Chapter 21: Azrael’s Ambush
Chapter 21: Azrael’s Ambush
“Rowan, you coward!” Evelyn’s shout was swallowed by the time-slip’s roar, her rune searing her palm as she glared at Rowan in Cedarhold Palace’s chambers. The air was thick with cedar and candle wax, his tear-streaked face clutching her locket, his whispers of regret a knife in her heart. Tristan stood beside her, his amulet glowing blue, blood dripping from his nose, the scent of his sweat sharp. But a snarl, inhuman, guttural, split the air, and her rune flared, hot as a brand.
“Impossible!” Tristan gasped, his voice hoarse, yanking her behind a velvet curtain, its fabric heavy with dust. Black-armored wraiths materialized, their glowing red runes pulsing with Azrael’s sigil, their blades humming with green light. The leader, towering, its chest burning with a claw mark, locked eyes on Evelyn’s rune-marked hand, the stench of decay choking her.
“How are they here?” Evelyn hissed, her blessed dagger drawn, its rose sigil warm, her boots silent on the polished floor. The wraiths’ leader raised its blade, the air crackling, the candle flames flickering as if snuffed by its presence.
“They’ve breached the temporal plane!” Tristan shouted, his amulet blazing, his cough wet with blood. “Azrael’s magic, it’s stronger than I thought!” He grabbed her wrist, his grip cold, and pressed the amulet, its runes sparking. “We’re leaving, now!”
The portal opened, unstable, a swirling vortex of red and blue, the air roaring like a storm, the chamber blurring. Evelyn’s rune burned, her senses warping, cedar twisted to smoke, wax to blood. They landed hard on scorched earth, the impact jarring her teeth, the air thick with ash and steel, a blood-red sky above. Screams and clashing swords echoed, Westfall and Eastmarch banners snapping in the wind, the ground slick with mud and gore.
“Where are we?” Evelyn demanded, scrambling to her feet, her dagger glinting, the stench of burning flesh stinging her nose. Bloodstone Cliff loomed, its red rocks jagged, waves crashing below like a beast’s growl. A colossal shadow, the dark spirit, unbound, tore through soldiers, its howl shaking the ground, its form a writhing mass of claws and eyes.
Tristan pulled her toward a ditch, his breath ragged, blood flecking his lips. “War-torn past,” he rasped, his amulet flickering, bruises pulsing on his arm. “Westfall and Eastmarch, centuries ago. Look, there!” He pointed to a white-clad priestess at the cliff’s edge, her auburn hair whipping, chanting with a dagger raised, blood dripping from her palm onto carved runes.
“She’s from the Chronicle,” Evelyn whispered, her rune pulsing in time with the priestess’s chant, the air humming with power. “She’s binding the spirit!” The priestess’s voice rose, sharp and desperate, the spirit shrinking, its howl fading, the cliff’s runes glowing gold.
A wraith’s snarl cut through, and Evelyn’s rune flared, a white-hot pain. The black-armored wraiths materialized, their blades slashing the air, their red eyes locked on her. “They followed us!” she shouted, shoving Tristan behind a shattered cart, its wood splintered, the ground trembling under the wraiths’ steps.
“Hide!” Tristan urged, his amulet dim, his hand shaking as he pressed it, a weak blue pulse scattering one wraith. He coughed blood, his knees buckling, the air thick with ash and panic. “The portal’s unstable, if we stay, we’re trapped!”
Evelyn dragged him into a ruined outpost, its stone walls crumbling, the air cold with damp earth and rust. She crouched behind a broken table, her dagger clutched, the wraiths’ howls closer, their claws scraping the outer walls, the stench of decay seeping through cracks. “We need to learn from her,” she hissed, her voice low, nodding toward the priestess, her chant echoing. “She’s my ancestor, she sealed it once!”
Tristan’s eyes widened, his breath shallow, the amulet’s glow fading. “Every second here risks us,” he said, his voice tight, blood staining his sleeve. “The amulet’s failing, Evelyn. We can’t fight them and stay!” His cough worsened, his hand gripping hers, cold and slick with sweat.
“I’m not running yet,” she snapped, her rune burning, her eyes scanning the outpost. A Westfall banner, torn but proud, waved in the distance, rallying her resolve. “We watch, we learn, then we go.” The priestess’s chant grew louder, the cliff’s runes blazing, the spirit’s form nearly bound, the air crackling with power.
A wraith’s howl pierced the outpost, and Evelyn’s rune seared, a vision slamming into her. The priestess turned, her eyes meeting Evelyn’s across time, her voice a whisper: “You are my echo.” The words chilled her, the rune’s heat surging, the vision fading as the outpost door shuddered, claws raking the wood.
“Evelyn, now!” Tristan yelled, raising the amulet, its runes sparking, a new portal flickering open, its red glow unstable, the air roaring. But the door splintered, a wraith’s blade crashing through, its red eyes burning, Azrael’s sigil blazing, aimed at her rune-marked hand.