Page 2 of Blade of the Nightking

“Stay with me, El,” he ordered, voice vibrating through me.

I held on, fought against the merciful darkness that was creeping in to claim me. I didn’t know how much time I had left, but I would stay with him as long as I could.

Somewhere ahead, a voice shrieked:

“Aedric! AEDRIC!!”

“Here!” he shouted back, breathless.

Calantha appeared around the curve below us, her red braid singed and soot streaked across her cheek. When Aedric reached her, she pivoted, falling in step behind him as he continued downward. Her ember eye glowed like a lit forge as she fixed on me, the brush of her power hitting me like a lash. I convulsed, a shuddering gasp tearing from my throat.

“Put your fucking lens on before I take your eye for good,” Aedric snarled, twisting his body to shield me from her sight as he kept moving.

Calantha jolted as though he’d struck her and quickly slid on the darkened circlet. “She’s not going to make it.”

“Like hell she isn’t,” Aedric growled.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, Hamish burst through a broken doorway. Tall and broad, solid as a mountain in all things, he looked shaken for the first time I could remember. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly against the filth smeared across his skin. His beard was singed like Calantha’s hair. One sleeve of his tunic had burned away, leaving a charred fringe. The skin beneath glistened, red and wet and blistered.

He stopped short when he saw what remained of me in Aedric’s arms. His mouth tightened, the quiet dismay in his eyes confirming what I already knew: I was going to die.

“We have to skeld. Now.”

The ground lurched beneath us at the same instant, a violent tremor shaking dust from the ceiling. From deep below came a low, rolling rumble, a sound like a warning drawn straight from the throat of the Cauldron itself.

Aedric braced against the wall, steadying himself. “Abandon Solmire?”

“Yes,” Hamish replied without hesitation.

“I can’t.” Aedric’s voice broke, edged with anguish.

Hamish widened his stance as another tremor rattled through the floor. It jolted up my spine and into my teeth. “If you stay…” He glanced at Calantha. She gave a single nod. “So will we.”

“But Solmire will fall either way,” she interjected.

“My wards…” Aedric began.

“Are down,” Hamish finished for him.

Aedric stared, stunned. “How?”

Hamish met his eyes with a dark, weighted look. Understanding hit me even through the fog of pain.

Ione.

The exchange of power that should have taken place during Kyndralis had never happened. The Ritual had failed, leaving the magic fragile and unanchored. And whatever that thing in the sky had used against Solmire, whatever magic powered those unnatural blue flames—it had struck straight through the weakened protections and torn the wards apart.

“Where are Errol and Malec?” The names of his friends came out hoarse.

“They’ve already skelded to Dheren.”

“And Torvek?”

Hamish and Calantha traded a brief, heavy glance. “Dead,” Hamish said.

“No…”

The floor heaved beneath us. Something in the next chamber collapsed with a violent crash, and more dust rained down from above. Aedric folded himself over me, shielding my body with his own until the quaking eased. When I turned my head weakly toward him, his golden hair was chalk-white with plaster and grit.