient elven ruins if they wished, but they would not be hunted like the mortals had been.

They put their trust in someone who did not care for them. That level of trust would be honored, but they would need to learn just how important it was for that trust to be in someone better. Someone worthy.

She already knew who that person would be. She’d seen how Zephyr worked with the humans, those who had been beaten and starved. The kindness in his soft hands, the smile on his face that tore at her very soul? All of that would make him a good king.

Glaring up at Margaret, she marveled at the similarities between herself and the Darkveil. Neither of them would have been good for that throne. Neither of them knew what it took to run a kingdom with a softer hand and guidance that would bring them toward better years. And yet, Margaret fought against that truth. She raged against it, clawing tooth and nail to get herself more power rather than realizing there was no stopping this. Lore had learned long ago to let it go.

She was not what this kingdom needed. She would never be the kind queen they wanted or deserved. But she would be its sword and shield when she was needed.

Perhaps forever. She hadn’t gotten that far yet.

Margaret hissed out a long breath and spun from the wall. “Release the arrows!”

Of course.

Lore had thought they might fight these battles with honor, but no. Margaret wanted this to end quickly because she feared what the outcome might be if she fought fairly.

Lore could play that game as well.

She’d promised that she would let these people take their kingdom back on their own. A goddess should not interfere in a battle that required them all to prove themselves worthy of the land they walked on. And she knew, deep in her chest, that this was important. They had to fight this battle on their own.

But she would damn well give them the chance to fight. Throwing up her arm, a spell flashed out of her hand and settled upon her army like a blanket. All the arrows that rained down upon them shattered into a fine powder. Like ash, it coated her people with a soft gray, but that was all. No arrows touched them. No wounds, no screams, nothing.

A few startled gazes flicked over to her. And she knew how strange she must look. A woman standing in the middle of a battlefield, one hand raised, her helm not even on her head. A giant crimson dragon looming over her with his teeth bared and a snarl warning away all those who might touch her.

She would not actively partake in the battle, she realized. Lore stood there, watching as her people poured toward the castle and started hammering at the front gate.

The first battle she’d fought with them, Lore had been in the thick of it. She’d lifted her blade above her head and screamed to the heavens with her wrath. But now, she was merely a spirit who stood on the sidelines and watched them. Casting blessings as she saw fit.

It was... strange. It was the first time she’d felt like the goddess they had all named her. Because she knew if she waded into the battle with her dwarven sword, that no one would come out alive.

“Should I even fight?” she asked, the question meant for Abraxas. “Should we get involved?”

“How many deaths do you wish for?” He peered down at her and nodded toward where Hyperion had already latched himself to the wall.

Their son was fierce in his anger. He could sense those who had caused his forests pain, and in that, his anger was great. He was no longer the young man who had made them laugh, but an avenging dragon who devoured all those who had wronged him. Nyx banked low over the castle and opened her mouth wide. Rivers flowed out of her, pouring down the steps of the castle towers and sweeping elves down into the courtyard below.

It would be a slaughter. There would be so many dead on both sides. Though her people had wished for such a thing. They had wanted this to be over with quickly. They had desired to see an end to all this.

But... Did Lore want that many people to die?

She sighed and pulled her helm over her head. Her hair disappeared into the smooth metal and she could feel it molding to her features, the spells in it forcing the metal to fit better.

It did not obscure her vision, but it made all of this so much more real.

She was going to wade into that battle, and she was going to end this quickly.

Abraxas spread his wing wide around her, creating a cocoon for the both of them. He leaned down and nudged her with his nose. “You will stay well, my mate. You will stay alive for me and I will never be far from your side.”

“I won’t leave you this time.” She grinned up at him. “But I’ve already died, my dragon. It is you I worry about now.”

“Worrying about a dragon? You’re losing your edge, elf.” He winked at her before taking off. His massive form soared over her head with so much ease, it was like he was part of the wind.

She watched him join his children in clearing out the walls of the castle. They’d all planned this, knowing that arrows from the walls would be their greatest threats. And the dragons were the best way to keep those safe. If they could trap Margaret and her people inside the castle, then they could hunt them down. Control the battle.

This would not be like the last time. They would not fight with just magic, they were going to fight with skill.

Lore strode toward the forest’s edge, where an elderly figure waited for her. Lindon and his bird would stay out of the fight until she called upon them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his eyebrows raised. “I thought you’d give them a little more time before you wanted to cast this spell.”

“I remember how to cast it,” she hissed. “And now is not the time. We’ll let them prove themselves for a bit longer before we call in the reinforcements.”

“That was an impressive speech,” he called after her as she stalked past. “Almost spoken like a real goddess.”

She flipped him a crude sign with her fingers before she drew her sword. The long, thin metal gleamed in the sunlight. No one would stand in her way. She wanted all of her people to be... What? She didn’t know. Lore wanted them happy and alive and well and living their lives without her.

The first elf that lunged at her wore full armor. It was easy to dodge their attack and slip her blade between their ribs. Bright red blood splashed out over the dark metal before the elf stumbled and then fell.

Again and again she fought until her silver armor was coated with splashes of blood. She never attacked someone unless they attacked her first. She never killed any elf who did not beg for their end on her blade.

And then the first elf without a helmet attacked her. She watched the man’s face as he tried his best, but there wasn’t rage or hate on his features. It was fear.

He was afraid to attack her, and he was still doing it. Why? Why would he fight her when he knew he wouldn’t win?

Linking their swords, she dragged him closer to her and forced him to look her in her eyes. “Why?” she hissed. “Why are you fighting?”

“For the elves,” he snarled back.

But his eyes were wrong. His face was wrong. He was terrified of her and he was still fighting and why was he still fighting?

She threw him off her. Their swords screamed against each other as he stumbled back before catching himself. His hair was light for an elf, not quite like a Silverfell, but perhaps another clan that had come from the forests. The elf put his hand on the ground, breathing hard and shaking his head as he slowly stood back up and raised his sword. Ready for battle. Ready to fight.

Lore shook her head and frowned. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I will protect our people.”

“You don’t have to fight me. I don’t want the elves to die, but I don’t want anyone else to suffer.”

He bared his teeth in anger. “They enslaved us. They tortured us. They will know the same pain.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Everyone wanted everyone else to feel the same pain they had gone through. And she could make them feel that, if that’s really what they wanted.

The thought echoed through her head over and over again. A shadow passed over the sun, and she heard Abraxas’s angry roar as the gates opened and trebuchets were shoved outside. She turned her attention toward those, knowing already that there were the balls covered in acid that would hurt her children. They’d hurt Abraxas.

Her perfect, sweet dragonlings would wear scars for the rest of their lives if the elves let those acid covered balls fly. And she refused to see that happen.

The elf she’d previously been fighting flew at her. She dodged, turning on her heel and ducking underneath his blade until she was suddenly behind him with her arm wrapped around his chest. She dragged his back to her heart, pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, “You wanted them to feel your pain, but first you should feel theirs.”

Magic pulsed at his back and he fell onto his knees, clutching his head as he screamed. All those memories. All thrust into his mind so he could see what the elves had done to the humans. How many hundreds of years had been wasted as they tormented each other over and over again.

Lore did not look at him again. She raced through the courtyard, leaping over fallen soldiers and rolling over bent backs. She shoved her way past countless enemies who raised their swords but were stopped by her own people.

They’d seen where she was going. The humans knew what she was trying to stop, and many of the magical creatures knew exactly what would happen if those acid balls flew.

And then she was trapped. Trapped and stuck between walls of people fighting and she couldn’t...

She could.

Lore was a goddess reborn, and she’d be damned if those acid balls would fly. Words slipped from her tongue, ancient spells from her mother and mothers before. And in those words was power that lit those acid balls on fire long before they reached the slings that would let them fly. Burning acid sparked off them and flung onto the elves nearby. Their armor sizzled, and then they screamed, tearing at the molten metal that dripped onto their pristine flesh.

It was... not what she wanted to do. None of this was. Her first real battle had felt so right. She’d wanted to destroy the Umbral Soldiers and everyone that ever came near the people she loved.

But standing in the middle of this battlefield, she realized these people were part of her as well. These were two sides of her soul, fighting and tearing and killing. Two sides that could never get along, no matter how hard she had tried to be part of them.

Algor’s laughing shout echoed nearby, and she turned to see the dwarven king wielding double axes. He fought with a fluid grace she wouldn’t have thought possible from a man like him. He leapt through the air and those axes flew out of his hands, hitting heads and chests and anything else that stood in his way. And then when he opened his hand, they flew right back into his palm. There were gloves on his hands and she wondered...

He did it again, the axe flying through the air and then back. Magnets? Had the dwarves figured out how to battle with high-powered magnets?

But then another cry echoed, and she turned to see Beauty and Zephyr fighting together. The damned young man was supposed to stay back with Lindon, but she had known he wouldn’t stay there. Not when his people were fighting.

She kept him safe, though. Beauty moved with the natural grace of a woman who had learned how to fight her entire life. She’d built back the muscle and bulk that she’d lost after Margaret had taken over Tenebrous, and now she moved with a power that few could fight against. Certainly not any elf.

And behind her, Zephyr was swift and efficient. His sword bit out at anyone who came near them, his hand on Beauty’s back as she whirled around him with her great sword flashing.

The dragons thundered over their heads, keeping everyone safe from overhead attacks, and it was... working. All of this was right. This was exactly how it was supposed to go and still her stomach twisted. Because her gut said this would not end well. It would not end at all if she didn’t hurry and do... something.

But what?

Then she noticed movement on one of the farthest walls. It was a small haven between the three dragons that flashed from wall to wall. A haven where a Darkveil elf slipped into a secret entrance to the castle.

Margaret wasn’t getting away that easily. She would not run and leave all her elves to the slaughter like the coward she was.

Anger flashed heavy and hot in her chest, and Lore thought for a moment that maybe she’d taken on some of Abraxas’s qualities, because she sure felt like she could breathe fire right now.

Her people would take care of this army without her. Lore had to hunt an elf.