“No.” Through the pain, through his blood and tears, he lunged forward, grabbing Marquis’s hand. Screaming in frustration, he threw his body weight back, dragging the prince with him. Darkness filled his senses as he watched the poisonous fog hurl toward them, wanting to tear through them, to bring them back to the Gortach’s lair. His blood pounded a vicious beat as he snarled at the unconscious prince.
“Adaiiiir.” They were sirens, pulling his soul apart, filling his blood with a toxic desire.
With ice shooting through his viens, he moved faster, the golden floor turning an opaque black at the sound of the Gortach’s voice. The once silver walls started to crack, debris falling and shattering all around them. It felt like fire splintering through the marrow of his bones. Yelling, he dipped into that well of ability, begging internally for some hidden strength. He could feel the magic of the Gortach looming behind them, wanting to pull them back down into his depths. Slipping in his own blood, he didn’t stop. The archway was maybe ten more steps, their freedom just beyond that door.
Guttural growls escaped from him and he lunged, black spots threatening to overtake him. Don’t stop. The floor trembled and Adair heard the shrieking crack, like nails scraping against stone. Don’t look back. The floor tipped, gravity clawing at them to pull them down. He screamed, throwing his weight forward, scrambling at the door knob. Deep throaty laughter echoed behind him as panic bubbled through his lips, his cries desperately clawing around him.
The floor gave way entirely as Adair leapt through the threshold, dragging Marquis behind him. They plummeted back into the woods, and he screamed, slamming the archway door shut just as he saw the translucent claws break through the swirling smoke. Sweat dripped off his nose, and he let go of Marquis. In one motion, he had his backpack in front of him, ripping it open. The books and jerky spilled out, as well as his sheathed knife. The archway remained, the oak door shuddering from the force behind it. Move. Throwing the book open, his eyes flicked over the passage about closing the gateway to the ancient realm. His gaze flicked up to the two blood rubies. He didn’t delay.
Shooting like an arrow, his body screaming at him to stop— jumping, he swiped the two jewels from their perch as the oak door was thrown open. The Gortach stood there, his withered, rotting body shaking with rage as the gateway was shielded. He couldn’t pass through.
Adair bared his bloodied grin as the arch melted like fired metal, cutting off their world. They were finally safe. Once the arch was nothing but dust on the wind, he lurched to the side, emptying the contents of his stomach. Inhaling hard through the bitter taste that coated his mouth, he looked down to where the blood rubies had been clutched in his hand. In their place, blackened liquid ran through his fingers, dripping onto the forest floor beneath him. The same putrid smell that had come off the Gortach filled his senses. He watched as the substance ran down his forearm, mixing with his own blood, his breath coming in fast gulps. His skin was cold and clammy, his stomach churning. He looked at Marquis, his still body starting to look uncharacteristically like the Gortachs. It shifted and churned into a nightmare until the world spun, and the forest floor rushed up to meet him as he collapsed into nothingness.
10
Memphis
He was quickly reminded about how much he hated travelling by horseback. His legs were numb, and his pants had chaffed burns onto his inner thighs. His shaking hands gripped the reins as his steed followed the breakneckpace, the hooves around him rolling like thunder. Brokk rode beside him, looking worse than he felt. The hours had quickly bled into having no meaning. The scenery was a churning organism. Blurred colors, rolling hills, dense forest, to more rolling plains. It was wild and unbound, the cool wind pricking his skin into numbness. His breaths came out in misty puffs as the sun quickly sank into the horizon. The chill in the air sank into the marrow of his bones, and he could practically taste the change in the wind. Arching his shoulders inwards, gritting his teeth against the wind, every tactical training class and lesson kicked into high gear within him. Because as much as Brokk liked to turn a blind eye to the facts, being able to protect innocents meant being prepared to handle situations like this one.
Being able to beat men like Cesan meant being a talented soldier. Mud flecked his mount’s side, and they ploughed through soft earth, chunks flying around them. Brokk raised his eyebrows as he steered his mount closer to his left, their gallops falling into unison. He felt the presence on his right before he looked.
Tadeas must have looped around the side to the back of the group then cut through the middle. The King of the Shattered Isles winked wolfishly at them. His pale green hair flew behind him, his eyes shining with mischief. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before pushing his white mare faster, ripping forward with a speed and grace he had rarely seen.
Dread clawed through him, swift and unrelenting. Why
