Page 90 of On Broken Bonds

"I said go," Thorian says quietly.

His dark eyes lock onto mine. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to disobey.

"Get him somewhere safe."

I swallow hard. Then nod. Just once.

The victory doesn't look like it makes him happy.

"Good."

Another explosion lights the forest behind him.

Orange flames race across damp moss and twisted roots, burning despite everything being soaked through. The air fills with sulfur and smoke.

"This way!" someone shouts in the distance.

The warlocks. They're already tracking us.

"Come on," I say, ducking beneath Fenric's arm and hauling it over my shoulders.

He tries to walk. He really does. His boots scrape through the underbrush as he forces one foot in front of the other, taking some of his own weight, but every few steps he sags against me again, nearly buckling my knees beneath the sheer size of him. He's far too big for me to carry, yet somehow we're moving.

He coughs weakly. "Vultures is a fitting name."

Even now, he's trying to joke.

I want to laugh.

Instead, I tighten my grip around his waist and force us onward.

Together, we begin moving deeper into the forest. After a dozen steps, I look back. I can't help it. Thorian stands alone between us and the approaching warlocks. His sword is drawn. His shoulders are squared. The firelight dances across his dark hair and leather armor. He’s waiting. Ready.

The sight twists deep in my chest. For one terrible instant, I almost turn around. Almost run back. Almost tell him that he isn't allowed to stay behind. That he isn't allowed to get himself killed.

But Fenric stumbles beside me, reminding me why I'm leaving in the first place. So I force myself to keep going.

Even then, I look back one more time. Just to make sure he's still there. Just to see him.

The last thing I catch before the trees swallow him from view is Thorian raising his sword toward the approaching flames. Then he's gone.

Fenric stumbles and slows, then starts to cough, while I desperately try to tug him along with me. Distantly, but not too far, there’s the sound of someone following behind us.

Is it Thorian? Or the warlocks? Fear clenches my guts.

There are four warlocks in the Trials. I have no idea how many of them Thorian can take on himself, but it’s likely some of them managed to find us, managed to follow Fenric and I out.

When Fenric slows too much, and I can barely hurry him along, panic starts to claw its way up my throat. The forest seems endless. Every direction looks the same. Smoke curls between the trees from the warlocks’ flames, turning the world gray and hazy. Somewhere behind us, another explosion rattles the woods, followed by shouting that sounds entirely too close.

The warlocks are coming.

And Thorian isn't here.

The realization hits me all over again. Thorian stayed behind. He stayed behind for us. And if we don’t move fast enough, he might walk away from the warlocks only to find us dead.

That’s if he even manages to survive his battle with them.

A fresh wave of fear crashes through my chest. I picture him standing alone among the burning trees, sword in hand, facing a group of magic wielders while Fenric and I stumble blindly through the woods. I want to turn around. I want to go back. Every instinct I have screams at me to run toward him instead of away.