Vardille sprang to his feet when he saw Bryne moving and the demons seizing him in an instant. Whatever conversation the King had with that rotten corpse of a woman must have been intense.

All plans he made ended up discarded. His shadows could not bring Bryne out, he could not conceal himself with the onyx for that long either, and he could not think of what would happen once he reached Bryne, provided they both would be still alive. The only possible outcome each of his plan had was the same as if he had decided to rush in there headlong—that is, certain doom.

Leaves rattled behind him. Vardille’s sword flew to his hand as he whirled about, pointing the weapon in the direction of the noise.

A surprised Mjelgralah stared at him a couple feet down the slope.

Vardille let down his blade, sighing. ‘Why have you come?’

Mjelgralah continued to climb the remaining distance before answering, ‘I want to help.’ Vardille noted the war hammer in the girl’s hand, something dark and slimy dripping from its head. He nodded nonetheless, a spark of hope igniting in his soul.

‘Come then, we must figure out something. Bryne … Sallan … Gods! He’s there! We must get him out!’ He struggled to keep his voice low, not to alert the demons down there.

‘I want to help,’ Mjelgralah repeated slowly, her eyes glinting in the darkness, ‘Bryne.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard! Come on, let’s get around, I’ll summon shadows to distract them while we’re sneaking there. Two are more than one—’

‘Vardille,’ the chief stepped closer, visibly being on edge. ‘We cannot go there.’

‘What… what are you saying?’

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‘You mustn’t interfere. The king has made a decision. One you cannot sabotage.’

Vardille remained silent, staring at the northerner. She must be joking. Right?

‘I’m going down there,’ the Crownguard whispered. ‘Either with or without you.’

With a sigh so heavy the girl’s shoulders slumped, Mjelgralah shook her head. ‘I cannot let you. You’d be rushing to your death.’

‘He’s already on his way there!’ Vardille snapped. He did not understand. Mjelgralah had not shown signs of concern for either of them before. Why was the sudden change then?

The demons screamed.

Vardille quickly turned to the ravine, head low, then recoiled in horror: the woman’s corpse embraced Bryne, heads close, kissing each other. Bile rushed into Vardille’s throat. Climbing down the rocks would only end up in breaking his neck—he must run around. He had already wasted enough time.

He turned to leave, but Mjelgralah, war hammer in hands, stood in his way.

‘You’ll die with him,’ she trembled. ‘He’s doing this for you! For all the people of Amrith, can’t you see?’

‘All I see is my friend’s life is in danger!’ Vardille hissed and tried to pass the woman. She sidestepped, once again obstructing his path, as if they were engaging in some wicked dance. He reached for his onyx. He could alter his form into a shadow to quickly pass through the northerner—but he had not used it in the demons’ proximity, and he was wary of attracting them with the faelin.

Vardille had enough.

‘Get out of my way,’ he growled, lifting his sword. Gods be the witnesses, he did not want to fight Mjelgralah. But Bryne was in dire need of his help. That was above all.

Mjelgralah’s face resembled the same determination he felt. She bowed her head a little, as someone who had just accepted her fate.

‘I can’t let you die.’

‘I don’t want to fight you.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Stand aside, please.’

‘No. Come with me. He knew what he’s doing.’

Time froze for a moment; then Vardille broke out and slashed with his sword.