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With a cry of pain that was lost in the thunder of his magic, he gathered in his magic and shoved it at the sky. It exploded with a boom that shook the ground and snapped the nearby trees. The last of it dissipated into the sky, fizzling out in a rain of ash and smoke.
As his magic left, weakness slammed into him until all his bones and muscles felt dead as the trolls lying in heaps around him.
He sought out Essie, catching her gaze where she still huddled, gripping her gun but very much alive.
She was alive. His family was alive. That was all that mattered.
He let the weakness and darkness take him. It was a relief to collapse to the ground and fade into the darkness. No more fighting. No more blood and battle.
Then she was there, her hands pressing to his stomach. She mumbled something through her tears, but he was too tired to concentrate on the words.
If this was the end, then he was glad she was here. He gathered his strength and peeled his eyes open to see her one last time. “Essie…” He weakly fumbled for her hand.
She clasped his hand, squeezing hard enough that he could feel it past the tingling numbness in his fingers. “Don’t die. Please don’t die. I love you, Farrendel. I can’t…”
She loved him. He could die now. Happy that he had been loved.
His breath hissed out of him, and he did not fight to draw in another breath. Essie was still talking, but he could no longer make out the words. He was fading. After all his years of fighting, it was time to let go.
Something tugged, deep in his chest. Yanking him away from the fading darkness. Away from the death drawing him away. It almost felt like Essie was reaching deep into his heart, begging him to hold on tight to her.
Essie. He had never told her that he loved her. They had a life to live yet.
It was not time to let go. Not time to die. For years, he had gone into battle, not caring if he lived or died.
Yet now that the reality was upon him, he did care. He cared very much.
He reached for that sense of Essie. A breath dragged into his chest. Then another.
The pain slammed back into him, and he gasped. Life flowed back into his fingers, his muscles. And yet the life felt like Essie in a way he could not define.
Then elven healing magic burst into him, tearing at the pain in his stomach. He cried out, yet it seemed he heard Essie’s cry of pain too.
Then he was fading into darkness again. A warmer, living darkness wrapped in elven healing magic, even if the pain continued to claw at his middle. Each breath pulled from him, as if forced beyond his will.
He drifted, vaguely aware of movement and voices. The creaking of a litter and the pain as it bumped over roots crossing the path. The snort of horses and the clop of their hooves. And, most of all, Essie’s hand in his, warm against his cold fingers.
How long he drifted, he did not know. Some long minutes or hours later, he dragged his way through the darkness and pain as he was lifted from the litter and placed on something hard and flat.
“Farrendel, shashon. You need to wake.” Weylind’s voice reached deep into his pounding skull, yanking him the rest of the way awake.
Farrendel squinted up into Weylind’s blurry, scowling face. He opened his mouth, but he could not seem to get any words out of his dry, sticky mouth.
He became aware of Essie, lying next to him on the large, wooden table, her hand still tightly clasped in his. She was unconscious but in pain.
How did he know that? His heart beat harder as he searched the new awareness filling his chest. She was in pain and, as his heart hammered in his chest, hers did too. She shifted and whimpered.
Essie. Farrendel struggled to push himself onto an elbow. “Essie…”
Rheva shoved Weylind back and took his place next to the table. She shoved Farrendel back down. “Lie still. You need to take deep, calm breaths.”
He lay back and tried to take in a deep breath. Pain lanced through his stomach, and he groaned, pressing a hand to the wounds. Beneath his fingers, he felt rough bandages, sticky with blood. “What…happened?”
“You were shot.” Behind Rheva, Weylind crossed his arms, still glowering.
“You are not helping, my love.” Rheva half-turned and gently shoved Weylind back another few steps.
An elf Farrendel did not recognize eased into his line of sight. “Adarasheni, if we may proceed?”
