The Blessed Curse (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #4)(15)

“Can you use magic to transport us?” Wisp asked, her voice filled with concern.

Neph shook his head savagely and motioned with a free hand toward the chaos of the battlefield. “Too many moving objects here, Wisp. I couldn’t find a free place to set us down that would be close enough to her to help. We have to cross this shit,” Neph answered loudly. The Rivasans were closing in around them and the noise of battle was growing so loud words were almost impossible.

A cheer rose from the inner ranks of the enemy and Neph’s cat slid to a stop as a massive form rose from the center of the field. “Oh shit,” Neph hissed as the dragon rose to its full height and unfurled its immense wings. Its scales were the deep red of drying blood and by its sheer size there was only one dragon it could be. “That is Nerath himself,” Neph gasped. The dragon twisted, his tail lashing, and the screams of horses shattered the air as the Faydwer forces were scattered by the attack.

“You have to do something, Neph!” Wisp screamed behind him.

“That is the dragon that killed my grandfather, Wisp. He is a legend. His own damned country is named after him. What do you propose I do?” Neph snarled back. He could see his allies scattering back from the field and knew the battle was swiftly turning against them. Someone definitely needed to do something soon, but he wasn’t sure what.

“I think you should kill it before it kills my brother!” Wisp snapped, her hand smacking directly into his back driving the spikes of his vest deep into his flesh. Pain flared and Neph seized it channeling the magic into a spell. The wind around his cat rose viciously as his magic tore through the Rivasans that had been closing on them tearing flesh and armor alike to shreds. “Pain is still your focus to channel, isn’t it Neph?”

Wisp demanded loudly.

“Yes,” Neph growled through clenched teeth as he readied another spell.

Agony ripped through his leg and he nearly lost the spell. Glancing down, he stared hard at the dagger protruding from his thigh and then back at Wisp who was glaring at him. “What the f*ck!” he demanded as he unleashed his newest wave of destruction on the Rivasans.

“Focus and Channel and kill that damned dragon!” Wisp ordered sharply, her slender hand rising quickly to point at Nerath.

Neph started to answer as another sound rose on the wind and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. It was a scream and he knew the sound of that voice as clearly as he knew his own. By all rights, he shouldn’t have been able to hear her so clearly from across the battlefield. It was filled with complete agony and it was rising from Jala. It was a sound that couldn’t be mimicked and he had fought enough duels and seen enough battles to recognize it for what it truly was. It was a death cry.

For the second time in his life he hadn’t been strong enough, and someone he loved was dying because of it. Pain and anger rose in his chest and he felt something snap inside. He couldn’t say if it had been in his mind or in his heart, but magic roared in his ears. Every muscle in this body thrummed with power and the only spells that rose in his mind were the forbidden ones. The penalties for Death magic no longer seemed important, however. The only thing that mattered was punishing his enemies. First, however, he had to get rid of the damned dragon. Turning slowly in his saddle, Neph regarded the creature, his gaze narrowing as he studied the ancient magics that protected it. Wards were nothing to the forbidden magic. He had spells that would eat through the protection as easily as they destroyed flesh. Never before had he been willing to unleash them, however. According to the magic lore there were seventeen ways to kill with magic that would utterly destroy a creature with no hope of returning to life or the life stream. Neph knew twelve of them, and he intended to use all of them today.

“Neph, what is wrong with you?” Wisp gasped as she dropped quickly off the back of his cat, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. Neph glanced from her to the shroud of dark magic that covered him, rising like shadowed flames from his skin. He didn’t bother to answer her question and he ignored the look of fear on Wisp’s face as he began to chant softly in a language that had been dead for centuries, speaking the words of a spell that had been forbidden even longer. The Dragon’s battle cries turned to roars of agony as the first of his magics wrapped around the creature. To the naked eye, it looked like no more than shadows covering the deep red scales, but Neph knew the truth of it. Each tendril of darkness was driving down through the creature, burrowing into muscle and bone alike and twisting. He continued to chant and the dragon writhed as his spell literally ripped it apart from the inside, piece by piece. This was simply the first stage of the spell designed to immobilize the victim, the next stage would target the mind and then finally the soul. By the time he was done, there would be nothing left of Nerath the Red beyond whispered tales of his demise.





*





Everywhere he looked, there was destruction. The smell of burnt flesh and blood saturated the air so fully that even when he closed his eyes he could still see the battlefield clearly in his mind. Corpses covered the ground before him, but Neph didn’t spare them a glance as he crossed the last stretch of the field that separated him from where Jala had fallen.

A crowd had gathered in that area and they all watched him in silence with expressions of suspicion on their faces as he approached. The last of the battle was a blur in his mind. He knew he had called on more magic in those few minutes than he had in his entire life, and all of it had been dark. There would be an accounting for it, he was sure. Regardless of how he had used the magic, it was forbidden magic, and even his allies would want him punished for it.