Chapter 117: Nature’s Fury
Nyrielle’s library, as vast as it was, contained very few books about witchcraft. Ashlynn understood, from what she’d read so far, that sorcery drew on a person’s own life energy while witchcraft drew on the energy of nature and the elements.
Thus far, Ashlynn had only been able to connect to the energy of living plants and the earth itself. At times, she wondered if that connection had been formed when she was buried underneath a cedar tree when Owain nearly killed her. Her desperation to survive let her touch magic that she’d never dared to dream about and the trees and earth had responded to her need.
Now, as she watched Andrus’ wide-open eyes freeze over before the Tuscan shook him off the spiked club, she found herself in tune with the icy winds and frozen lake in a way she’d never expected to.
The winds scoured the lands, stinging everything and robbing everyone it touched of the warmth of life. The ice formed a cage that locked away anything living in the lake and the water itself was heavy, dark, and chilling in its depths.
The instant she watched Andrus die, she wanted nothing more than to cleanse the earth of the people who had brought violence to what had been a joyous day of making friends and learning. Now, one of those new friends would never follow her, clambering from rock to rock in the mountainous terrain. He would never taste the ’monster fish’ he’d helped to catch or boast to his seven siblings about his accomplishment the way he’d boasted to Virve.
The Tuscans had taken all of that from them and more. Worst of all, he had died chasing after her, and as much as she hated the Tuscans for killing him, she hated herself for putting him into that position.
The winds and ice were harder to control than anything she’d ever done with trees or the earth, and the winds and ice shards stung her exposed skin even as it bent to her will. Maybe it stung her because deep down, she felt that she should suffer for her role in Andrus’ death. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that she had the strength now to kill the man who killed him.
It only took a few heartbeats of time before Ashlynn began to move, stalking across the ice to the wailing, wounded Tuscan. Her sword was still embedded in his tusk and she needed it to kill someone.
As she approached, the blood staining the Tuscan’s shaggy hair froze and he scrambled on the ice in a frenzied attempt to escape the approaching icy reaper. His trunk had been severed, an eye destroyed and pain flooded his mind as bone-chilling cold radiated from each of his wounds. He’d completely lost the demeanor of an indomitable hunter marching toward an inexorable victory.