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“Suture,” he announced, handing some of the surgical instruments to Laethan. “For both of us. The way I see it, we’ve got a fighting chance if I start at the top and you start at the bottom.”
Without hesitation, Laethan accepted the proffered instruments, and seemed to easily figure out what to do with the modern stuff.
“Your healing tools are quite impressive. The needle is curved and sharp, and the thread is already attached.”
Jireo gripped the IV bag with white-knuckled fingers. “Please. We must hurry.”
Bending over, Alora pressed her mouth to Kaevin’s, somehow expecting him to respond, but his cold lips never moved. Something scraped on the floor behind her, and a bed slid under her legs, just in time to prevent her collapse.
Slipping his supporting arm back around her waist, Uncle Charles perched beside her on the end of the bed. “We could be here a while, so this should help.”
“At least you can all get back,” Alora murmured. “I mean, if we don’t make it, you can use the portal Markaeus made.”
“Shhh,” he rubbed her shoulder. “Don’t say that. Everything will be fine.”
Jireo’s fear told a different story, and he refused to look her in the eye. She knew Jireo was terrified Kaevin would die.
So am I.
“Uncle Charles... thanks for everything you’ve ever done. For taking me in and loving me and raising me.”
“Shhhh. You don’t have to say anything. You’re the best thing that ever happened to Lena and me. Just stop talking like you’re going to die.”
“Still, I want you to know how grateful I am. I know I’ve rebelled a few times when I thought you were being too controlling. I want you to know I’m sorry.”
“You know how much I love you, Alora.”
“I love you too, Uncle Charles. And I’m really sorry for breaking Aunt Lena’s antique lamp a year ago.”
Leaning away, he looked down his nose at her, crossing his arms. “You told me Bozeman knocked it off the table with his tail.”
“I know that’s what I said, but I lied. And I felt guilty about it for a whole year. I’m really glad to get it off my chest.”
“You lied to me?”
“Yes, but you can’t be mad at me. I’m about to die.”
“I can’t believe you lied,” he growled.
Good grief! If I survive this, Uncle Charles is going to ground me.
The door crashed open and Arista rushed in, shouting in breathless tones.
“Glaenshire’s on fire!”
**************
By the time Vindrake’s guard gathered the cones and the archers were in place, the magickal barrier had disappeared. It was a fortunate development in that his warriors were once again gifted, and his archers could move closer to their targets. However, he could no longer sense the shamans working inside the tower and feared they’d escaped. Had they somehow perceived the fire danger and moved to a protected location, perhaps inside the Craedenza on the bare stone hill?
No matter, he’d still proceed with his plan.
Moving down the line, each archer dipped a sap-tipped arrow into the sack of fire-powder, which burst into flames a breath after emerging from the sack. As the fiery arrows shot through the air and landed on the thatched roofs, magickal fire exploded, with sparks flying and fire spreading to the surrounding trees, as well. The steady wind fanned the flames, and within a few breaths, Glaenshire was alight and burning like a tinder box.
With the fire burning to his satisfaction, Vindrake turned his attention to his sightstone to view the Craedenza battle, expecting to find his warriors fighting according to his bloodbond compulsion. Instead, he watched the last three of his warriors destroy themselves.
Furious, he forced his will on the lone mounted warrior who wore the sightstone, sending him galloping forward to trample the three tattered Craedenza defenders who remained on their feet. But the horse balked at the edge of the foundation stone, rearing up and dumping his warrior in an unceremonious pile. Clambering to his feet, the warrior took three wooden steps forward onto the sparkling stone, his sword in hand ready to attack, but a shift in the wind sent heavy smoke to obscure the scene from the sightstone.
Vindrake growled deep in his throat, squeezing his fists until his nails bit into his skin. Retreat was not an option—too much was at stake. The opportunity to kill Alora and Kaevin. The necessity of controlling the Craedenza to recover his scroll.
