Crescent City: A Court of Thrones and Glass

Chapter Twenty-Four: Aelin

A/N: Thanks @BobLee32, @DD9000 and @PurpleLlama21 for voting!!

     Human ears straining, Aelin counted how many Illyrians followed without looking behind her. Four versus fifty-two. She'd faced worse odds and emerged triumphant, however one misstep here would cost her everything. Not that that was any different from the usual. Aelin stepped in the training ring, made larger to accommodate the warriors. She turned to face the incoming fighters as she loosened the tight, tight leash on the monster inside. There would be no killing today, but she'd be damned if the Illyrian bastards won.
     Thank you for doing this. A voice spoke into her mind. Feyre. From the looks Bryce, Lys and Manon were giving her, they heard the High Lady too.
Thank us if we win.....any weaknesses we can exploit?, Aelin projected her thoughts, hoping Feyre could hear her. A pause.
     Their wings. They're trained to protect them at all costs. Aelin gave Lysandra a tight nod. A grim smile was all she received in return. Bryce was running a hand over the many sheathes and holsters strapped to her body, while Manon watched the Illyrians with the preternatural stillness of an immortal. Iron teeth and nails hidden for now, the only visible weapons on the witch's body were Wind-Cleaver and some small knives. Lysandra had none, but blades weren't necessary when you could become a nightmare of claws, teeth and fur. Although, between Aelin and Bryce, the two females were practically a walking armoury.
     "Remember the rules?" Aelin asked the Illyrians who had gathered on the opposite side of the ring, falling into an obviously practiced, ranked formation.
     "Enough talking," one of the more seasoned warriors snapped as he loosely nocked an arrow in his long bow.
     "Who brings a long bow to a meeting?" Bryce muttered incredulously, quiet enough so only Aelin could head. The queen gave her a breathy laugh.
     "Someone expecting a battle." Spectators had gathered around the open training ring, keeping a healthy distance away. Illyrians, the Inner Circle, Hunt, Rowan and a small contingent of healers were present, ready for the fight that would determine the fate of Prythian— not that the Illyrians seemed to understand that. Aelin just wanted to get this over with. She inhaled deeply, steadying her racing heart. All too soon, Rhysand shouted the command to begin. As a unit, the Illyrians launched into sky, siphons flaring as shields were erected. A volley of arrows rose and fell. Just like that, the dance of death had begun.
     Manon drew her sword, slicing the arrow shafts in half before they could find their marks. Aelin following suit, she and the witch shielded Bryce as she provided cover fire with a hand gun. They needed to get the Illyrians on the ground, otherwise they stood no chance of winning. The trio dodged to the side, avoiding arrow after arrow. Aelin cursed her mortal slowness, as they conceded step after step, getting closer and closer to the edge of the ring. The barrel of Bryce's gun gleamed in the sun. If the Illyrians were surprised by the weapon, they certainly didn't show it. An expert shot between a gap in two shields had two warriors falling to the ground, the bullet passing clean through a muscle in both their wings. One roared in outrage and pain as he hurtled towards Aelin. So fast he was almost just a blur, the Queen met him blow for blow as Manon and Bryce continued to shield her from flying arrows. In a heartbeat and a flash of light, Aelin shifted. The male cursed, reeling backwards. She slammed Goldryn's pommel on his temple, and he dropped like a stone. One down. Fifty-one to go. At the sight of their unconscious brother, the Illyrians loosed a battlecry that had the earth shaking. Too bad they were too focused on Aelin to notice Lysandra, in wyvern form, sneaking up behind them.

Lysandra

This body felt amazing. Lysandra had spent all night perfecting it—stealing books and researching the creatures of Prythian. A small version her wyvern form, swift and nimble enough to dive in between the Illyrian ranks and emerge unscathed, with deadly sharp claws for slicing bowstrings and tendons. Plus a clubbed tail for knocking heads. High above the training ring, Lysandra remained out of sight, waiting for Aelin's signal. How the warriors hadn't noticed her slip away, Lysandra had no idea. Leave it to Aelin to scheme crazy plans that work. With this powerful form, it took almost no effort stay aloft. Even from here, the scent of blood, sweat and pure male arrogance stuffed itself up her nose. Aelin, Bryce and Manon did a great job of drawing the Illyrian's fire, angering them just enough to keep them from looking behind. A flash of light, and Aelin was roaring to the sky, baring her canines for all to see. The signal. With a mighty flap of her wings, Lysandra plunged towards the army of black, and unleashed herself upon the unsuspecting Illyrians.
     She aimed for centre, hoping to cleave the ranks in two. A sweep of her tail had two warriors falling. Unconscious, but alive. She could hear their faint heartbeats. A slice of her talons and two more join them, this time shouting in pain as large muscles in their wings snapped. As fast as she had appeared, she vanished, this time diving low. Blood fell like rain in her wake. Slash. Crack. Thump. Snap. Lysandra incapacitated soldier after soldier. Bone and flesh sundered underneath her claws and bodies dropped like flies. Her wyvern instincts roared at her to kill, but whatever piece of human remained held back.  Looking below, Aelin, Manon and Bryce still held their own. They were peppered in cuts and bruises were already blooming. Goldryn flashed, halting arc of an Illyrian's blade aimed for her neck. Aelin snarled at the warrior just as Manon slammed Windcleaver's pommel on his temple. Without missing a beat, Aelin whirled engaging another Illyrian. Over half of the warriors had landed, choosing to attack the females directly, leaving Lysandra to deal with the rest.
     "A SHIFTER! ON YOUR GUARD!" One of the Illyrians bellowed. She snarled. The element of surprise was lost. Swift as adder, she soared high above to catch her breath and reassess. Ten males appeared to be commanding the rest. The strongest among them, then. Again, Lysandra attacked, breaking apart the ranks and causing them to scramble. Something warm gushed down her back followed by a sharp pain. Lysandra hissed. An arrow had found it's mark. Embedded in her wing, she had no choice but to land. She slammed into the ground, mud spraying. Where a wyvern was, a ghost leopard now stood and roared. A declaration, and a challenge. The remaining Illyrians in the air landed. Perfect. She hurtled towards Bryce, who was taking on two Illyrians. Pouncing on one, the soldier immediately tapped out, her hand-sized teeth mere inches from his throat. A roundhouse kick from Bryce and the second Illyrian was in the dirt, out cold. Lysandra made to pounce on the next soldier, but an order from a commanding Illyrian had him sprinting to the other side of the ring, where they were regrouping. Manon and Aelin had come up beside her and Bryce, the latter running a reassuring hand down her furry back. Over half the Illyrians were still standing, the unconscious ones had been dragged out of the ring by a brave healer. The ten commanders were still here.
     "Ready to give up yet, bitch?" They called, giving the females a truly devious smirk. Manon bared her teeth, the iron reflecting in the sun as she snapped her wrists. Bryce drew two daggers and Aelin brandished Goldryn. Her saccharine smile was absolutely terrifying.
     "Not a chance in hell."