BLOODLIT VOWS

THE BATTLE: I

The scent of burning cedar always preceded the arrival of the dead.

Elias swung his sword in a wide arc, the steel biting through leather and bone with a sickening ease that felt wrong. Around him, the screams of dying men rose up like a thick, choking fog. The sky was the color of a bruised plum, heavy with the weight of smoke that refused to drift away. Witches in dark robes raised their hands toward the sky, drawing power through symbols carved into the mud. Opposing forces pressed toward them with iron weapons and brutal strength..

Every time his blade landed, a jolt of heat raced up his arm. It was too much power. It felt like his veins were full of boiling oil. He could feel the magic of the coven pushing him, sharpening his reflexes until the world seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the spray of blood from his enemies before it even hit the ground. He was winning the war for them, single-handedly turning the tide of a battle that should have been lost hours ago.

Lightning cracked across the sky.

Elias moved through the chaos with unnatural calm.

He lifted one hand.

The enemy line shattered.

Men fell before they reached him. Weapons splintered. Armor collapsed inward as if crushed by invisible pressure. The witches behind him watched in awe and relief.

He had already turned the war.

Yet he felt something wrong.

At first it was faint. A thin thread tugging at the edge of his awareness.

He ignored it and stepped forward again. More enemies rushed him. The ground shook as he released another surge of force. The attack broke them apart like dry leaves in a gale.

Victory was close.

But the thread pulled again.

Stronger now.

Elias paused.

He turned his head toward the high ridge where the witches stood. They were a circle of dark shapes against the horizon, their robes flapping in the wind like the wings of crows. In the center of the circle sat Ina.

She was slumped against a stone, her head hanging low. Her dark hair was tangled with dry grass and ash. Even from this distance, Elias could see the golden cord of light that connected her chest to his. It was pulsing, a bright and terrible tether that was draining the color out of her skin and feeding it directly into his muscles.

Elias stopped. A soldier rushed at him with a spear, but Elias simply stepped aside and let the man trip into the mud. He didn't care about the enemy anymore.

"Stop it," Elias roared, his voice cracking the heavy air.

He didn't mean the soldiers.

He meant the women on the hill. He began to run toward her, his heavy boots splashing through the red-stained puddles. He felt a sudden drop in the power. The golden light flickered, then surged again, pulling even harder. He saw Ina’s body jerk as if she had been struck. She was gasping, her small hands clawing at the dirt.