What in the seven realms of chaos was going on?

  Sascha’s sluggish thoughts struggled to play catch-up. He combed through his hazy memories, attempting to spark something, anything, to bring him back up to speed. The last thing he remembered was being chained and forced to stand alongside the gallows, awaiting his turn to be hanged. He’d flown into a blind rage shortly after. Unfortunately, that was the point where his recollection of the events stopped short. By the process of elimination, he’d obviously ripped Dewpetal free and battled his way out. And then he ended up here, beaten and bloody, with Trant and Novera Belfast at his side.

  He was missing information. A lot of information. The village must have had outside help. There was no way Sascha had gotten this far on his own. By all rights, Cray’s witches should have ended him the moment he broke free. Something else was afoot. Twice now the Belfast’s had mentioned an evacuation team without explaining who was conducting it, or where said evacuation team had come from, or why they’d waited until the last fucking minute to conduct their rescue!

  Sascha’s confusion must have shown on his face because Novera reached over and gave his trembling hand a reassuring squeeze. “Oralia did as she promised. She brought help, and not a moment too soon.”

  Oralia? Sascha whipped his head from side to side as if expecting his beloved to materialize out of the shadows at the mere mention of her name.

  “You played a critical part in her arrival as well,” Novera said. “Your rampage was the final spark Sergeant Windshot needed to switch sides. Half of the military forces joined him, along with the rest of the village. Most of Cray’s forces were already in attendance when the fight broke out. The commotion caused the remaining watch to abandon their post, drawing them into the village square, leaving the perimeter unguarded. Oralia’s army slipped in unnoticed.”

  By the gods, she’d done it! He’d never doubted her. Sascha just hadn’t counted on surviving long enough to see it come to fruition. Even still, a nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind, snuffing at whatever hope he desperately wanted to feel.

  It took effort to form the words. “What about Cray?”

  “The coward fled as soon as reinforcements arrived.” Novera gave a disgusted shake of her horns. “His top officers held out a little longer. But they, too, scattered once realizing the tide had shifted.”

  “This is no time to get overconfident, Novera,” Trant called over his shoulder. He was still steadily moving down along the alley, making his way to the open end. The noticeable limp in his left leg slowed his progress significantly. “This fight is far from over. The element of surprise gave Oralia the upper hand this time, but Cray won’t make that mistake again. Once he’s gotten his witches regrouped, they’ll come at us with everything they’ve got. Including that pet of his that he’s got locked up in the jailhouse.”

  The beast!

  Sascha’s spine went rigid as a swell of fear crested over him, smothering all former inklings of hope. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is what Cray had wanted all along! He’d told Sascha as much from the beginning. He meant to draw Oralia in, and by the gods, he’d done it! Oralia had just led her army straight into Cray’s trap!

  Sascha turned to Judge Belfast as his heartbeat quickened. “This is what Cray wants. We have to warn her. She has to pull her forces back now.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Judge Belfast spun around to face him. A harsh thread of insult wove throughout the faun’s tone. “Believe me, I endured far more of Cray’s monologues than did you. I could recite his entire plan forwards and backward by heart.”

  Novera’s right ear flapped, sounding like a leathery twig snapping in two.

  “Forgive me,” Trant relented as the sudden fire leaked from his weary expression. “I passed the message along to the dwarf captain spearheading the attack. Our allies are well aware that this is a trap. Captain Bernstein is only holding the enemy back long enough to evacuate any remaining civilians.”

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  Judge Belfast turned back around and pressed his shoulders flat against the stone wall, peeking his head around the corner. By now the fighting had swept past them. Judging by the sound, the battle had moved to the far side of the village. An occasional boom erupted in the distance, causing both the ground and surrounding walls to shudder in protest.

  Trant’s news was grim. “No sign of the evacuation party, I’m afraid. Looks like we’ll be doing this on our own.”

  “Get to your feet, Sascha,” Novera commanded softly. She gathered Dewpetal in her arms, mindful of the goblin’s sagging head, and heaved upright with a labored grunt.

  “Novera, please.” Trant hurried over from the mouth of the entrance, left leg struggling to keep up. “Let me. Don’t hurt yourself.”

  She shot him a look that could have curdled lukewarm water. “Hurt? I am the least injured of the three of us. If anyone’s going to be carrying this poor girl out of here, it’ll be me.”

  “I’m fine,” Trant insisted.

  “Good, then be a dear and put that sword to use.” Novera redistributed Dewpetal’s weight within her arms. “You may be old, but you can still swing a blade better than half of these upstarts.”

  An amused smile split across Judge Belfast’s weary face. “Old?”

  “Yes, love. Old. Be grateful I didn’t mention your appearance. Frankly, I hardly recognize you now that you’re all skin and bones.” Finished with her husband, Novera addressed Sascha next. “You’ll have to get up now. The only way you’re getting out of here is on your own two feet.”

  Sascha obeyed. He got all the way up onto one knee before the dizziness struck. His vision swam as wave after wave of nausea pelted him from the inside out, scattering his senses. Sascha lost his balance and landed back in the mud with a wet splatter, shuddering as his body punished him for pushing it past its limit. A sudden heat burst from within his rapidly beating chest and spread like wildfire across his skin. The blistering tendrils moved up his neck, over his face, and bore deep into his skill. It felt like hot pokers stabbing through his eyes, rendering his thoughts to screams.

  His vision started to dim.

  “Come on, Sascha.” He couldn’t make out Novera’s shape anymore, but he could hear her calling. Her voice fluttered, brimming with panic. “Don’t give up now. You’ve got to try.”

  Gritting his teeth, Sascha heaved upright once more, got halfway, and then collapsed. It was too much. The rampage had taken its toll. His body was spent, left without an ounce of energy to spare. “Go without me,” he rasped.

  “Try again!”

  “Novera,” Trant said sternly.

  “Get up!” Her hoof struck the wet ground with force.

  Trant sounded closer than he had been before. Sascha couldn’t see beyond the growing shadows forming within his eyes, but he wagered the judge was alongside Novera now, desperately pulling his wife away. “Novera,” Trant pleaded, “look at him. He can’t. You said so yourself, we don’t have time. We have to go.”

  “No, Trant! Oralia will never forgive us.”

  Trant had no immediate response. And yet, his somber silence communicated everything his mouth could not. Living parmounted forgiveness, and if they didn’t move, they would have neither.

  Magic boomed in the distance. Shouts and screams rang out over the clang of steel. And then, lightly at first, but growing, the telltale sound of thundering footsteps rose above the faraway clamor. The footsteps moved fast in their direction.

  “The evacuation team?” Novera asked hopefully.

  Judge Belfast’s slow hoof steps limped once more to the mouth of the hallway. “Oh, thanks gods. Yes, and they’ve got the push we’re going to need. Out of the way, dear, hurry. She’s coming in at full speed.”

  Had he been in better control of his faculties, Sascha might have questioned who exactly this ‘she’ was. Mere minutes ago, the answer would have rejuvenated him, convinced him to climb back up onto his feet and meet her halfway. But that was before. And this was now. And whatever strength he previously had was gone. He steadily slipped into the roiling darkness beneath his eyes. Exhaustion pulled heavily at his eyelids, promising relief if he’d just let go one last time.

  Voices rang out as the footsteps neared, but the sounds condensed together into a single low hum. Dark shapes and shadows swept in over him, but Sascha no longer knew if they were real or figments of his own fading mind. And then, just as his eyes closed for what promised to be the final time, a sudden warmth pressed against the underside of his chin. It was warm and familiar, and lovingly coaxed his head upwards.

  Her voice called to him. The sound shot through him to his core, relighting the flame moments before it snuffed out permanently. It set him afire. His consciousness shot to the surface, clawing its way out of the writhing clouds of darkness, desperate to see her even for one second more.

  Sascha’s left eye eased open and he saw a blurry, familiar face gazing back down at him. Oralia cupped his trembling chin with both hands and smiled. Warmth flooded his insides, convincing his blasted legs they could keep it together just a little longer. He would move mountains for that smile.

  To his utter delight, he received a second smile! This one bigger and bolder than all her previous smiles combined. It came with the words, too. The most beautiful ones he’d ever heard.

  “I’ve got you.”