Corrupted: An Epic Dragons and Immortals Romantic Fantasy (Fallen Emrys Chronicles Book 1) E.E. Everly (best biographies to read .TXT) 📖

home, generously flying back and forth every few days to bring reports. She had a clear view of flames licking rooftops, families running off into the night, and men, on horses, lighting homes with torches.

The rabble had descended on their next target.

“Alert the men!” I shouted. “A raid’s happening now, to the north.”

Kelyn leapt into action, shouting commands. He turned back and grumbled. “It’s fifteen minutes away by horseback. The village is as good as destroyed.”

“We’ll get to them in time.”

“Our position must have spurred the enemy to act.”

I drew in a breath. “To draw us into a fight. It’s a trap.”

Kelyn was going to climb onto his horse. I grabbed the reins. “Leave him.”

“I must.”

“Seren will fly us there faster.”

She landed beside me.

Beads of sweat popped out on Kelyn’s forehead, but he didn’t hesitate. He climbed behind me onto Seren as he yelled at Lord Mathonwy. “Meet me there. I’ll try to limit the damage until you arrive.”

Lord Mathonwy nodded. “Yah!” He spurred his horse on, and his company followed.

TWENTY-FOUR

Thick pillars of smoke lifted from every rooftop. The glint of fire filled the corners of my vision, hiding the stars in the madness.

Women and children screamed. Armed men fought against each other. Axes against pitchforks. Unjust. Unfair.

My heart kinked, and a putrid feeling crept through me. What sort of beings could do this? Who could light up the night sky? Who could set blaze to a peaceful landscape?

Cruel men.

“Niawen, you should help the women and children. Take them as far away as possible,” Kelyn said.

I couldn’t still the overwhelming surge of emotions. Terror rolled through me. Pure terror. Desperation and pain. These feelings were coming from the victims.

I felt something entirely different from the attackers. Lust, greed, sadistic fury. I clutched my stomach. Never had so many vile and gut-wrenching emotions clawed through me. Not ever in Gorlassar. Not ever within its magnificent valley where no war touched.

A man in black leather, with his double-edged axe held high, charged Kelyn and me. Kelyn drew his sword, but before he raised it, I blasted the man to the ground. In the flare of my light, his blood-streaked face—it didn’t hold an ounce of remorse or regret for whoever’s blood it was.

A harrowed woman, dragging a toddler in her wake, lurched up and seized my arm. “Please, Lexa, my baby, she’s inside.”

As the woman pointed, I turned, to what used to be a house, to what was a wall of inferno.

I threw her into Kelyn’s arms.

“Niawen, there’s nothing you can do!” he yelled.

I was already running.

Don’t die. Don’t die, little one.

I pulled light around myself into a shield that guarded from the onslaught of debilitating heat. I had never shown any mortal this. Emrys were firewalkers. Heat wouldn’t touch us if we didn’t let it.

Ducking under the flaming doorway, I saw nothing but orange in my vision. A child. I was searching for a child. I moved to the rear of the house. The flames colored the walls and, what might have been, curtains. I scanned the room, grateful the flames hadn’t engulfed the entire structure. In a basket upon the tabletop, with fire raining around it from the ceiling, was the baby.

You’re alive. You’re alive.

Relief almost buckled me.

I scooped her up, tucking her against my chest, within my safety of light.

In a hideous crash, the front of the room collapsed behind me. I cowered with my precious bundle. With no other exit, I created one. I blew a hole in the wall. Flames filled the gap, but I leapt through into fresh air—as fresh as the air could be with a village disintegrating to ash.

I raced around the side of the house where Kelyn held the hysterical mother.

Thrusting the baby into her arms, I said, “She’s fine. She’s fine. Look.” I uncovered the infant. Streaked with soot, but by the Creator’s grace, breathing. I dove inside with my light. Her lungs were fine. Impossible. But they were.

I had just saved someone. Adrenaline pounded my blood. All my senses heightened. This was real. This was battle. This was saving people.

Some of them. More would die.

The mother blubbered thankful words.

“Niawen, get them out of here! And anyone else you find.” Kelyn ran toward the village’s center.

I couldn’t bear watching him go, but as his blade sank into the belly of an assailant, I knew he was strong enough to take care of himself.

“Come on!” I led a growing number of women and children to a cluster of trees beyond the town, hidden behind a hill, to obscure them from the image of destroyed homes and falling husbands. Others had arrived before us. The children’s sobs and the mothers’ stoic grimaces were too much for me.

Tearing back to the village, I knew I had to stop the violence. No one, especially not innocent farmers, should have been subjected to such horrors.

I wove around fallen bodies, ignoring the blood splatter. Most were peasants, evident because of their crude attire. These people worked to provide for their families what meager comforts they could. And it was all taken. Anger swelled inside me.

Swords clanked together. Where were Mathonwy’s men? I pressed on, running faster than any mortal. In the center of the village, beside the crumbled walls of a well, a dozen men—Kelyn among them—fought. Kelyn’s soldiers, the guards stationed in this small village, or what was left of them, fought the miscreants.

They’re almost there, Seren said. Mathonwy’s driving his company with haste. Seren was doing her best to take out the enemy at the edge of the village. I was sure they didn’t expect a towering beast with deadly claws.

The village was farther away than we suspected. This wasn’t good. The enemy would be gone