The Breaker (The Secret of Spellshadow Manor #2)(41)

“Welcome,” teased Ellabell, as she sat on the edge of her bed. Alex pulled up one of the desk chairs and sat down beside the window, feeling weird about sitting on one of the beds.

“So?” he said, trying not to sound too impatient as he waited for Ellabell to begin.

“So, you wanted to know about battles?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. The biggest ones.”

“Well, there are a few big battles in our known history, but there is one very famous one. It is sometimes referred to as the ‘greatest battle of them all,’ if that’s what you’re interested in?” she began, looking to him for confirmation.

Alex was intrigued. “Sounds good.”

“It was the biggest battle in recorded history, and also, funnily enough, the last one. It happened in the winter of 1908, and is known more commonly as the Fields of Sorrow due to the number of dead. Huge losses on both sides, but it’s said that this was where the last Spellbreaker fell,” she explained, her voice enthralling Alex as he listened.

Fields of Sorrow rang a bell in Alex’s head, but in that moment, he couldn’t quite place where he had heard the name before. He almost had it, when Ellabell’s words distracted him from his thoughts.

“It was a vicious battle that raged for almost a fortnight, with severe casualties every day from both sides. Thousands of infantry Mages and Spellbreakers were wiped out within the first week, along with the beasts that served as cavalry and air support,” she continued, her memory an awe-inspiring thing as she recounted the tale, remembering it perfectly from whichever book she had absorbed the knowledge from. “Bodies were strewn across the battlefield, unable to be moved, as magic and anti-magic flew between the two sides. Now and again, they would charge one another, attempting to smoke out the strongest, but usually it was the charging side who suffered against hidden traps and buried clockwork ballistics.”

Alex was astonished, feeling the familiar spark of anger beginning to glimmer into life in the pit of his stomach. Frowning slightly at Ellabell, he wondered how it was that she had come to know so much. Curiosity encouraged the question to his lips.

“How do you know so much about this?” he asked, sounding a touch suspicious.

Ellabell looked at him strangely. “I have my ways.”

“What ways?” He couldn’t help but press her for an answer.

“This manor has secrets—they’re useful if you know where to look,” she replied cryptically, pushing her spectacles higher onto the bridge of her nose. A nervous tic, Alex thought. He had touched a nerve.

“Where would you look?” His attempt at nonchalance fell flat.

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you that.” She smiled, but there was a hint of a warning in her sparkling eyes not to press further. “Look, are you okay? You seem distracted. If you want to talk about this another time, we can,” she ventured.

“I’m fine. Sorry, I was just curious—I am invested in what you were saying, I promise.” He smiled shyly, trying to push away the itch of resentment and the tingle of intrigue as he continued to listen to her story.

“Are you sure?” She frowned, seeming to test him.

He nodded. “Please, go on.”

“Well, by week two, the numbers had dwindled away to barely more than a small band of each as the battle reached its final days. The greatest warriors from each side were all that were left. On the magical side, the twenty crowned princes and princesses of the eight Royal Families, battling alongside some of the most famous heroes and heroines in history. On the other side, the Heads of the six main Spellbreaker bloodlines and their grown children, fighting along with some of the most terrifying Spellbreakers that have ever been known to walk the earth. If you get a chance, look up Kira the Merciless; she was a monster,” Ellabell said in a hushed tone, as if Kira might somehow hear.

Alex kept quiet, not wanting to admit he had already read up on the infamous Spellbreaker. It was strange to hear Ellabell mention the Spellbreaker bloodlines when he had kept them so close to his heart. He wondered suddenly if Ellabell might know any more about the Spellbreaker families. He made a mental note to ask her later.

“Go on,” encouraged Alex.

“So, these two remaining sides fought fiercely over the final two days, until only two remained on the battlefield, locked in single, one-on-one combat. Malachi Grey and Leander Wyvern,” she explained, the names sending two sharp shivers down Alex’s spine.

Leander W., Alex thought. It had to be the same one.

“There was only one difference… Leander was the very last of his kind, whereas Malachi Grey was merely the last of the Mage army. It was a futile fight, but Leander fought valiantly to the bitter end. It is thought the battle raged for six hours, the pair evenly matched almost to a stalemate. Witnesses have said it was in fact Leander who was the victor, standing over a wounded and half-dead Malachi, with a blade of anti-magic held in his hand, ready to deliver the final blow to Grey. But then Leander was ambushed by a newly arrived platoon of Mage infantry, sent from a different battleground.

“They jumped him from behind and held him to the ground, shackling him with specially crafted manacles that absorbed the power of any magical or anti-magical being. They strung him up in the center of the battlefield, to the top of a crudely built scaffold, and tortured him to death. A hundred wizards against one powerless Spellbreaker, though he stayed alive far longer than any of them imagined he would, his cries chilling the blood of any who watched as his eyes seemed to burn with a blinding silver light, his broken body punished by wave after wave of magical artillery. They say it was Malachi Grey who dealt the final blow, with the last bit of strength he had.” A misty glitter of something like sadness hung in Ellabell’s eyes as she glanced across to Alex.