The Fight of the Fallen (Guardians of Summerfeld Book 2) by Melissa Delport

Author:Melissa Delport [Delport, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-09-25T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

Quinn headed down the cobbled street keeping to the shadows. As she rounded a corner she caught a glimpse of Tristan heading in the opposite direction, towards her house. She ducked behind a lavender hedge, waiting until the sound of his footsteps had all but disappeared, before continuing on her way.

She didn’t call for the unicorns until she had crossed the cornflower field and entered the woods on the opposite side. She couldn’t afford for anyone to overhear her. Emitting a low, melodious whistle, she waited, ears pricked for the faintest sound, and after a while she heard the unicorn approaching. To her surprise it was Zinnia who answered her call. The dominant mare did not leave Primera’s side often, and in the fifty years she had ruled alongside him, Quinn could not recall her ever answering a summons from either Guardian or Fae.

“Easy girl,” Quinn crooned, stroking Zinnia’s broad neck. The mare was quivering, and she stamped the ground in obvious distress. Murmuring gentle nonsense in an effort to calm her, Quinn threaded her fingers through the mare’s mane and slowly lifted herself up onto her back. Zinnia reared up immediately, almost unseating her. “Whoa,” Quinn leaned forward over her ears trying to steady herself. One by one, ghostly shadows appeared around them. The entire herd had surrounded them, snorting, stamping and whinnying desperately. Quinn quieted her own fears, urging her mount forward. She had never known the unicorns to behave like this.

When Zinnia finally responded to the pressure of her legs, Quinn was astounded by the breakneck pace at which they hurtled through the trees. Her crossbow banged painfully against her back with every stride. By the light of the full moon she could see immediately that they were heading in the wrong direction. Over and over she tried to steer Zinnia in an easterly direction, her legs aching with her efforts, but the mare would not be swayed off course.

They were galloping near the waterfall when Primera joined them. Hurtling in from the right, he raced beside them, his eyes rolling frantically. At least three hands taller than Zinnia, Quinn could see his ears flattened against his head. The herd fanned out behind them, thundering towards something that Quinn feared she wouldn’t want to see.

When they finally came to a halt, Quinn’s cheeks burned from the wind that had whipped at her face during the journey.

“Oh no,” she gasped, as the unicorns converged around her. The pale form that lay in the long grass was barely recognisable, but Quinn knew immediately what had caused such distress among the peaceful herd. Crouching beside the mangled body of a newborn foal, Quinn felt the bile rise in her throat. The dazzling silver coat was stained crimson with blood. Swallowing, Quinn clenched her jaw and examined the small corpse. As she reached over to lift the foal’s head, Primera let out a desolate whinny.

“It’s okay,” Quinn spoke gently, her heart breaking. The foal could only be his – Primera was the herd’s sole breeding stallion.

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