Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(93)

I smiled at them, my hand pressing away from my chest as I pushed with an aggressive wall of magic that picked them up and sent them high above the trees. Their flight was illuminated by the lightning that littered the sky.

I had no time to watch them or to bask in any success before my magic flared in alarm and I spun on the spot, a swipe of my hand sending a flame of red through the air, the act removing the hand of the Trpaslík who had stood behind me, his hand placed for a final blow. He screamed in agony as he dropped to his knees, the fire of my attack sealing the flesh of his now dismembered arm.

I left him screaming as I took two steps back, a stream of black soaring through the air I had just vacated. I turned toward the attacker and pressed my hands against him, the pressure of the air working against me as if it was a brick wall. I pushed against the pressure, my magic exploding as it worked past it, sending the tiny man away from me and into a tree that stood twenty feet away.

I turned and ran as the loud crack of breaking wood filled the clearing, my feet skidding against dead leaves as I worked to make it toward Ilyan. My feet pumped forward as I jumped over the lifeless bodies that surrounded me, only to be stopped by a pulse as strong as a jackhammer against my spine.

I screamed at the impact, my spine contorting into a weird angle as I fell to the ground, my muscles seizing and flaring as I pushed myself onto my back, desperate to find a way to escape the pain, to fight the Trpaslík with the blood-stained eyes who looked down on me.

Joclyn!

I howled in agony as I fought the pain, the warmth of Ilyan’s magic flooded me as I silently pleaded with him not to come to my aide, even though I could hear the desperate need in his mind.

I looked into the blood tinged teeth of my attacker as he laughed above me, and I screamed louder. The pain in my back fell away until all I felt was Ilyan’s warmth, but I didn’t stop screaming. I let my throat crack and bleed in my supposed pain, my magic prickling with awareness as more and more Trpaslíks surrounded me.

My heart broke as I continued to feel Ilyan’s unfounded worry, his agony so broken that I almost lost hold of my erroneous scream, of my plan. I held on, though, my determination surging as my scream did.

More Trpaslíks looked down at me as they sneered and laughed at their supposed success. Their magic flared in victory, mine growing along with it.

I stopped screaming.

Silence rent the air as I smiled at them, their confusion plastered on their faces before I pressed my hand against the dirt I lay against. My magic flooded the earth in a violent pulse, the power causing a rumble that shook the world. The ground shifted beneath me as the earth groaned and broke apart; dirt, rocks, and burning logs exploded into the air in a wide circle of destruction. Fire and rubble lifted from the ground in a spectacular blast that spread away from me like the ripples of a pond, the ground opening up as it prepared to swallow everyone in its path.

I watched the men’s faces change from curiosity to fear as the stable ground they had stood on disappeared into a wide cavern that was ready to swallow them whole. The ground shifted beneath me and I rolled onto my hands and knees before I took off running, my muscles pumping fast in an attempt to escape the chaos I had just created.

I jumped and dodged the shifting ground as the dirt continued to explode around me, little pops of my magic acting like grenades against the forest floor. Each explosion showered me in dirt before I jumped into the air, the wind catching me when it took me away from the fray, past the screams and the open maw of earth that would swallow them all. The wind caught my hood as I flew, ripping it from my head as my braid fell free from its confines.

I had just cleared the line of dirt when the sky opened up in a pillar of fire, the blaze of power exploding from the tent of Vil?s as Ilyan’s magic ignited it in an explosion so powerful the trees that surrounded me swayed and shimmied in the wake. The sky glowed red as the eruption grew, the screams of the Trpaslíks below me faded out, replaced by the high pitched screams of the Vil?s as they burned from within Ilyan’s blaze.

Goodbye, my friends. I felt Ilyan’s regret flood me as I landed beside him, my feet stumbling as the strong wind that had supported me attempted to blow me over.

The powerful wind picked up the endings of the long, golden ribbons that bound our hair, the long strands tangling together as they hovered in the wind that surrounded us. I watched the blaze as my ribbon danced alongside Ilyan’s, the long strands winding around each other as the red light reflected off the glittering surface.

Magic I had never wanted to feel again rocked through me, the waves of hatred and despair rising so quickly I couldn’t stop the anxiety, no matter how hard Ilyan’s magic worked to counteract it. I clung to Ilyan as the magic infiltrated me. The earth shook under the horrifying weight of the oppressive magic, and the red flames of the explosion turned the long, slender trunks of the trees into streaks of blood. I clung to Ilyan as the fear filled me, my legs unable to support my weight.

“Cail,” I gasped the name, knowing it was wrong, knowing it couldn’t be true.

Cail was dead. I had killed him. Besides, this magic was so much more than what had filled Cail’s mind, more than the guards that had come before. This magic was the source, the pure hatred that had fueled Cail, that had fueled my fear and my tortures. I was feeling it in its unfiltered form, and the sensation was crippling.

It wasn’t Cail I should be afraid of; it never had been because it had never been Cail who had held the cards, never Cail who had trapped me.