I claw at the ground, pulling my useless body closer. The light is stronger, swirling around her waist now, making her clothes shimmer.
"Betty! I love you!"
The words tear from my throat, raw and new and terrifying. I didn’t know I had them. "I love YOU! Not the Orc! YOU! STAY! MINE! STAY!"
She shakes her head, her body trembling as the light grows brighter. "I can't. It's the only way. Live, Threk. Be free."
The light flares, bright as the sun, reaching for her chest.
A fury born of love and terror explodes in my body. It burns hotter than the red haze. It burns away the pain.
I lunge.
I ignore my leg. I hurl my body across the cavern floor, roaring her name.
My hand is out. My claws are open. Not to hurt. To save. To grab her. To pull her out of the hungry light.
I am inches away. My fingertips graze the fabric of her sleeve.
BOOM.
A blast of pure, black magic slams into the stone right between us. It is not the clean, humming light of the Wildspont. This is foul. It stinks of burning flesh and hate.
The force of the explosion throws me sideways. I fly through the air, crashing hard into the cavern wall. My head hits the rock with a sickening crack.
The world spins black and green.
The hum of the Wildspont falters, turning sour and afraid. The white light swirling around Betty flickers... and dies.
"Touching."
The voice is not hers. It is not mine. It is cold and amused. A hiss that cuts through the cavern. "How... flawed."
I shake my head, groaning, trying to clear my vision.
He is standing there.
Lord Larda.
He is framed in the shimmering, beautiful portal we came through. His silver-etched, black armor gleams in the green light of the moss. His beautiful, cruel face is twisted in a sneer of perfect, arrogant triumph.
He is not alone.
Elven soldiers stand behind him. And one of them holds Joric by the hair, a long, curved blade pressed against his throat. Joric is bleeding from his nose, his eyes wide and white with terror.
Larda looks at me, puddled and bleeding on the floor. He looks at Betty, who is frozen in shock, standing between us. He looks at the mural of the Orc on the wall.
"My experiment finally ends," Larda hisses, taking a slow, confident step into the cavern. "I will dissect you both."
26
BETTY
The air, which had been humming with a sacred, peaceful energy, shatters. It is now split by the high, cold chime of elven commands.
"Take them! The beast to the forge, the female to the table. Alive."
Lord Larda’s voice is a whip-crack of amused arrogance. He stands at the portal, a king returns to his throne room, and the beautiful, terrible magic of the Wildspont seems to recoil from his foul, dark presence.
