Page 88 of On Broken Bonds

"Looks like almost everyone survived," Thorian says, already pushing himself upright and surveying the area.

Fenric steadies himself on his feet, swaying only slightly before tugging his clothes back into place. He mutters something under his breath about hating berserker magic, then glances over at me.

Our eyes meet. A smile spreads across his face, quick and warm. Entirely too warm.

My heart gives a little stutter.

What a ridiculous time to be developing a crush… or multiple crushes.

“Well, we survived another one of the Trials,” Fenric says, just before we hear a loud whoosh and feel heat pressing down one side of the swamp.

Thorian pulls me backward, and we turn in time to see a massive fireball tear through the air. It slams into one of the remaining knights. The man doesn't even have time to scream before he's engulfed. A second knight catches the edge of the blast and staggers backward, his armor glowing red-hot in places as he cries out in pain.

The smell hits a moment later.

Burning flesh.

Burning cloth.

Burning hair.

Thorian growls under his breath and automatically shoves me behind him.

"Warlocks," Fenric says, bitterness coloring the word.

The three of us immediately sprint for the tree line as another explosion erupts behind us. Then another. The warlocks aren't even trying to hide anymore. They’re trying to prey on all the weakened competitors on the other side of the swamp.

"They floated themselves across," Thorian says as we run. "Or found some other way through. Then waited."

"Waited for everyone else to weaken themselves crossing the swamp," Fenric finishes.

"Exactly."

A branch snaps beneath my boots as I race through the undergrowth. My lungs burn. My entire body still feels exhausted from the crossing, but even so, I notice something troubling. Fenric is slowing down.

At first, it's subtle. Then it isn't. He stumbles. Catches himself. Keeps going.

A few seconds later he stumbles again. This time he drops to one knee.

"Fenric!"

I grab his arm and haul him back up. His skin feels cold. Far colder than it should.

"I'm fine," he says.

He's obviously lying.

The berserker transformation is gone completely now, and whatever strength carried him through the swamp appears to have vanished with it.

We keep moving.

Twenty steps later he nearly falls again. This time I manage to catch him before he hits the ground.

"Gods," I whisper.

His face has gone pale. Not tired pale, but sick pale. The kind of pale that reminds me of Lyra during her worst bouts of fever.

Behind us, another fireball crashes through the trees. The blast shakes the ground. Heat washes over us. And still Fenric struggles just to stay upright as we keep running.