Page 311 of Blade of the Nightking

When the Infected had overrun the square, the well had become their last refuge.

I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat.

"The knife," Rìan said urgently. "Hurry."

My fingers fumbled at my belt, slick with sweat as the rotten water waited below. I forced myself not to look at the bodies again as I wrenched the bone-hilted knife from its sheath. I cut my palm and passed him the blade. He did the same, then clasped my bleeding hand.

Even before our blood began to fall, I knew.

This wasn't the third Gate.

Still we waited, listening to our blood patter against the swollen flesh below.

Nothing answered.

Rìan swore loudly and tore his hand from mine, the cut across his palm already knitting itself closed.

"The next one." His eyes burned, silver flashing with an urgency that bordered on menace.

I was moving before he'd finished speaking.

We raced through Midland, cutting through alleys and scrambling over fallen stone. Faintly, another scream carried on the wind before falling silent.

Three.

I forced my burning legs to move faster. A stitch pulled at my side with every breath, but I didn’t slow. My father’s house flashed past as we ran. Somehow, the crooked little cottage still stood, though the front door had long since been ripped from its hinges. I tore my eyes away and kept running, ignoring the crushing ache in my chest.

The alley opened into a small square I hadn’t visited in years. Grass grew thick and untrampled between the stones. To one side stood a squat stone well, its rim crumbling with age.

"It dried up years ago," I explained between panting breaths. "Nobody ever used it.”

Rìan peered into the shaft. The bottom lay exposed, nothing but cracked earth and loose stone. He looked up at me, his face grim.

"Do you feel a difference here?"

I knew what he was asking. Closing my eyes for the briefest moment, I reached for the dark magic that had smothered the village ever since we'd entered.

It felt... farther away.

I opened my eyes. "It's not as heavy here."

Rìan ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, his gaze sweeping over the little square. "The other wells all bore an eight-pointed star. Do you remember ever seeing one in Midland?"

I frowned, then shook my head. "No. I would've remembered."

The star carved into the knife had been the first eight-pointed star I'd ever seen.

He let out a frustrated grunt, then held out his hand. "The knife."

My palm still bled freely, my magic making no effort to close the wound. I handed him the blade, watched him reopen his cut without hesitation, then stepped beside him as our fingers intertwined once more above the dry well.

Blood dripped into the empty shaft.

We waited.

Again, nothing.

Rìan growled low in his throat and pulled away, quickly unlacing his fingers from mine. "How many more?"