Darcy raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles, a gesture that was at once a knight’s pledge of fealty and an intimate caress. “Indeed they are not. Let us see this through. And then we shall return home,” he said.
Home.
Elizabeth could only manage a tight nod, her throat now too thick for words. He gave her hand one last, reassuring squeeze before helping her into the saddle of the bay. Then, with a smooth movement born of a lifetime of practice, he swung up onto his own mount and nudged it forward.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the rock-strewn path began, a lonely sound in the overall stillness of the landscape. It became a rhythmic beat against the frantic pulse in her ears, a countdown marking their advance into the heart of the enemy’s territory.
The ruins of the monastic settlement were even more desolate than she remembered, a ring of crumbling walls jutting from the blighted ground. A disturbing silence hung over the place, the echo of a sanctity long violated.
Darcy dismounted first, then turned, ready to assist her. As she slid from the saddle into his grasp, she longed to stay in the comfort of his hold — but the quiet intimacy of the moment could not last; the work they had come to do beckoned them.
As they neared the centre of the ruins, his gaze found hers. No words were necessary. She gave a slight nod, a mutual acknowledgment.
This time, the connection did not need to be forged; it simply was, humming to life between them easily.
“We must first sever the tethers,” he said, his gaze fixed on the collapsed altar ahead of them.
“Do you sense them now?” said Elizabeth, surprised.
He did not look at her, but she felt the shift in their bond as he focused through it. “Through you, I somehow do,” he replied, with a note of wonder, “Our connection grants me a perception I have never before possessed.”
The sensation was a revelation, and with it came an intuitive understanding of what must be done. There was no need for a plan, no need for further words; the thought and the act became one.
Their combined power, in the form of a clean, golden light, poured from them as a thousand sharp and precise blades. She could feel Darcy’s will guiding the energy, seeking out the parasitic, shadowy roots, while her own magic provided the severing force necessary.
The Blight, taken by surprise, seemed to offer little resistance. One by one, the dark tethers snapped, dissolving into harmless smoke. A warmth began to spread all around them.
Then, the Blight fought back.
It was not a physical assault, but cold despair that washed over them, seeking to poison their own magic from within. It whispered of failure, of futility, of the crushing, inevitable triumph of darkness.
Elizabeth felt her own resolve falter, but Darcy’s will stood firm. She felt his magic shore up hers, a disciplined shield against the encroaching despair, allowing her to pour her magical power through the breach he created. It was a dizzying, exhausting dance of his defence, her offence, a constant push and pull against an enemy that fought with corruption.
Finally, with a last, unified surge that left them both trembling and breathless, the final tether tore free.
“Let us cleanse the line now,” Darcy said. He did not need to ask for more power; she felt the vast, empty space he was creating in his will, a channel waiting for her to fill it.
Without hesitation, she poured her power into that channel. The moment her energy surged forth, Darcy's will caught it, shaping and focusing the magic into a shimmering column of cleansing light that he drove into the ground.
The weight of despair lifted instantly, as if a great pressure had been released, leaving the air clear and blessedly still. A patch of moss on a nearby stone, which had been a sickly grey, was now tinged with green.
They had succeeded.
Tired but exhilarated, they rode to the second node, the old Roman signal station.
The air here was putrid, and the Blight’s cloying presence could be almost tasted.
This time, it was waiting for them.
Darcy and Elizabeth took their positions. The connection snapped into place instantly, a confident power that hummed between them. Bolstered by their earlier success, they pushed their combined magic outward, once again seeking the parasitic tethers that strangled the node and the underlying ley line.
Through her magical senses, the sprawling infestation appeared in Elizabeth’s mind, a horrifying web of dark vines. One particular knot, pulsing with a greasy, black energy near the centre of the node, drew her attention.
“Focus there, in the centre,” she said, to Darcy.
He gave a small nod. She could feel his intent gathering their power, forming an incandescent blade of light. He drew the energy into a fine point, the muscles in his jaw tight with concentration. The air thrummed.
Yet in the final, charged second before he unleashed it, a deep sense of wrongness struck Elizabeth, so sudden her heart seemed to stop. The hum was wrong. Terribly wrong. The pulsing black knot wasn't a source of power; it was avoid. A vacuum that craved light.
