Eros

Breath in the Smoke - 68

The screeches of the wyverns drilled through her ears, chiming in the very center of her head.

She should've known they would come. Not for any of Asair's bonfires, but when over a dozen great trees blazed aflame, how could the wyverns not come? They were Damuzar's firefighters, after all.

Unfortunately, these beasts were crazed as they were powerful. The wyverns would put out the fire, then they would kill everyone near it. They were as much danger for them as they were for the Veramorians.

Arrows came fewer. The archers might've gotten frustrated wasting shots at the roots she used as shield, or switched aim to the wyverns. The soldiers came in less and less too. Watching those who charged before them getting pounded into pulp must've killed their resolve.

Both the pride of succeeding to manipulate the whole tree, and the grim satisfaction of flinging its hundred branches and roots at the Veramorians were short lived. Alora could feel the rage pulsing through her, flowing as one with the wild current of her power. She knew it wasn't going anywhere. Not as long as her brother's killer stood alive.

At every moment she could spare a glance, her eyes, with a will of their own, flickered to him. He stood out amongst the magi, his elaborate robes untouched by dirt or blood. Even as far as she was, she could see his bald and wrinkled head, stilettoed white beard, and the dark disfigurement of the claw marks crossing his face.

Each time she looked at him, one of her brother's screams echoed at the back of her mind.

Ma' Vineclaw and Vera couldn't have survived the blast, and the few ferals in the other trees were either burnt or isolated from her by the Veramorian army. It was her alone. Her against him. But how could she reach him without him reaching her? Even drunk with power, Alora didn't dare leave the cover of the tree. She recognized the line between courage and stupidity.

A shame that the shrewd bastard had his magi put out the fireball before any of the wyverns fixed on it. She wanted to kill him herself, but seeing him ripped apart in between a wyvern's claws or fangs would have sufficed. The solution came to her then. An impossible mix of the two. Although yesterday moving an entire great tree was also impossible.

Alora looked after the closest wyvern as it consumed the last of the flames off a nearby tree. Every elf under the woods knew Ferals couldn't control wyverns like they did other beasts. And that was a rumor she had a chance to confirm. Several years back, she encountered a wyvern with her brothers' hunting party. She tried to soothe it, as she easily did other beasts. Her senses met an essence wrapped in a ferocious craze, too potent to even feel her touch. Wyverns were the truest embodiments of the wild. Untameable.

She was a lot stronger now than she was then, yet the wyvern was just as impregnable. For her to have a chance to break through, the wyvern will require her undivided attention. A couple of swift upward hand gestures brought roots and wove them into a sturdy shield around her, leaving but a few slim gapps for her to see through.

The barrier engulfed her in cool darkness, shutting the chaos outside, and muffling every sound but the wyverns' screeches and the occasional arrow thumping in. She closed her eyes, and withdrew every bit of her power from the tree, pooling it within herself. It felt like lava, seething thickly, seeking release. When Alora provided it with none, it began to press.

More. She drained more power, and poured it with the rest. The tension built with every drop she added. She felt it physically, pushing against the inside of her ribs, her throat, her temples, and the back of her eyeballs. Such power was not meant to be contained.

More. Pain sliced through her, stabbing electricity at every cord of her spine, flashing white in the darkness of her vision. She stifled a whimper, gritting her teeth.