Chains and Broken Magic
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 28: Elenora: March on Roderick’s Reach
The day we march on the human palace dawns cold and bright. The forest hums behind us ... alive, protective, ancient. The magical barrier shimmers like a veil of gold and silver, strengthened by weeks of careful weaving. My magic pulses through it like a heartbeat.
Aelwyn stands at the front of the elven army, calm and resolute. Lyralyn oversees the supply lines, ensuring every warrior has food, water, and weapons. And I ... I walk between them, the air around me shimmering with restrained power.
We are not here for conquest. We are here for an ending.
The human lands lie strangely quiet as we advance. Roderick’s army is scattered, demoralised, confused by his contradictory orders. The attempt to gather elven hostages has thrown his court into chaos.
By the time we reach the palace gates, the defenders look less like soldiers and more like frightened men clinging to orders they no longer believe in. Aelwyn raises her hand. The elven army halts.
“Elenora,” she murmurs, “the sorcerers.”
I nod. Across the courtyard, a cluster of human sorcerers gather, their robes fluttering in the wind. Their spells flicker weakly ... unfocused, uncoordinated. They have never fully recovered from the failed assault on the barrier. But they are still dangerous.
I step forward. Magic rises around me like a tide ... warm, bright, steady. The human sorcerers unleash their spells in a desperate volley of light and sound.
I lift my hands. The barrier I weave is effortless ... a soft, shimmering dome that absorbs their magic like rain falling into a lake. Their spells dissolve harmlessly.
One mage stumbles backward, eyes wide. Another drops his staff and flees. A third simply sits down, defeated. I do not strike them. I do not harm them. I simply end the fight.
Aelwyn’s voice rings out behind me. “Stand down. No more blood need be shed.”
And for the first time, the humans listen. The palace doors open. Roderick emerges, flanked by guards who look more like prisoners than protectors. His face is pale. His hands tremble. He looks at the elven army ... at Aelwyn, at Lyralyn, at me ... and something inside him breaks. He kneels.
“I concede,” he says, voice shaking. “I cannot fight this. I cannot fight you.”
Aelwyn steps forward. “Where is Queen Ysolde?”
Roderick gestures weakly. “Inside. Under guard. You may take her.”
Lyralyn exhales in relief. Aelwyn’s jaw tightens. I feel my magic flare with emotion. But Roderick is not finished.
“I will abdicate,” he says. “I will relinquish the human throne. I will not stand against you any longer.”
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