Chapter 9 #2
The rogue’s scream of agony pierces the night as Falcen’s blade bites deep into his flesh, carving through sinew and bone. Ichor sprays from the wound, hissing and steaming where it spatters on the ground. The acrid stench of what should be his blood burns my nostrils.
Falcen presses his advantage, his blade a whirling dervish of cobalt light as he hacks at the Soulren with a ferocity I’ve never seen from him, even with the hounds. Each blow lands with brutal force, opening gaping wounds that weep that foul blood.
The rogue slumps over, his robes in tatters, his flesh rent and bleeding.
“This isn’t over,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “I’ll have your soul, girl. And I’ll make your protector watch as I rip it from your body and then fuck your corpse.”
With that final threat, he gathers the shreds of his magick and, in a swirl of shadow and foul miasma, vanishes.
Silence descends, broken only by Falcen’s haggard breathing and the rush of the river. I hurry to his side, reaching him just as his legs give out and he collapses to his knees.
“Falcen!” I drop down beside him, afraid to touch him and cause more pain. Up close, his injuries look even worse. Deep lacerations crisscross his torso, oozing blood. The hounds damaged his chest plate. Now, it’s like shredded papyrus. “Tell me what to do.”
Falcen grimaces, his face pale and sheening with sweat. “You can give me my bit of soul back, for one,” he grits out.
I scrunch my nose in contrition, but as usual, cannot keep my mouth shut. “It was just a sip.”
He doesn’t see the humor in my response.
“That bastard will be back with reinforcements,” he rasps.
I swallow, my heart still racing. “Can you stand?”
He gives a tight nod. “There’s a cave system ... not far from here. We can lay low there until I recover enough to travel.”
I want to argue, to insist he needs a proper mage’s attention, but the stubbornness masking the pain in his expression tells me it would be futile. So I simply slide an arm around his waist, careful to avoid his injuries, and help him to his feet.
He’s heavy, solid metal and muscle that I strain to support. A pained grunt escapes through his gritted teeth.
“Sorry,” I say with a grimace.
We stagger away from the bridge, Falcen’s breath coming harsh and fast against my neck. The wet heat of his blood soaks into my new cloak where he’s pressed against me.
Lux help me, there’s so much blood…
“Keep moving,” he rasps when I stumble. “Don’t stop.”
Easier said than done when it feels like I’m hauling an ox, but I clench my teeth and press on, half dragging Falcen through the trees.
The canopy overhead thickens, blotting out Nox’s moon and leaving us in near total darkness. Only the faint azure glow emanating from Falcen’s soul-glyphs lights our way. He must be using all his power to keep conscious.
I strain my senses, alert for any sign of pursuit, but hear only our labored breathing and the crunch of undergrowth beneath our feet. The farther we go, the more Falcen leans on me, his steps growing heavier, more unsteady, his soul-glyphs fading.
“Just a little more,” I murmur, though I have no idea if that’s true. He didn’t exactly give detailed directions.
As if reading my mind, he huffs a strained breath. “There—behind that outcropping.”
I squint into the gloom and make out a darker shadow against the rocky hillside. Breathing deep, I adjust my hold on Falcen and half carry, half drag him the last few yards.
Up close, I notice it’s less a cave and more a narrow fissure in the stone, barely wide enough for us to slip through single file. I eye it dubiously.
“It opens up inside,” Falcen explains. “Hurry, before I bleed out on this Nox-damned forest floor.”
The wry gallows humor, pained as it is, reassures me that he’s still coherent enough to be his prickly self.
I maneuver him through the crevice, trying to jostle him as little as possible.
He’s right, the space widens a few feet in, opening into a small cavern.
The glow of Falcen’s arm glyphs reflects off the damp rock walls, casting everything in an almost underwater light.
I ease him down against the stone, wincing at his sharp intake of breath. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he grunts. “Just help me get everything off so I can assess the damage.”
My fingers fumble with the unfamiliar fastenings, slick with blood. Falcen holds himself rigidly still, jaw clenched, as I peel the ruined metal and leather away from his wounds. In the wan light, the injuries look even more horrific, like he’s been mauled by a feral beast.
I close my mouth and swallow. “Gods, Falcen.”
“It looks worse than it is,” he says even as his face pales further.
I hover, hands outstretched.
My gaze darts around the small cavern, searching for anything that could be of use. Falcen carries that pouch of healing gold dust on his belt, but as I scan his waist, my heart sinks.
“Your healing powder,” I say, trying to keep the rising panic from my voice. “It’s missing.”
Falcen’s hand goes to his belt, his fingers brushing over the empty spot where the pouch should be. He closes his eyes briefly. “Must’ve lost it when the bastard threw me into a bridge.”
He tries to sound dismissive, but without the healing properties of the rare powder, Falcen’s injuries will take much longer to mend. Time we may not have if the rogue Soulren makes good on his threat to return.
I bite my lip. When I brought Noxie back, I felt something flow out of me and into him. If I could push life into a dead cat, maybe I could push it into a dying man. “I could try healing you.”
“Absolutely not.” Falcen’s eyes snap open, then sharpen. “Don’t ever offer that again. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
“Why? I brought my cat back from the dead. How different can it be?”
I don’t add that Noxie perished again less than a minute later. We don’t have a lot of options in this little cavern.
Falcen’s lips twitch, but nothing comes out. Whatever he wants to say, he swallows it whole.
“I can help,” I insist, even as a small, scared part of me quakes at the thought of wielding my volatile magick again so soon. “Or should I go back to the bridge and look for your pouch?”
“Lux’s tits, don’t fucking do that.”
I wince at his graphic curse.
“Trying to heal me could end up doing more harm than good,” he says in a gentler tone. “I’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse.”
I raise a skeptical brow. “Really? Worse than having your flesh flayed open and your bones nearly crushed? Forgive me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”
Falcen sighs, apparently realizing I’m not going to drop this. “During my first year as an Elite, I got caught in a Veil tear while on a training mission. A pack of Voidspawn mauled me before my squad could pull me out.”
I wince, imagining vicious, decomposing monsters ripping into him with their jagged claws and dripping fangs. “That sounds awful.”
“It was.” His voice is flat, emotionless, but that kind of memory can’t possibly be so bland to recount. “The mages had to regrow half my internal organs. Took months to fully recover.”
“Well, there you go then,” I say, seizing on this bit of information. “If you could survive that, then letting me try to heal you should be like a walk in a field of flowers.”
Falcen pins me with a hard, though half-lidded, stare.
He’s putting on a brave face, but his injuries are taking a toll. His breath comes shallow and rapid, his skin waxy and pale beneath the grime of battle. Without proper treatment, he’ll only get weaker. More vulnerable.
I change tactics.
“Besides, how will you present your prize to the academy if you can’t walk properly?” I press.
Falcen’s expression falls, revealing an emotion I can’t quite place, though instinct tells me it’s one he doesn’t often experience.
“Verily…” His voice is tight. “You’re not a prize to be handed over. You have a duty. A responsibility to defend this realm.”
His gaze slides away from mine, focusing on some distant point beyond the cave walls. “I know you didn’t ask for this power, this path. And for whatever it’s worth, I wish...” He swallows thickly. “I wish circumstances were different. That you had a choice.”
An unfamiliar ache blooms beneath my breastbone, and I recognize it for what it is. Grief. Mourning. Two sentiments I haven’t given myself time for. Not when Mother passed, not when I lost Noxie, nor when I ended Edon’s life.
Certainly not for the girl I was.
“Well, you just made my point,” I say, clearing my throat. “You have a duty to bring me to the Resonance Academy unharmed and whole. And you’re currently failing that duty by acting like a stubborn ass.”
“Verily,” he warns, but his warning is short-lived.
Falcen passes out.
I stare at him.
“Lux’s tits,” I echo.