“Can’t,” Saeldian shouted back. “It’ll catch up. Go!”
“I have to hold the spell,” Lorzok said, “and I can’t hold it long enough.”
“Go!” Saeldian shouted. A bolt of fire hit the troll, but it was so tiny. “Move!”
Saeldian’s spells were fading. They stepped back, but the troll-thing moved faster than they could. They would die if they didn’t flee.
Saeldian was going to die to let them all get away.
“Lorzok! Can you hold it from the other side?”
“I think so—come back!” Lorzok yelled.
Kell wasn’t listening. He dashed for Saeldian, who was swaying on their feet, trying to cast another blast of force to hold the monster back. It smacked into the troll’s shoulder.
It didn’t even flinch.
“I can’t hold it!” Lorzok yelled. “Kell!”
“Coming!”
Kell conjured a spear of fire in his hand. He threw it at the troll, and it hit just in time to make the troll choke on a cruel laugh and drop its greatmace. Kell scooped Saeldian around the waist.
The troll’s clawed hand swiped across Kell’s shoulder and down his chest.
It was like fire. Every breath made something in his chest stab him, and he knew the blood he smelled was his. There was no time to stumble. No time to be weak. He had one chance.
He squeezed Saeldian tight and cast his last spell. “And elsewhere!”
Kell was already running when they reappeared before the portal. Kell shoved Saeldian through and tripped on the roots of the oak beside the brew hut as the troll’s scream cut off.
“I’m okay,” Kell said. “Help Sheld—”
He was trying to fall in the opposite direction when it all went dark.
Chapter Eighteen
Five Thousand Grains to Dream In
Where Saeldian, Much to Their Surprise, Is Not Dead
Saeldian shouldn’t be alive right now, but the warm, soft bed and the dim, comfortable lights and the clean sheets on their skin were hard to deny. They lived. They were alive.
Alive? No. No…
A clay jug and a cup rested on the bedside table. The pale green cup had an uneven rim. Saeldian touched their mouth, knowing already how the dripped glaze felt on their lips.
Someone had lifted their head and gently ordered them to drink three swallows…Terandis.
“Kell is fine,” he’d said. “He fainted when he carried you through the oak, but Filandior caught him.”
Then Terandis stroked their shoulder and told them to sleep. Saeldian had been too weary and sick to argue or wonder why the man was being so kind to them after Saeldian had behaved so obnoxiously when they met.
When they woke again, they lay very still as the fright smothered them because they were alive.
Kell had saved them. He’d risked his own life to try to save theirs, and he’d done it. He’d made it back to the Village ThatChooses Its Own and saved Saeldian’s life, and they were going to be sick because they weren’t supposed to be here.
But they were, and Saeldian had to know. They reached for the amulet. Still there, and a bit cool, lying still in their fingers. In the oak’s grove, it had pounded like a man who’d run ten miles, prompting them to make that promise. It had beat, calm and resolute, while Saeldian fought off a monstrosity with cantrips.
