Page 30 of Journey to the Elderoak
He was a formidable opponent in combat, one of the best, and his magic reserves were deep, but astral magic required significant energy and concentration. And it was draining him quickly.
“I’ll try,” he said.
They had to take out those boats. He raised hisarms and focused all his energy, imagining it erupting from his fingertips. Nausea wormed its way into his gut and he ignored how it felt as heat erupted through him. He loathed using this magic, a reminder of deep wounds from so long ago, but there was no time to balk as he focused on the task at hand.
Aiming at the group of rowboats, a ball of bright white light formed and he released it. Two of the boats burst into flames as the starlight hit them, the screaming soldiers jumping into the water. But there were dozens more, and as he prepared to send another below the waves, the sound of wing beats behind him turned him from his task.
The creature landed with force, causing the deck to quake. How many men did they have left?
It lunged and he dodged it with a roll to the side. Gisela shot a small spear of ice toward it, her reserves almost gone, but it was enough to distract it.
Casimir threw himself on the ground, grabbing its ankle and focused the last of his magic into the monster. His skin glowed, his muscles on fire as he forced the starlight into its flesh. Within seconds it was a pile of ash.
On his hands and knees, he gasped for air, trying not to pass out. He was almost drained. He knew the cost of using too much magic too fast. It wouldn’t kill him, but fae who drained themselves too far became weak, vulnerable, often needing to sleep for days to recover. Though he could summon more, it would leave him defenseless, without the energy to even fight with his sword.
Gisela knelt before him.
“No more,” he muttered.
“Me either.” She looked at him, defeat written on her face. “General. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
“Then we die fighting,” he said as he forced himself to stand, swaying on his feet. “We don’t die cowards.”
She helped steady him as the next wave of soldiers made itover the side of their ship. Casimir drew his sword and threw himself back into the fray.
Ducking and parrying, he felled soldier after soldier. A daemon rushed him and he whirled, beheading him in seconds as another threw a dagger. He rolled, narrowly avoiding it, as Zeph appeared and speared the soldier from behind with her sword. Two more daemons attacked and Zeph threw her own dagger at one, finding purchase in his neck, before she disappeared back into the chaos.
As the soldier crumpled to the ground, the other lunged at Casimir. Barely able to block the blow aimed for his neck, their swords locked in an ‘x’ as he growled inches from the daemon’s face. Freeing his blade and knocking the enemy’s from his hand, he ducked and rolled, landing on his back. The daemon withdrew a dagger and pounced, landing on top of him. But Casimir was quicker and had his own dagger ready. He shoved it into the belly of the soldier and pushed the body off him.
Panting, he crawled to his feet and tried to gather his wits before the next group attacked. But there was no time as an enemy soldier appeared on his left. He whirled to block him but wasn’t quick enough. A sharp pain exploded in his side and he let out a surprised yell as he lost hold of his sword. Crumpling to his knees in agony, he looked down to see a daemon sword protruding from his abdomen below his rib cage.
“Where is the princess?” The soldier stood before him.
Relief swept through him. They didn’t have her, thank The Mother.
“Fuck you,” he rasped, looking at his opponent.
The soldier unsheathed a dagger and grabbed Casimir’s shoulder with one hand while he prepared to finish him off. He angled his blade, ready to slit Casimir’s throat when a sword sliced through the air and the daemon’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing.
Pax knelt before him. “You have a sword in your side,” he joked, attempting to hide the fear in his eyes.
“Pull it out,” Casimir grunted.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Do it. I can’t heal if it’s still in there. That’s an order.”
“Fine,” Pax replied. “Ready?”
Casimir nodded and Pax gripped his shoulder with one hand as he pulled the sword straight out with the other. Casimir cried out and pressed his hands on the gushing wound. The agony almost overwhelmed him as he remained kneeling, begging himself not to pass out.
He could heal from this with time, but it would be almost impossible while he was still fighting. And if he got any other major injuries, it could kill him.
“Another group of rowboats is approaching, general,” Pax informed him.
“How many men are we down?”
“I don’t have an exact count. But too many.”
