Niamh’s archers picked off the first wave of warriors before their boats reached the shore. Ciaran watched the survivors tumble the bodies overboard and the boats kept on coming. One woman sheathed her sword, raised her hands, summoned lightning. One boat was lost, but more were coming.
These men remembered the losses from before, and they wanted victory.
Ciaran wasn’t going to let them have it.
And then fire exploded along the shoreline.
Screams rent the air as soldiers flung themselves to safety, but Ciaran knew the stench of burning flesh. Eoghan hollered his name, but it wasn’t Ciaran’s fire.
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