I can’t breathe, can barely think, but I see the Witch King in front of me, smirking.
It’s now or never—and it better be now.
Fire is fragile, volatile, an odd magic as erratic as it’s powerful. I can’t fight the Witch King’s air magic, but I can send my flame toward him. A sliver of air magic is active within me, and I can use it to power my fire.
The first blast does nothing, as the flame fades as soon as it touches him. I send more fire, and for a moment I can breathe again. The Witch King had been blocking my air, I realize, butnow he’s focused, looking at me, ready to counteract whatever magic I send in his direction. I focus, and create the most powerful blast I can muster—a fraction of what I saw Marlak use.
My air flow gets blocked again and my senses are dulling when I send another fire blast. This one touches my aim, and the old fae steps back, his body becoming a pyre, then dissolving in ashes in a second.
My stomach sinks.
That’s not how it was supposed to go. I should have kept burning him. Ghouls surround me, and I remember to conjure another flame, but I feel that the Witch King did something to the air I breathed, or something to my mind.
My knees buckle and I fall almost face first on the ground, except that I stop my fall at the last second with my hands. A red drop falls on the stone beneath me—I’m bleeding. And weak. I need to conjure more fire, but I don’t know how long I can remain like this, how long I can remain conscious, or how I’m going to fight my way and bring Marlak with me. At least the ghouls are leaving him alone.
If I managed to kill the Witch King, dying here would have been worth it, but I don’t know if he’s gone for good. Marlak opens his eyes and I exhale in relief to see he’s alive, awake. I still don’t know how I’m going to get us out of here, and I don’t know how long I can fight.
At least we’re both alive.
MARLAK
Astra’s bleeding and fallen, ghouls surround us, and I can’t feel my magic. At least I don’t see the Witch King anymore, but too many ghouls surround us. I get up in time to hold her, throw her on my shoulder, and run as I use a dagger to try to keep the ghouls away. The closer I get to the opening and the faint light seeping from the sun outside, the slower the ghouls get.
I run as fast as I can, and when I step outside and see the sun above me, I want to cry in relief, collapse on the ground, but the truth is that I need to get us to safety quickly, before the night comes.
Still, I place Astra on the ground to examine her wounds. Her eyes flutter, as if she was about to sleep, and still she gives me a smile. She was stabbed on her shoulder, and I press the spot with a piece of my shirt, then ask her to keep pressing it. She has more wounds on her arms, but they aren’t as deep.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I… burned him,” she mumbles with difficulty. Too much difficulty.
“Hush and rest. We’ll get to safety soon.”
I carry her with both arms, and she rests her face on my chest.
“I didn’t…” She takes a deep breath. “He burned too fast.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
I need to get back to the giants and hope that they can treat her wounds. She’s also having some difficulty breathing, and I wonder what kind of magic the Witch King infused in the air she breathed.
Her eyes close, and I decide to run. Run, run, run under the scalding sun.
Run—and hope I can save her.
RENEL
We haven’t gained much distance from the castle, but I glance at Tarlia from time to time, and notice that she’s almost leaning over, her face pale, clearly tired and not feeling well.
I didn’t speak much to her, still shook from seeing her holding Ziven by the edge of the castle, or perhaps unsure what to say. Maybe I was expecting her to act differently. I don’t know.
Still, she’s clearly not well. The only solution is to stop.
I ride up front and we take the road to a small city. Creek End, I think, but I could be mistaken. I keep looking back at Tarlia, wanting to hold her, wondering if she should ride with me, but I don’t want to push my presence—or anything.
We stop in front of a small inn, so small that it doesn’t even have a stable, so I tie our horses in front of it. When I help Tarlia dismount, our eyes meet. There’s a question in hers.
“You need to eat,” I mutter.
