The light swirled around her outstretched hand. As the light turned into an orb and grew larger by the second, my mind went blank.

  We were going to die.

  "Mother, wait!" Ro's voice cut through the night air. He dropped to one knee in front of me, palms raised. "It's us!"

  My heart hammered in my chest. Her glowing eyes considered us, but she didn't seem to recognize us. Dropping to my knees too, I heard a creature scream as it collided against the barrier. "It Ro-Saleh and Alex! We're here to help!" I lowered my head and prayed to the Goddess that we wouldn't get roasted after everything we did to get there.

  There was a subtle shift in the air around us. Glancing up, I saw the ball of pure-white energy flicker.

  "My Children?" Her voice wavered, the commanding boom fading into uncertainty. The light in her palm flickered more.

  "Yes," Ro kept his voice steady despite everything. "We made it back to you."

  The ball of energy dissolved, its light scattering like mist. Lady Varga's face sagged with relief... and exhaustion. She looked different than I remembered. Her normally immaculate silver hair was wild, her robes torn at the sleeves. Thick lines of blood trickled from her nose. She looked like she'd aged twenty years.

  She lowered to the ground. When her feet touched the ground, she walked to us, and the barrier moved as she did. With every step, the monsters behind us shrieked, and the smell of burnt flesh and fur filled the air. I didn't dare look back at the screaming creatures behind us.

  When she got close, she placed her hands on our shoulders. Searing pain filled me as her purifying light entered my body, but beneath the pain was relief. I watched as the cuts on my hands turned brown and the scabs fell away. When had I lost my gauntlets?

  "Forgive me." Her voice was thin, strained. "I've been at this for hours."

  "There is no need for forgiveness, Mother." Ro's voice was firm. "You are doing all you can."

  "I should know my children..." Tears filled her eyes. "I am sorry..." She sighed. "The light... it shows me only corruption." She gestured vaguely toward the barrier around us, which shuddered as another wave of creatures threw themselves against it. "Even the purest of hearts appear tainted to me as I am right now."

  Ro rose to his feet. "Let us give you rest. Surely we can defend the crypt for a time."

  She shook her head. "While your heart is kind, you do not have the strength to do this thing. Also, this is my temple. It is my duty to protect you all."

  "But..."

  "But nothing, sweet child." She placed a hand on his cheek, but he flinched away from her touch. A cloud floated over her face. "I am sorry."

  "Think nothing of it, mother."

  She looked around. "Where is Renard?"

  I stood. "He's with Farvad and Na-Ya. He was wounded in his battle with Baelgrim and won't be able to fight any longer."

  She nodded. "It is as I feared." Walking to me, she looked me over. "Thank you for coming to our aid, my wayward child. It fills my heart with joy to see you here beside our beloved Ro." Searching behind me, she frowned. "And where is the one whose roots entwine with yours? And the little one who fights for your heart? Are they well?"

  Wait... "You knew?" We'd been so discreet.

  "I knew everything that happened within the walls entrusted to me." A light smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  Despite everything, I couldn't help but blush. We'd been mostly good, but some nights... "They're safe. Tristan's resting back in her grove in Llyn, and Farvad and Na-Ya are healing Vral, alongside Renard and a dozen others."

  She went to reach for me but hesitated. She lowered her hand again. "You protect them well. You have grown, my sweet crybaby."

  I couldn't help but laugh. Of all the nicknames that could have stuck, it had to be crybaby.

  "Mother, tell me. How many still live?" Ro's voice was filled with concern.

  "Due to the efforts of our templars, far more than I'd dared to hope. If that many escaped with you and Na-Ya, we have lost only a few today." A look of relief washed over her. "And if I can hold until dawn, these beasts will face the true power of the Goddess." As she spoke, she raised her hand again, and a wave of light rippled in her palm. Darting forward like an arrow, it struck a particularly large beast that had been throwing itself repeatedly at the same spot in her barrier. In a final horrible screech, the monster was incinerated. "Now go, children. Go into the mausoleum and give comfort to the wounded and hope to the frightened." She gestured back at the mausoleum.

  For the first time, I noticed movement behind her. Through the cracked door of the mausoleum, I could make out the shape of a templar standing guard, sword drawn. I recognized her from training, but I couldn't remember her name.

  "I will stay by your side, mother. If you falter, I will be here for you. Let my light strengthen yours." Ro drew his sword and stepped in front of her.

  "If that is your will." Lady Varga's form began to glow brighter. Wind swirled around her, and her feet left the ground. She floated back to the center of the field where she'd been, and the barrier moved with her. Several cries from the rear of the mausoleum revealed that a number of the creatures had tried to sneak around back.

  Now, they were dust.

  Ro's jaw set. His golden eyes met mine. "Go into the mausoleum, Alex. Whatever help you can give the others, give it." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "And get some rest. I don't think she'll make it to dawn. I'm confident our final stand will be down there."

  I hesitated. "Are you sure?"

  He nodded. "Go. I'll stay with her."

  Another wave of beasts hurled themselves at the barrier. This time, the entire dome trembled, the cracks spreading wider. Lady Varga gasped, one hand clutching at her side.

  "Now, Alex," he commanded. "There isn't much time."

  I nodded and moved past him and the glowing angel above us toward the mausoleum's door. As I approached, the templar inside pulled them open just enough for me to slip through.

  "Alex." She placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you've come back to help."

  Maven. Her name was Maven. She and Tristan were friends. They'd often go to the villages together to get food and supplies.

  I gave her my best smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Her short, sandy hair fluttered as she nodded. "I can see why she chose you." Moving to the side, she let me into the mausoleum. "Go. I'll hold the door for now." Narrow stone steps started behind her, leading deep into the earth, with only the dim light of blue glowstones lighting the path. I couldn't see the end of the staircase from the top.

  Looking back, the last thing I saw before walking down the stairs was Ro-Saleh positioning himself under Lady Varga, his sword beginning to glow with the same white light that surrounded her.

  ***

  Walking through a second doorway at the bottom, which was guarded by at least a dozen templars, the stench hit me—the small space reeked of blood, sweat, and fear, all concentrated in a space too small to hold it all.

  The mausoleum's interior had been transformed from a place of solemn rest into a makeshift hospital. Dozens of people lay on the stone floor, leaned against the walls, or huddled in small groups. Prone, bloodied figures rested atop the sarcophagi strewn about the room, and priests flitted from coffin to coffin, their healing light doing as much as it could for the injured. At least three bodies were placed in the corner, scraps of clothes covering their faces. A woman lay atop one of them, weeping.

  A young priest with a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head nodded to me as I entered. "Another one made it. Good."

  "How can I help?" I walked to the priest.

  He shook his head. "If you're able-bodied, fill in wherever you're needed. Many are in need down here."

  Nodding to the man, I stepped past him and took in the scene. Narrow shafts of light filtered down from the ceiling, emitted by large glowstones set at even intervals in the ceiling. There was an archway on the far side of the room that looked like it led into another smaller room beyond. That one was filled with people, too, but they looked less injured. In the back of that second room, I could see several of Arden's scholars discussing something intently next to the rear wall of the second room.

  The sound of humming pulled my attention away. Moving toward the sound, I found a mother cradling a child no older than six or seven. Dried blood caked the woman's hair, and her eyes had the vacant stare of someone who'd seen too much. The child's face was flushed with fever, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Her shoulder had gauze placed over it. Three red lines had soaked through the cloth.

  "What happened?" I asked, kneeling beside them.

  "One of them scratched her." She didn't look at me, her eyes fixed on her daughter's face. "Just a scratch. But now she burns."

  I gently moved the rough bandage on the girl's arm. When it pulled away, I hissed. Three parallel gashes marked his skin, the edges swollen and discolored with an unnatural purple tinge. The wound oozed a thick black liquid that looked nearly identical to Devon's blood... I shook the image out of my head.

  "Has anyone looked at this?" I asked, my stomach clenching at the sight.

  The woman shook her head. "Everyone's hurt. The healers are busy with those who might..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

  I remembered Tristan's light, how it had soothed my broken body so many times. I wasn't a healer, but maybe...

  "Let me try something." I placed my hand near the wound, not touching it. "If it hurts, tell me to stop."

  The woman finally looked at me, desperation in her eyes. "Please. Anything."

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember how it felt all the times that I'd felt Tristan or the others channel their healing light. I imagined warmth flowing from my core, down my arms, into my fingers.

  Nothing happened.

  Frustration welled up inside me. What the hell could I do to help?

  "Here." A soft voice spoke from behind me. An elderly man in a priest's robe knelt beside us. "You need this." He pressed a small vial into my palm.

  Holding it up in the dim light, I saw that the liquid inside was a deep red color. I recognized the stuff from back before Tristan could use magic. She'd always rubbed it into her hands first before healing me. "Thank you."

  He pointed to a crate in the corner. "If you need more, there's a small amount left over there. But use it sparingly. It's all we have." He groaned as he stood back up and walked away.

  The child's mother nodded.

  "I'll do my best." Uncorking the vial, I rubbed some of the red liquid into my hands. After a moment, a soft red glow enveloped them. Pressing my hands to the girl's back, I started rubbing the light into her wounds, but she shrieked and buried herself into her mother's neck. I pulled back. "I know it hurts, but I promise it'll feel much better soon. Can you be brave for a little bit longer?"

  When the girl buried herself further into her mother's neck, her mom patted her back and said, "Esna... the nice man is trying to help you. Will you let him help you?"

  The little girl slowly nodded in her mother's shoulder.

  Pressing my hands on top of the gashes once again, I did my best to work the skin the way mine had been worked. I did long, slow strokes, making sure to press the broken skin inward with each pass so that it could knit together.

  At first, nothing happened. I worked for a time, hoping that I could help, but still, nothing. Right when I was about to give up hope, I saw that the purple bruising was beginning to fade. With another pass, the gashes narrowed. Soon, the gashes were cuts that wept a light pink fluid instead of the black stuff that had wept from them before.

  The mausoleum shuddered suddenly, dust raining down from the ceiling. Outside, I heard the unmistakable boom of Lady Varga's magic. The little girl cried out, her mother pulling her close.

  "Lady Varga and Ro-Saleh are fighting for all of us out there. With them out there, we'll be safe." I pressed my hands to the girl's shoulder once again. She cried out, but her mother stroked her hair and sang to her to comfort her.

  The soothing, burning feeling pulsing through my hands and into the girl was familiar. I'd felt it hundreds of times in the months after I'd arrived in Reial. But, unlike the restored feeling I'd felt whenever the others healed me, doing this to someone else felt more draining than soothing. As the wounds stitched together, I realized I was panting.

  Before long, though, the gashes were nothing more than thick pink lines decorating the girl's shoulder. When I saw that my work was done, I sat back on the ground, spent. Wiping my bloody hands on a nearby rag, I said, "I think that will do for now."

  "Thank you," the mother whispered, a single tear tracking through the grime on her face.

  "I need help over here!" One of the priests standing next to a sarcophagus shouted, and three other priests broke away from their patients and rushed toward him. Seeing how many wounded were left, I walked over to the crate and grabbed several more vials of the red stuff.

  ***

  I moved on, helping where I could. A man with his ribcage torn and bloody gasped for breath as I helped a priest bind his wounds. A templar needed to be moved from the ground to a sarcophagus, so I picked him up. Two young novices with matching burns across their faces huddled together, whispering prayers. I healed their faces the best I could. An old woman held her husband's unconscious body in the corner, a thick gash decorating his forehead. I used the potion to restore him to consciousness.

  Time blurred.

  Outside, the sounds of battle continued—flashes of light pierced down the stairwell, followed by the inhuman screams of the beast creatures. The mausoleum walls trembled periodically as Lady Varga unleashed her power.

  I wondered to myself a dozen times how so many of the creatures could have been created. How long had Farvad and Elna been working on these potions? Or did the cult have other alchemists doing the work as well? My assumption was the latter. These creatures were far more warped than the little rat gnome Farvad had created. Assuming Elna made work comparable to his, I could only conclude these creatures were made from inferior products crafted by lesser alchemists.

  That must be why the cult wanted Farvad and Elna so badly. But why had they been left alive and to their own devices? Why not just capture them?

  A thought struck me. With their knowledge, both father and daughter could easily make poisons to take their own lives. It would be difficult to force them to work if they didn't want to. Why not provide them with the resources and money to craft the stuff? Clearly, the ingredients were rare. Farvad had gushed about the opportunity to work with them. In the end, it would have been easier to manipulate them both than force them.

  That made sense to me.

  Plus, both Baelgrim and Devon said they didn't want to take them prisoner. I supposed that I'd forced their hand with Elna. With her mind as broken as it had been, maybe they could manipulate her into working for them moving forward?

  A wave of frustration washed over me. I needed to get stronger. needed to get stronger. Every fight couldn't end with us half dead and mostly broken. We couldn't help anyone this way. As soon as this was over and Vral was healed, assuming we survived, I swore to myself that we'd find the toughest, most harrowing quests we could find. It was time to step up our game.

  Another thing bothered me. What was the black blood or fluid that was inside these things? All of them bled black blood, and even Devon was filled with the stuff. And why did her skin change color? How could she grow horns? Why were her eyes red? None of it made any sense. If these things were part animal, part human, what role did the black stuff play? Farvad hadn't mentioned anything like it when he talked about making his potions.

  I wished I knew more.

  The mausoleum shuddered, bringing me back to the present. I'd helped set a broken leg, the snapped bone had pierced through the skin of a young groundskeeper who'd been caught in the initial attack, when shouting erupted from the entrance. Handing the gauze to the priest I was assisting, I rushed to the doorway.

  "Make way! Make way!"

  I looked up the stairs to see a figure rushing down them toward us. A second later, Ro-Saleh staggered in, Lady Varga cradled in his arms. Her silver hair hung limply over his arm, and her face was deathly pale. Sweat soaked every inch of her body. The radiant light that had surrounded her just hours before had dimmed to barely a flicker.