“Brother!”

Ezril turned. Salem headed towards him as he mounted his stead. The distance was too far for his brother to reach him in time. So, steering Apparit away, he kicked it into a gallop.

Minutes later Apparit galloped through an ocean of trees. Ezril pushed it harder with each gallop, uncaring of how much the horse could take. He had lost more time than he knew.

He ducked beneath a branch as the horse went by a tree and he cursed. Shade would’ve been a better option. With the thought, he cursed himself for agreeing to the commander’s demands. Without Shade he would never make it in time for anything if he was desperate enough. The coincidence was pricking at his new found paranoia. His mind was beginning to birth plans where there wasn’t.

He had enough of the map in his head to find the gate Dragmund referred.

Like the morning at the wall, the land before the entrance to the ruined city was clear and without trees. However, what laid before him was covered in a sea of death.

Bodies flooded the vast space of land before the entrance as he pulled Apparit to a halt. His eyes cast a single gaze across the field, anxious. No man in the realm colors remained standing, however, there were merdendi yet to be slain.

If he was late, then vengeance would be his. He would end the merdendi savages and, when he was done, he would return for Noem’s head and that of any others who would dare to stand in his way. Then he would find the man who gave orders to the soldier. He, too, would lose his head.

Ezril nocked an arrow, and took aim. Poised to release, he heard the mild echoes of metals clashing somewhere far behind him. He turned at the same time as the Merdendis before him, listening, ignoring the fact that he was no longer hidden from the enemy. The sound came again, clear as falling water. He kicked Apparit in its direction, chasing after it as the enemies did him.

The horse weaved through trees at a gallop. Ezril kept his ear attentive, his eyes wandering, bow and arrow in one hand while the other kept hold of the reins.

In time, he came upon a corpse long slain. Before him laid a trail of bodies, all Merdendi. He followed it. The sound of metals engaged in combat grew louder with each gallop.

Then he saw it.

Lenaria squared up against a man twice his size. She parried a blow to her head and came at him from the left, a single sword in hand.

The strike was weak and the monster of a man parried it easily. The impact sent her to the side. The man’s weapon came down, a giant club he swung deftly. Lenaria dropped to a roll, escaping just barely. She came up in front of a Merdendi but ignored him. The man remained unmoving, not even an attempt to strike her down was made. Ezril put an arrow through his skull.

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Lenaria turned at the impact and their eyes locked. In it he saw a mix of hope and despair. All it had taken was a moment’s distraction.

Ezril’s eyes grew wide with fear as the blow connected with her back. It sent her flying through the air, more than ten feet, and into a tree. Lenaria fell away at the last moment as a second blow came. It connected with the tree, shredding wood, completing its arc without pause.

The massive tree came down heavy, and the Merdendi standing in its part simply stepped away. That was when Ezril noticed it. Lenaria and her opponent were surrounded by Merdendis scattered around them in some sort of duel.

A duel she was losing.

Lenaria’s knees buckled under her. She dropped to the dirt. Her opponent towered over her. Ezril retrieved a number of arrows from his quiver in one pull. Hand full, he let them fly in quick succession. He released more arrows within the space of a heart beat than he had ever done.

All five arrows took the man in the chest. But all they served to do was push him back by a step. He saw Lenaria’s shoulder’s slump in resignation from behind her, and he knew she had stopped fighting. He knew she had accepted her defeat.

She was the only one.

He refused to watch her die.

The arrows came free of the quivers as Apparit galloped, flying from his bow just as quickly, and striking true. One took the man between the eyes.

This time the man barely flinched. Ezril reached for his quiver again, contemplating his next move. His hand grasped nothing.

No! no! no! He rejected the sight before him as dread creeped in. He discarded his bow. He leapt from Apparit, covering over a hundred paces in three steps. Not nearly enough to make a difference. He wouldn’t make it in time, however, there was one way he could think of.

For the first time since his memory served him, he prayed. Not to a god who did not listen. Not to a god who held love in one hand and wrath in another. No. Not to Truth. He prayed to a god who held carnage in both hands. He prayed to a god he knew to exist but had never met. He beckoned to a god who held strength in one hand and blood in the other. He prayed to a goddess. And implored Rin to do what she had always wanted. What he had never wanted.

Take her!

............................

Lenaria’s opponent shattered the stems of the arrows that covered his torso in one motion, surprisingly taking the stem of the one in his head too, and rose his club high above his head. Lenaria turned her head away from him and looked at Ezril. Their eyes met for a second time and she offered him that easy smile he loved so much. The one that always met her eyes. And in that moment, Ezril knew Rin had failed him too.

He stepped again, and the world faltered. It was a feeling he knew all too well. A feeling that had plagued him years ago. The dizziness hit him and he staggered. He had covered no distance.

No! he wept. The tears stung. Not now!

His step having failed him, he ran, never taking his eyes from Lenaria’s. Helplessness can be a plague. It can be a disease. It can be a poison. It can come slowly, bear symptoms like any illness. It can crawl gently up a man’s spine, eating away at what he is until there is nothing left.

…Or it can strike true, one swift blow, like an arrow to a man’s heart.

The club came down.

Blood sprayed.

And everything fell away.