Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6) Page 7

  Donell was alone.

  Sobs wracked his body as he curled around the lifeless figure of the Twyli. For a brief span of his life, he’d felt almost happy. And now it was gone, ripped from him.

  Bran.

  This was Bran’s fault. The nomad was a thorn in his side, and had caused this to happen. Donell stood and left the camp, walking toward Ruis, heedless of everything else but the burning rage and hatred that swirled inside him. Ruis would burn, and Bran would die.

  33

  Bran

  Ruis was in chaos. Bran ran down the streets, toward the city gates, pushing against the crowd that surged in the opposite direction. Women and children were crying, men shouting, everyone scared. Bran had tried asking people what they were running from, but no one was able to give him a coherent answer.

  Nearing the gates, Bran slowed, stricken. There were no gates. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air where they’d once stood, and people milled about in panicked confusion.

  Donell stood in the center of chaos, lightning streaking from his fingertips to strike anyone in his path. Eyes locked on Bran, the redheaded nomad stalked forward, magic pulsing from him in waves, slamming people aside like cast-off dolls.

  “She’s dead, Bran!” Donell’s yellow eyes were red-rimmed from weeping, his face contorted with fury. “She’s dead, curse you! You started all of this, but I’m going to finish it!”

  Raising his hands, pale yellow lightning shot from Donell’s fingertips.

  Bran reacted instinctively, creating a shield of light and air. Donell’s lightning slammed into it and was absorbed, Bran staggering from the impact. With a thrust of his wrists, he sent the shield spinning toward Donell.

  The redheaded man leapt to the side, and the shield slammed into the guard house, reducing it to a pile of roof and brick.

  With a roar, Donell launched himself at Bran. The two men fell to the earth, grappling with each other.

  Donell summoned a knife, the blade flickering with a sickly light, and stabbed at Bran’s chest.

  Bran grabbed the nomad’s wrist, the knife’s blade hovering an inch over him. He was stronger than Donell, but the other’s madness lent him strength. His face twisted in a feral snarl, sweat and tears staining his face. “After you die, nothing will stand between the Twyli and Ruis. Eletha will be avenged.”

  With a heave, Bran threw him off and scrambled to his feet. The two nomads faced each other, both crouched defensively as they circled, looking for an opening, for weakness. Bran hesitated, memories he’d shared with Donell in their youth. Hot-headed and impulsive, the two had gotten themselves into a lot of scrapes, but nothing Bran wasn’t able to get them out of. He’d always led, and Donell had always followed him unquestioningly. So much had changed.

  Bran hesitated. He didn’t want to kill the nomad, but looking around at the shattered ruins of the gates and slain people, Bran knew he wouldn’t have a choice.

  Donell’s magic was more powerful than any magic user Bran had faced. The Dark magic had made him strong. With the sky jewel, Bran was still the dominant magic user, but Donell’s white-hot fury gave him an edge and ferocity he wouldn’t otherwise have.

  With a yell Donell summoned a spear, hurling it at Bran.

  Bran dodged it, but Donell hurled another, and another. Bran pulled magic through the sky jewel and working the elements, buckled earth and cobblestone so Donell stumbled.

  The redheaded man regained his footing and grinned. “After I kill you, I’m going for Grace. I’m going to take her, and—”

  He never finished. Bran snatched the wind and pulling as much power as he was able through the sky jewel, threw Donell.

  Donell flew several feet in the air, slamming into a pile of rubble. The redhead cried out and was still.

  Bran stood with shoulders slumped, his breath coming in painful gasps. He looked at the unmoving form of Donell, once his friend.

  “What in blazes is going on here?” Bran turned to the voice. Lord Welling sat on a great gelding, his eyes taking in the devastation. “Did the Twyli just ambush us in our own city?”

  He removed his spectacles, dry-washing them on his shirt before propping them back on his nose.

  “No,” Bran said wearily. He felt like he’d run a thousand miles. He was tired. So tired. “Just a renegade. A rogue.”

  Lord Welling opened his mouth to reply, but paused when two horsemen came galloping in from where the gates had once stood. They reined to a halt before the magistrate, and Bran recognized them to be Oppressor scouts.

  “They’re coming, my Lord,” one said, dirt and sweat streaking his face. “The Twyli are advancing.”

  34

  Hydari

  “A change of plans, sister.” Hydari pushed aside the silk flap of the tent and entered.

  Lounging on a low sofa, his sister looked up from a book she was reading, her expression one of puzzlement. “Oh?”

  “It seems we’ve had a strange stroke of luck,” Hydari chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “The gates of this city have crumbled.”

  Myyre’s expression didn’t change, so he elaborated. “A magic user destroyed them. Why, I don’t know, but it would appear that the Twyli on this side of the mountains hate Denali, too.”

  Myyre grinned, her eyes glinting. “Excellent. Then it’s time to strike, while the Denali are weakened.”

  She rose from the cushions she’d been laying on, and stepped into an embrace. Hydari wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her scent. She smelled like spice. “Our conquest begins, brother,” she laughed.

  “Yes,” Hydari agreed. “I’ll give the order to march on the city immediately.”

  If the magic users hated the Denali so, who could stop them? There would be no opposition, and these lands would fall.

  35

  Grace

  “Hang it all, we’ve been caught with our trousers around our ankles.” Lord Welling paced the Hall of Magistrates, ignoring the cluster of men who sat at a long table, apart from him. “That rogue Twyli devastated our greatest defense; we no longer have any real way of protecting ourselves short of man-power.”

  “An evacuation,” Grace spoke up. She, Bran, Adaryn, and Fyrsil stood off to the side, unofficially invited to the meeting of magistrates. That no one objected to the presence of nomads said just how dire their situation was. “The women and children need to leave before they are caught up in the battle.”

  Lord Welling nodded. “Agreed. Magistrate Bernard, you will lead it. Begin preparations immediately.”

  A tall, reedy man stood, and with a bow in Welling’s direction, left the room.

  When talk turned to defenses, Grace left. She needed to get her parents and Polly out of the city before the battle started. She exited the magistrate’s hall and was walking toward her carriage by the time Bran caught up to her. He was silent for a moment.

  “Tell Bernard to take the people to Harbor,” Bran said when they reached her carriage.

  “Do you really mean to try and defeat the entire army?” Grace tried to sound disgusted, but her voice quivered. “Alone?”

  “I don’t have a choice, Grace.” He shrugged. “Not technically alone. I’m just the first line of defense.”

  “You could evacuate too. Keep everyone safe as they travel.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  Grace nodded. She knew. “Just be careful. Promise me you’ll get out of this alive.”

  Bran chuckled dryly. “I’ll do my best.” He took her arm and pulled her close in an embrace.

  “I love you.” He buried his face in her hair.

  “I love you too.” Grace hugged him fiercely, breathing in his scent. He smelled like the outdoors and wood smoke. “Be careful, Bran.”

  With a sad smile, Bran stepped away, walking with long strides toward the city exit, where the eastern gates had once stood. Tears trickled down Grace’s cheeks as she watched him go. Bran, the proud nomad. Of course he wouldn’t finish the meeting with the
magistrates. He already knew what he had to do.

  “Be safe,” she whispered.

  36

  Adaryn

  I hugged Dahlia again. “Are you sure she’s going to be all right?” I asked Grace.

  The blonde rolled her eyes. “I’ve already told you ‘yes’ a thousand times, Adaryn. She’ll be fine. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

  I nodded, still feeling unsure, but withdrew. Grace would help Bernard get people out of the city, but Grace wouldn’t leave herself. Not with Bran in so much danger. I turned to leave Grace’s room, but stopped when I felt her hand lightly touch my shoulder. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, it’s not going to be safe.”

  I shrugged her hand away. “I’ve already lost Aaric.” My voice sounded harsh in my ears. “I’m not going to lose Bran, too.” Grace had told me where he’d gone. The fool man was going to attack the Twyli alone. He thought he was, anyway. I was about to change that.

  “Do you love him then?” Grace asked. The words sounded strangled.

  I stared at her perplexed. “Why would you think that?”

  “You grew up together and were best friends,” she replied, her expression growing more anxious. “You share connections with him that I don’t have.” Her expression turned bitter. “I’m not a nomad.”

  I would have laughed in her face if I wasn’t worried it would turn to tears. “Bran was my best friend growing up,” I admitted, “but he’s not Aaric.” I placed my hand over my heart. “Nomad’s honor, it will never go past that. I still care for him, but Bran and I have changed too much for our relationship to go any further.”

  The blonde woman nodded. “Please make sure he comes back.”

  I slipped out of the Flores mansion and sprinted down a side alley close to their home. Magistrate Bernard had already sent evacuation alarms through the city, and there was a franticness to the air as people filed through the streets toward the western gates, hoping to find safety in Harbor.

  I quickened my pace to a trot, taking the less crowded way to the eastern gates—where the eastern gates had stood, anyway. Once I left the city behind, it wouldn’t be a problem tracking Bran.

  Walking through the ruined rubble, I left Ruis behind, the wide open plains stretching before me.

  The Twyli army.

  It was huge, like a great, black wave, stretching beyond my range of sight, each Twyli ready to kill.

  What chance did Ruis have?

  Then I saw him; a solitary figure standing before the massive darkness, brown hair pulled back in his customary tail, the magic wreathing his wrists and hands.

  Bran.

  I screamed his name, but the wind whipped the sound away from him, and he didn’t hear me. He lifted his hands, and even from this distance I could feel the magic swell from him. An impossible amount of power, how could he bear it? The magic surged from him, and the land before him buckled and crumbled, in some spots rising, in some areas dipping. It would be extremely difficult and slow to cross, especially for so many people.

  The enchantment rose from him again, and lightning shot from clear sky, stabbing into the Twyli army, again and again.

  The dark crowd milled about like a kicked anthill.

  Bran spun in a circle, arms held up, and the wind rose up in a gale, spinning into the Twyli horde. Men were tossed about like leaves, falling to the earth with sickening suddenness. But though the army was obviously in distress, and many were dying or injured, none of them ran.

  Why wouldn’t they run?

  Bran paused in his onslaught, and within a moment, I could see why. Or rather, I could feel why.

  Enchantment rose from the army; not the enchantment from individual soldiers. It was coming from two sources. Dark, evil, twisted enchantment.

  At the head of the army, leaving their soldiers behind, walked the Twyli prince and his sister. Hand in hand, they walked toward Bran.

  Fear prickled my scalp; I could feel the strength of the Twyli twins; each was weaker than Bran with the sky jewel, but together . . . they were stronger.

  The magic swelled from them and the land that Bran had devastated, flattened. They quickened their steps, running across the plains at an unbelievable speed, deflecting the wind, fire and lightning Bran hurtled at them.

  I sprinted toward Bran, but I knew that I wouldn’t reach him before they did.

  Aaric. He would’ve known what to do. He would have already set up explosive devices to decimate their army, or something. I firmly put him out of my mind. He was gone; Dahli and Bran were all I had left. I would save the living.

  I would save Bran.

  37

  Bran

  Shades alive, the Twyli twins were fast. Bran knew it was them. The two ran in perfectly synchronized movement, neither outpacing the other, their gazes locked on him.

  Bran snarled. He wasn’t going to allow them to get close enough to fight. Summoning magic to the point of pain, he threw a wall of shadow and light at them.

  The twins paused. The female brought up her own shield, and the male summoned and hurtled a dagger of enchantment at Bran’s magic. It didn’t stop Bran’s attack, but it weakened it, so his enchantment shattered on impact with the Twyli shield of enchantment.

  The twins resumed their sprint, both wearing sleek, form-fitting black tunic and trousers, making it easier for them to run.

  They were going to collide. Despite the fact that Bran was pulling as much magic as he could without hurting himself, it wasn’t enough to stop the Twyli charge. He moved into a defensive position, summoning a spear of blue light and fire. Using it like a staff, he’d be able to defend himself and attack both opponents.

  The Twyli twins summoned identical blades, shimmering with the dull, sickly light that Bran had come to recognize as a sign of stealing another’s life force. The prince charged him head-on, the sister circling around to attack him from behind.

  Bran spun in a circle, dragging the end of his spear in the ground. Fire sprang up, forming a protective circle around him.

  The prince skidded to a halt, his jaw tightening with frustration. “Why do you attack?” he asked, stalking the perimeter of the circle. His sister did the same. “You’re fighting your kin. We don’t have any quarrel with you. We come for the Denali.”

  “I’m here to defend this city,” Bran said evenly, trying to catch his breath. Despite the tremendous power of the sky jewel, he was tired. Even the sky jewel had its limits, it seemed. “And its inhabitants.”

  “How do you draw your power?” the prince asked. They continued to circle, eyeing him curiously. Bran didn’t know which one to watch, putting him on edge. He didn’t answer. “Leave this land,” he said. “It’s mine.”

  The princess laughed. “We’d be happy to let you live as a subject, but Hydari and I don’t share power.” Her body tensed. “Now, brother!”

  Enchantment swelled from the prince and Bran had only a moment to brace himself before magic slammed into him. He felt his body lift, falling several paces from where he’d stood. Pain lanced into his arm when he landed, and he grit his teeth to avoid crying out.

  Pulling enchantment through the sky jewel, Bran brought his other arm up. Combining earth and air, dirt and stone blew toward the Twyli. They deflected it, swords whirling with alarming speed.

  Bran watched them approach. They worked in perfect unison, anticipating each other’s moves. After his attacks on the army, he could feel himself tiring, and he could see it approaching, like a sea of darkness. He needed to take the twins out, and take them out soon. But how? He needed a distraction.

  Hydari and Myyre broke into a run again, their faces set with determination. They lifted their hands . . .

  A streak of light rammed into Hydari, throwing the prince off balance. He stumbled, cursing.

  Both Bran and the twins turned to look in the direction the magic had come from. Adaryn stood several paces away, light emanating from her, blue eyes blazing with anger. “Get away from him!” she s
creamed at Hydari.

  “Adaryn!” the prince snarled. He spun to face the nomad woman, his features etched with fury.

  Bran didn’t question his fortune. It was all the distraction he needed. Pulling the magic to the point of pain and then beyond, he summoned lightning, bringing it down to strike the Twyli prince.

  Hydari cried out in agony, his back arching as the lightning struck him. Falling to his knees he twisted his body and flung a spear of light, toward Bran’s heart.

  Bran didn’t have time to react before the spear slammed into him, striking the sky jewel.

  The blue shard flashed, its light swelled to engulf the plains . . . and shattered.

  The sky jewel was gone.

  38

  Bran

  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.

  Bran lay in a huddled heap, trying to recover. Between Hydari’s attack and the sky jewel’s destruction, Bran felt paralyzed. He took a ragged breath.

  “Hydari!” Myyre rushed forward, throwing herself at her brother. “No,” she sobbed. “No, no, no.” She frantically brushed Hydari’s hair away from his face. He was still.

  “You’ll pay for this.” Myyre snarled, spinning to face Bran. Her eyes blazed, her hands curled into fists. “You killed him! Hydari was everything to me. Everything!”

  Calling on the magic, the Twyli princess summoned fire, holding it aloft in one hand. “You die now.”

  Bran feebly fumbled for the enchantment, but couldn’t find it before Myyre’s enchantment blasted into him.

  Pain.

  Bran tumbled several feet before her onslaught and landed in a sprawl, unable to defend against her attack.

  “Bran!” Adaryn scrambled to him. “Bran!”

  Adaryn.

  Bran tried to move, but he couldn’t. He was dying. He could feel it. He lifted his head, looking into Adaryn’s eyes. So blue. His childhood friend. It couldn’t end like this. She could run. She could still be safe.