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Breathe. Just breathe. In, two, three, four; out, two, three, four...
“Alleraen! It is indeed good to see you, Brother. How does it make you feel, knowing you failed once again?”
The pressure of the gun on her neck increased, and she wondered if his finger was trembling on the trigger.
The gun. He’s fired it five times. There’s probably only one bullet left. But they don’t know he fired it twice yesterday.
Through her blurry vision, Alora made out Alleraen’s immense, muscular figure, standing a few feet away. She felt his fury, though she couldn’t see his expression. With his ruddy complexion, his face was probably red as a crayon.
“Let her go, Drakeon. Only a monster would kill his own daughter.”
“If she dies, it will be your doing, Alleraen. I fully intended to let her live, but you’ve threatened me with my life, leaving me no choice.”
“No choice? Your choices are what transformed you into the evil person you are.”
“I’m not evil! I’m doing the will of God. For His plan to be accomplished, some must die. I take no pleasure in it.”
“Ha! You and I both know you’re lying. And what dark deed have you done to transform your skin to armor?”
“A secret—one I would gladly have shared, had you chosen to join me.”
“Drakeon, do you listen to your own words? Can it be you believe what you are saying? Have you forgotten who you were before you found the Maladorn Scroll? Have you forgotten how you changed? How you killed our father?”
“Enough!” Vindrake shouted. “I’ve heard enough from you!”
The gun fired. Alora waited for the pain. Waited to die. Her ears rang, a constant high pitch. She heard voices—shouting. But all the sounds were small, like they were a long way off.
Maybe I’m floating up in the air, and I’ll look down and see my dead body on the ground.
Only when Vindrake jerked her backwards, searing pain shooting through shoulder, did she realize she was still alive. It was then that she saw Alleraen on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Wait!” Laethan’s voice called out as he stepped into the moonlight. “I’m a healer, and I bear no weapon.”
“I have no need of a healer,” said Vindrake. “I’m uninjured, and my skin is impervious to metal.”
Laethan continued forward. “I ask only that you allow me to examine Alora.”
Alora felt the calming effect of his words. Laethan was using his empathy, or misusing, depending on your perspective. Whatever he was doing, she was grateful, because she no longer felt out of control. She was safe from spilling over, at least for now.
“Alora is unharmed. She has no need of a healer, either. I won’t abide your trickery.” Vindrake’s words were distrustful, but Laethan’s empathy was strong, overpowering.
Right now, I’d step off a cliff if Laethan asked me to.
Laethan drew closer and closer to her. “I understand, Master Vindrake.”
His hand shot forward, snatching Alora’s wrist, tight as a vise grip. At the same time, Laethan burst open the fragile container of pain inside her head. Agony seared her nerve endings, starting at the top of her head and spreading down to her toes.
She screamed.
So did Laethan.
So did Vindrake.
Then everything went silent. And dark.
~21~
Meravelle wept.
