“Three minutes…” Karen called, staring at her watch. Her muscles were tight and her eyes hard.
“The elves are turning one by one, hurrah, hurrah,” the Red Prophet sang softly, still bent over but her outstretched arms still now. Lines formed around her eyes, squeezed shut. “The elves are spooking one by one, hurrah, hurrah. The elves are prancing one by one, the heir will come and cut their fun, and we’ll all go marching down, to the field, to chop out their hearts.”
“That went downhill fast,” Charity murmured.
The Red Prophet started in on a spirited rendition of the next part of the song, but Charity focused on the battle drums in her mind, beating in time to her heart. The world went still and all sounds ceased for her but for that drum. But for the inner song of battle flowing on the breeze.
“One minute, counting down,” Karen said over the Red Prophet’s singing.
The Red Prophet cut herself off abruptly, then said, “It will be she that saves the day. Not with the sword. But with the soul.”
“I didn’t See that,” Karen replied. “I don’t even know who you are talking about.”
“You don’t See all, and soon that will be very apparent to all who matter,” the Red Prophet replied.
“Keep it up and you won’t See anything. You’ll be too busy falling from someplace high. You might heal fast, but when all your insides are on the outside, I doubt you’ll heal fast enough.”
“Threats. What fun.”
“Thirty seconds,” Karen shouted, her frustration and anger at the Red Prophet drowning out her worry for her daughter. She might not know it, but the Red Prophet’s antics were actually helping her push through the fear for her child.
“Go!”
Charity took off running, shoving through the portal at the same time as Roger and Romulus. Magic sucked at her energy and ran its claws across her middle, but she ignored it out of practice. A swell of enemy appeared before her amid the puffy green trees and colorfully speckled flowers on the sides of a limestone path. At least four dozen elves waited there, their power thrumming around them, and a troop of centaurs waited to the side, swords in hands and hooves stamping. Looked like Vlad hadn’t grabbed them all. Some were still loyal to the crown.
Two large forms flew through the air, great wings beating at the sky. Sun shone off their glittering scales, and smoke curled from their great maws, curling upward. Dragons. Holy shit, they were fantastic. Charity was suddenly incredibly envious of the people sitting on their backs, leaning over to look at what was unfolding down below.
Charity rushed forward as their people gushed through the portal behind them, traveling in twos and threes. She pulled her sword to the side, ready to swing at the back of the first elf, when the blue dragon roared. The sound vibrated off her body before digging inside, freezing up her muscles and clamping her jaw shut. The white dragon swooped down, belching fire at the gathering enemy. It seared across the lines, blistering skin and forcing out high-pitched wails of agony.
The roar stopped, and Charity unstuck her feet from the ground, shaking and suddenly winded. Crap, that was intense. She’d had no idea they could do that.
“Marshal your will to overcome the dragon’s magic,” Romulus yelled through the din. “Except the fire—will alone won’t keep you from burning to death.”
The elves at the front threw up their hands, and the dragons’ great wings stilled for a moment before tilting away from the onslaught of magic, each turning in a different direction.
“They’ve assembled a lot of power here,” Halvor yelled from behind as more of their people pushed through the portal. “They must’ve known the heir and the dragons were coming. We have to take out these elves.”
Fire erupted from the pale orange sky, and only then did Charity see the third dragon, smaller than the others and pink, with a musclebound man on its back. The fire cut through the line of elves, sending them running. This dragon’s fire wasn’t as powerful, however, and only a few perished in the blast. The rest scattered, spreading out, giving the dragons less of a tightly focused target. It did the trick against the elves’ attack, though, cutting it off so the larger dragons could regain their composure and lift higher into the sky.
A lion’s roar reverberated through Charity, signaling that Steve was on the scene and ready to go. She grinned maniacally, cutting into the back of one elf before kicking the chest of another so she could land a kill strike on a third.
Another dragon roar loosened Charity’s bowels, and she clenched and balled up a little, worried she’d crap herself right here on the battlefield. What her dad had said echoed through her mind—marshal your will. She fought the effect of the roar as a dagger enlarged in her field of vision.