Together they toppled it, hauling it off its feet. The sharp points of their spears found their targets deep in the pig’s innards.
And with a final harrowing cry, the beast slumped over. Dead.
Victory.
Four colored flags were stuck into the body. The credit split between them at the end.
Killian grunted. Grudgingly impressed.
Lyra beamed at the others, patting them on the back and ruffling their hair, congratulating them on a job well done. Still blissfully unaware.
Until a whispered name changed it all and Lyra spun around, his cheerful grin falling into pure horror.
Killian and Fyar urged their horses forward, to get a better view. They couldn’t speak freely there, but the two shared a knowing glance. This would be good for them, in the long run.
“No. Porthos, no. No.” Lyra sank to his knees. “Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”
By the time that Hokda had arrived, Kade had done everything he could to try and save his patient. Empty bottleslay strewn on the forest floor, and he was exhausted, swaying with effort to keep himself upright. He’d poured so mucheninto Porthos’ wounds that he was nearly empty.
It hadn’t been enough.
Cradling his brother’s head in his lap, tears welled in Lyra’s eyes. He whispered to Porthos softly, running dirty fingers through blood matted hair.
“Do something!” Lyra shouted at the healers. “Hold on, little brother. It’ll be alright. You’ll be okay.”
Porthos barely had the strength to keep his eyes open, but he grasped his brother’s hand like a lifeline. Blood lined his lips and stained his teeth. The lower half of his right leg had been skewered, the flesh ripped clear off the bone. A strip of cloth was tied tightly around his upper thigh to stave the bleeding.
A bit of white stuck out from the mess that was the prince’s abdomen. The boar’s other tusk. It was left embedded, the grey lining of his intestines spilling out around it through the gaping hole ripped through his body.
It was a gruesome and painful way to go.
“Captain,” Hokda called over his shoulder. “My other bag.”
Kade jolted.
Killian moved quickly, pulling the healer’s bag from his horse and delivering to his side. Then, he stepped back to join Fyar who had since dismounted.
Hokda’s hands glowed golden as he attempted his healing, attempted to pull Porthos back from the brink of death. But he’d been stuck in limbo too long. Kade’s magic having prolonged his life, but not enough to really heal. He’d faded too far, his ownenhad dimmed, depleted so much it couldn’t be drawn to the surface and aid in his rescue.
It was all on the healer now, and not even Hokda’s magic was enough.
“Give him something for the pain.” Hokda spoke to Kade. He caught Lyra’s eye and shook his head.
Lyra’s expression cracked open. He bent over Porthos, caressing his cheeks, trembling. He whispered of home in the west, and of the time they spent there together. Always together.
Kade leaned back on his haunches, face stricken and pale. He found Killian and he seemed to sag. Then, his eyes shifted and he caught sight of Fyar, and his expression hardened.
Stumbling, Kade moved towards them, a bit crazed.
Bracing himself, Killian stepped forward, blocking Kade’s advance, making himself a wall in front of the king. Kade barely seemed to notice, his eyes on Fyar alone.
“Save him,” Kade said. He spoke directly to Fyar. Bravely. Stupidly. “You can save him.”
“Me?” Fyar arched an eyebrow. “What could I do that you or Hokda could not? I’m no healer.”
“You have magic, and lots of it. He’s not healing because his ownenis gone.” Kade was becoming frantic. “It’s all on us—the healer—so it takes double, triple, ten times the amount of magic it normally would. If you lend Hokda your magic, he could save him.”
Fyar blinked. His eyes flickered to the healer’s. “Would that work?”
