But that wasn’t true…I’d been here before.
Shadows vined from the sword, hooking onto Caym’s wrist and jerking him from Dritan. A guttural, rage-filled cry left Lark as she pinned Caym to the ground. I ran toward my son before he could fall into the molten rock below.
Dritan clutched his open chest and fell to his knees. “Behind you!” he choked out, blood dribbling down his chin.
I spun as amber smoke took the shape of three faceless, massive soldiers, each armed and a few feet taller than me. The ground rumbled again, and amber lava fell in droplets from the cave’s ceiling.
I cried out as molten rock slid down my chest. This place protected Caym—but that spurred my hope. We’d spooked him badly enough that the cave had called forth reinforcement.
Caym howled as I struck one of his soldiers with my bare fist; an obsidian sword clattered from the cave guard’s hand.
Swiftly, I retrieved the blade and shoved it through the guard’s lifeless chest, and he dissipated into a putrid cloud. Caym howled again before the next was upon me.
Good.
Hurting this place hurt him.
Another drop of burning liquid ran down my cheek. Hissing, I glanced at Larkspur. Soldiers descended upon her too, and she sliced through their armor. Caym’s laugh echoed against the gritty walls.
Lark let out a frustrated curse as she strained to both protect herself and keep her mental hold on the Death Origin.
I leapt out of the way of another obsidian sword. It caught my left arm, and the wound burned like none other I’d endured. Our blades clashed before the guard could land another blow.
A fragment of rock hit my chest again, singeing through my tunic. My right fist tightened on the hilt of my sword as I gritted my teeth against the pain and stabbed through the guard’s armor.
“You will suffer the death you’ve brought on so many!” Lark shouted.
Caym cackled, but Lark kept him pinned to the ground. She flipped the sword in her palm, readying to strike, but a downpour of lava hit her back, and she cried out, falling to her knees.
“I will ruin them all,” Caym hissed.
The walls crawled with shadows—no, not shadows.
Images took form, becoming horrifyingly clearer—Asterie striking at the Moirai attacking Van’s heels, the undead tearing apart the town of Kruthin. The roar of battle filled the cave. He was showing us our friends’ demises.
A figure with a red braid cut through the fray.Elsedora.Her arms grew weak, and blood crusted her cheeks. Battle worn and tired, she seemed on the brink of collapse.
“You thought yourself so wise—keeping those you love away from me, didn’t you, King Mattock?”
No… no, she cannot fall.
Lark had grown too focused on Caym to spot the dozens of rising soldiers around her or the horrid shadows of my worst fears cast on the walls. She knelt, raising the Sword of Isolde.
“Larkspur!” I warned.
I knew what consumed her.
That empty anger.
The desire to see all you hate burn.
It led nowhere. It clouded the mind with senseless suffering.
The walls grew closer… Elsedora grew closer. No, she could not be near here. Knocked from her feet, she slammed her head on a low-lying stone wall. Moirai leapt on her, pinning her down.
“No!” I shouted.
Dritan crawled through his own puddled blood toward Lark—the last thing he desired before death. I struck down the guards surrounding him, with a shaking arm and restless heart.
