The City Fight (continued)

         Shalla-vanor pulsated with life.
         The cruel sky breathed above them, an ebb and flow that reminded Kendall of a living thing, a dark god descended upon the land to reap a horrible harvest. He fed the storm still, drove it into a fury again whenever calm threatened to creep in. The water that made up the staff swelled and retreated with the tempo of the sky above, and for the first time ever, Shalla-vanor was warm, almost hot in his grip. He wondered if it had ever been used in such a manner. If it had limits to its power, Kendall had not found it. The rainstorm was beyond the limitations of anyone he had ever encountered in the Arcanum save the Emeritus, and he wondered about most of those. The thing that scared him was the thought that he was not even close to reaching the ends of its ability. If he chose, he could have ripped a hole in the sky with the storm, drove the air itself away from the city, made it inhabitable for even demons. But it was so much easier to destroy than create, and he had little knowledge of the implications of such an action. This storm alone would probably play havoc on the weather throughout the plains for weeks. Annihilating the atmosphere altogether was simply not an option. Yet.
         Tiles of slate flew from the rooftops and shattered on the ground, victims of the tearing winds. Debris of all sorts littered the streets, some of it traveling on fast-moving rivulets of rainwater that cascaded down the cobblestone road. Some buildings were collapsed entirely down to their foundation while others remained untouched, as if they were struck on purpose. There were people in those, he thought to himself as they moved through the rubble. It was as Shalaris had foretold; every inhabitant of the city was hunted down and murdered. Kal would do this everywhere; he will keep doing this until I confront him, because that is what he wants. And if I lose, he will not be stopped by anyone.
         Atop the rubble, Kalos turned to him. “There are no dead here,” he said.
         Shalaris nodded her head and brushed her soaked hair from her face. “The corpses are gathered somewhere. A feeding pile.” Her eyes held such pain and exhaustion in them… he still envied the strength of her convictions, but travel with them had taken its toll on her. Despite the fact that she was drenched and tired, she still looked beautiful to him.  She is the only beauty I have left, he thought. He felt suddenly guilty for her being with him, and not for the first time. She had a people of her own to lead, a new, burgeoning tribe to lord over. She did not belong with him anymore. Soon, he thought. After Kal is gone, she can return to her own kind. I need her, for now.
         The hub of the two roads was a wide plaza with flatstone streets and a large statue of a man holding his hand out to the sky, palm up. It depicted Gamlahan D’sal, Lord Commander of the Immaculate Legion and High King of Lierosha, one of the first true conquerors to actually forge most of the city-states of the Southern Expanse together and command them under one rule. The statue showed him in a much better light than history did. Most of the texts depicted him as a blood-craving despot who would burn down cities that he believed sought to undo his empire. After his death, it took less than a year for his great country of Lierosha to fall completely apart. It was not the first time a country had collapsed here. The Emerald Plain had always been resistant to civilization.
         The statue stood in a three-tiered fountain of marvelous design, but the workings of the water had long since ceased to function. The rainwater cascaded down the hand of the statue in a quick and narrow stream. He imagined the fountain must have worked in a similar fashion. For a city known for its military astuteness and defensive design, it was a remarkably aesthetic piece. A relic of a past time. The prideful and elegant statue was nothing more than stone now, its meaning lost. Shalaris did not even seem to see the statue; her eyes were scanning the dark buildings lining the plaza.
         Shalaris crouched down and pulled her cowl low, squinting at the darkness, “Something is on the wall over there. Can you see it?”
         There was indeed something on the wall of a flat-roofed building off to the left, but it was barely distinguishable from the bas-reliefs that adorned most of the more expensive structures. He never would have noticed it had she not pointed it out. He wondered how her human eyes were even able to see it. Then he saw Wolf. The animal stood in the puddle before her, hair matted and soaked, gazing in the same direction. For a brief moment, they were the same. Each one was an extension of the other, but they were the same being, like two arms of the same life form. He remembered back to the first time he saw her, half-conscious and covered in her own blood, the wolf snarling silently over her, her lips pulled back in a growl even more fierce than that of her companion. He had thought her as feral as the hound that protected her.          Perhaps, he thought, her eyes were not as human as they appeared.
         They approached with caution. Kalos was at the lead, low to the ground, almost on all fours. Shalaris stood close to Kendall, axe in both hands before her. She stopped suddenly, grabbing his arm, “I can see it now. My lord… I can see it!” Her voice was trembling. “Oh, my… how could he? How could anyone… ”
         Kendall glared at her in horror for a second before her ran off in a rush to where she looked. It was as if he was struck by what he saw.
         Over two-dozen men, women, and children were nailed to the elaborately crafted bas-reliefs adorning the walls, their skins flayed from their fronts and stretched out behind them in meticulous display. Grey coils of intestine were pulled from their stomachs and pinned about them like the tentacles of an octopus. The rain had washed the color from them, and they appeared almost a part of the wall themselves, pallid and frozen as the carvings behind them. In the middle, an intricately woven tangle of stretched muscle, flesh, and intestine surrounded a man with his jaw pulled open, his heart shoved in it.  His hand was raised the same as the statue in the fountain, a horrifying parody of the regal posture, eyes gazing dead up to the sky, his arm held out, palm up.
         He wanted to turn away, but he would not let himself. The children were in mock prayer before their king. Their heads were driven through the cheek with large, iron spikes to hold them to the wall. The prophecy rang in his head, …And in his wake lies ruin and sorrow. He thought he would scream, but he did not have the strength. It took him forever to speak.  “I am a scholar, I am not…” was all he could murmur. All his studies were purely for the sake of learning. The art of Alchemy was an intellectual one, not this. War was not the privy of the philosopher. I am not a soldier. “I’m just a scholar, Shalaris. I never meant for this…” he could not continue.
         She grasped his arm, her voice hard, “Kendall was not born for this, you are right. He was a scholar, and not equipped for the hardship of war. But you have not been Kendall for a long time now. You told me this yourself. The man you were before fashioned you from his scholar’s hands. You were made for this. You are Moor Shai’id, you are Jahadrasilde.  From his skill, his mind, you were born, just as a father to a son. Do not dishonor his memory by losing your focus. We can stop this,” she waved her arm at the wall but did not look, “we can prevent this from ever happening again. Just by eliminating one man. Do your duty to your father, who suffered and died under the thumb of his betrayer cousin. Do your duty to yourself.”
         He said nothing. He could not even look at her. These people were casualties of war. They were nothing to him in the grand scheme of things to come. Many more would die, regardless of the outcome of this battle. Logic told him as much. But it was not logic that tormented him. I will not let them die for nothing, he thought. For them, I will go on. I have to go on.
         “I will try,” he all he could say. Gently, he took her hand from his arm and started west.
         Her attention was drawn somewhere else. Wolf growled. She reached for him again but her hands slipped, “Wait, get back!”
         From the corner of his eye, he saw Kalos move his head, reacting to something above him. It was all the warning he had.
         As he turned, a force that felt like a mountain crashed into the back of his neck, smashing him to the cobblestone at his feet. The force shattered the stone under his face, driving him into the ground. The pain shot through him like lightning. He desperately reached around, but the jarring power that had hit him had also dislodged Shalla-Vanor from his grip. The weight lifted from his head for a precious brief second. He rolled around, and held his hands up before his face when the giant foot came crashing down on his head again. Another horrible jolt of pain spasmed through him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He tried to scream but all he heard was the sound of his head breaking rock.
         All at once, the weight was gone, and someone was pulling on his hand. It was Shalaris. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. She dragged him from the hole he was lying in and rolled him to his back, “Get up, get up, it’s coming back!”
         The pain still cut his mind like glass. He could barely see, let alone stand. Everything around him was moving in slow motion. Shalaris was screaming into his face, looking frantically back at two advancing Vesvelid just beyond the fountain, black swords before them. Kalos was close by, deflecting a hailstorm of sword blows from a demon with its back to Kendall. Beyond them, two more Vesvelid materialized from the dark streets. Slowly, slowly, he seemed to regain his footing. They were closer. Shalla-Vanor colored the ground it rested on a faint, pale blue, a good twenty paces away. The closest Vesvelid were running toward him, and the panic was welling up within again. He reached for his pouch. Shalaris wheeled around, axe in hand, a stream of dead black pouring from it and coursing about one of the demons. She was still screaming at him. It was muffled; he could not make it out. He pulled forth a vial from his pouch, looking through the fog in his vision to the rapidly approaching demons. He poured every ounce of will into that vial. He was yelling, he just realized. They would be on him soon. The ground was still tilting. He grabbed          Shalaris tightly around the waist, uncorked the bottle, and pointed it toward Shalla-Vanor.
         The liquid shot out in a black line, streaming across the plaza almost too fast for the eye to see and striking the ground before the staff. There it stuck to the ground immediately, and with equal velocity it pulled them both violently through the air as the liquid sought to return itself to the vial. It was too quick for the demons to react, and they stood dumbfounded as their prey shot themselves across the courtyard at breakneck speed. They hit the ground hard, skidding and rolling across the stone, but fear drove them to their feet again. Shalla-Vanor lay before him, the demons out of reach now. He picked it up, his wits gathered about him again, “RUN!” He screamed to the others, not knowing exactly where they were.
         He geysered the ground below him, and the world shrunk below as he shot them both up to the rooftops. It was a precarious terrain, but certainly better than running from them on the flat ground. The demons could outrun almost anyone on a straight run.
         They landed atop a slanted, slate rooftop, wet with the rain. They were both running as soon as they hit. The buildings were varied in size and shape, but they were all quite close. Shalaris’ early training with Kalos and Cambian had paid off; she moved with quick ease from building to building, the difficult footing not seeming to prove any threat. His sheer weight dug traction into the weak slate roofing. They were not running long before they heard the crash behind them.
         He glanced back. Two Vesvelid, one before the other, had leapt from the ground to the top of the tallest building in the plaza. They had the scent. Every place they landed creaked and groaned with their weight, but they were off again before the structure could collapse below them. “GO! They’re gaining!” he screamed.
         He leapt across wide alleyways and ran over the tops of buildings that were at such an angle he thought he would tumble helplessly to the earth below, but somehow he kept moving. They were closer now, bounding over the smaller buildings and crashing atop the higher ones, showing no signs of slowing down.
          At the rate they were coming, they would be on both of them in a matter of moments. These creatures were designed for hunting and killing. Running was only delaying a conflict. He leaped down to a low, flat-roofed building and came to a halt. Shalaris disappeared from sight almost immediately. Good, he thought. She had seen enough danger today.
         He would have to confront them himself, if she had any chance of getting away. It had to be quick, though. Strike them hard and fast, or you will die, Cambian had said. He felt his face; it was dented and puckered, and felt like a thousand needles jabbing away at flesh, though no flesh was to be found. It would feel that way until it was restored, until he restored it. Cambian had also said the Moor Shai’id were the houses of suffering. He knew what it meant now.
         He moved to the back of the roof and waited, looking up to the top of the high-peaked structure he had just jumped from. There was a second of silence, a blessed second when all he heard was the rain splashing in puddles at his feet and the low, constant rumble of thunder. Then, a crunch, stone on stone. He watched the air. 
         Get it over with, he thought. Shalla-Vanor boiled in his hand.
         They both entered his vision at the same time, leaping through the air, swords held high. Two Vesvelid struck the roof simultaneously. The impact of the massive demons landing before him seemed to bow the whole building inward.  It was then he decided to make his move.
         Shalla-Vanor struck stone, and the roof imploded beneath all of them.
         He fell, the shock of the collapsing structure surprising him in the totality of its destruction. He was suddenly in the air, falling through a dark and chaotic miasma of dust and stone. Almost subconsciously the staff flared, and he and it both became liquid that slid through the falling debris around him. He had lost sight of the demons in the fall as soon as they disappeared through the weakened ceiling. Senses did not work in the liquid state, consciousness, vague sense of direction, the will to move, but little else. They could still be alive, but even a demon could not push its way out of that. There were others though. 
         He reformed well outside the ruin, staff in both hands. Dust hung like a fog in the air, but was quickly being suppressed by the downpour. Through it, what was left of the building lie in a giant pile before him. It was a larger than he had first thought; the structure must have been a good three stories tall, and stone. From the looks of the surroundings, it was some sort of temple or religious place. The use of a water portal in front of him had been the final stress on the roof. The weight of the demons more than likely shattered the supports below and tore the entire thing down on their heads.
         He moved up the pile of rock. There were more Vesvelid than even Shalaris had thought. Everyone had separated, as well. It was a disaster. They had no chance of victory if they were separated. He knew that now. They worked best as a team. If everyone chose to be as bullheaded and selfish as Faundius, then this venture would be for nothing. He stalked over the debris, looking for any sign of life. Where had Faundius gone? He, before any of them, could have seen the ambush. Kendall cursed himself for not forcing Faundius to stay with them. A little voice in the back of his head wondered if Faundius had been hurt, or worse. He shook it off. His well-being is no longer my responsibility, he swore. But the little voice did not go away.
         Shalaris called to him from the top of the building across the thoroughfare, her form just visible through the wall of rain. She was breathing heavily, but she looked otherwise unhurt. “Come quick! It’s Kalos!”
         He circled up the curved road until he came to another wall and gate leading up into a tiered garden with wide, flat-faced palaces resting beyond. The road followed the stone wall for a while before winding back down the hill into a smattering of small shops and guildhouses. Shalaris soon caught up with him, her wolf somehow able to find her in the chaos. “He was running from three of them, Kendall! They went this way, I’m sure of it,” she said, looking down the road. “He looked hurt. His side…” she stopped, but held her hand at her ribs. “I have never seen anyone run so fast. Maybe he escaped them.”
         Doubtful, he thought. “He might be hiding. Keep an eye in the shadows for him.” If he were hurt, he would certainly not be out in the open. Three Vesvelid, though… if he were alive, he was still in serious trouble. He must be found, and quickly.
         There was little evidence to suggest that anything had even been through here recently. The streets were unbroken, and the gate was solid and closed with a heavy iron door. A few wide bricks littered the bottom of the wall. That was something. If he had gone over the wall, the demons would certainly follow, perhaps tearing some of the stone away when they leapt over. But that could have been from earlier, during the invasion. The streets were silent.
         Kendall used the geyser to carry him to the top of the wall. The grounds beyond the gate were in ruins, with trees torn from their roots and the ground upturned. The entire land beyond the district was set up with small, rolling hills meant to be a microcosm for the Emerald Plain. A pale stone path snaked around the area, eventually leading to a white wall made out of Calamite, an extremely strong and expensive mineral. No wonder the wall still stood. Beyond was the citadel, wide and dark still on the night horizon. There was no sign of Kalos.
         “Damn!” he swore loudly. He brought two small pouches from a larger bag at his belt and lowered himself back down. He looked to Shalaris, “If we cannot find him, then we will at least let him know where we are.” It would let everyone know where they were, including the demons, but he could not let Kalos die, not like this. Not alone. “Step way back and shield your eyes,” he said.
         Grabbing a fallen rock from the wall, he set it before him and layered it with the reagents from his pouches. The stone shifted and crumbled in silence, turning from gray to a shiny black substance. The reaction had begun, and he concentrated, guiding it until it shone with a pale white-purple light. The light looked like an odd campfire at first, then expanded until it was unbearable for even Kendall to look at. The luminescence continued to grow until it shined brighter than the noonday sun. It would continue to burn if he let it, melting the rock below it and sinking into the earth. He had to be careful. The reaction was heavily dependent on timing. Too soon, and it would simply flare out and disappear. Too late, and it would be too deep within the ground to make an effective beacon. The light seemed to condense, as if the rock were shrinking. 
    Now, he thought. He released the control of the reaction, and the rock exploded in light, making the lightning above seem dim in comparison. A thick gout of plasma streamed skyward through the cloud cover. It was a pillar of white fire that burned for at least twenty seconds before dwindling and fading back in the dark. Shalaris had covered her eyes, cringing from the heat. The ground where the stone had been was a wide hole that glowed from within as if it had been in a forge, and the land around it was coal black. No one could miss that.
         As soon as the light dissipated, Shalaris was on her feet, axe in hand. Kendall backed up against the wall and began mixing another plasmatic expulsion. He watched the street, looked out from the high ground onto the city below. This had to work. He had used over twenty times the reagents of a typical plasma reaction. That little stunt had depleted his supply, and he had no time to fashion more reagents. At the most, there were maybe three, four vials worth left. Not enough to floor three Vesvelid.
         Wolf and Shalaris suddenly glanced south, and she spoke, “Something is coming. Something large.” The hairs on Wolf’s back rose up and he growled, nose low to the earth. Shalaris closed her eyes for a moment, grabbing a handful of dirt up and letting it slip slowly through her fingers. When she opened her eyes again, she sighed. She was strangely calm, almost tired, “I have blessed these grounds, Kendall. If we fight with honor, we will be victorious.” He nodded. Whatever strange power she had been granted, he could not feel it. He hoped she was right.
         Off in the distance, down the guild road to the left, Kendall heard the all-too-familiar sound of a building collapsing. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, the dust billowing upward like smoke from a fire. Then, the howl of a demon cried out into the night, a disturbing mix of a wailing hound and a shrieking bird. He ran all the way down the street toward the commotion, scanning the chaos and darkness for Kalos, but the dust that crept up toward him had shrouded the road. He moved closer, Shalaris close behind. The frantic ring of metal striking rock pierced the blind dark.
         The world, for a moment, seemed like a dream. Gray-black dust billowed by his feet, drifting fast but low past him. Clang! Clang! Clang! The sound stung his ears. It drew closer. He saw movement in the murky dark.
         From the fog, Kalos exited, sprinting faster than he had ever seen him move. Hard on his heels, practically close enough to touch him, were two of the Vesvelid, desperately trying to hit Kalos with wild chops of their swords, striking the earth at his heels.
         Kendall reeled, scrambling backward to get away from the avalanche rushing toward him. He released the plasma in a rush, and it cut through the dust like a knife, piercing one of the Vesvelid directly in the chest. It spun from the hit and stumbled, crashing face first into the street. Kalos had run by, grasping his side with a bloody hand.  The other one immediately redirected its attack toward Kendall, the blade flashing black in a downward slice. He had no time to get out of the way.
         The world was enveloped in dead shadow for a brief instant, as if the light had been driven away from the world entirely. The edge of the sword struck his upraised left arm, and he cried out. He pulled his arm back, and a small piece of the blade went with it, lodged in his thick forearm. The darkness retreated, and he saw the streaming black ara from Shalaris sluicing across the outstretched arms of the demon.  He fell, instinctively grabbing his arm as if to quell bleeding.
         The shard of the blade stuck in his arm was over two feet long. The cut was deep, more than half way through, but it could have been worse. The sword blow would have certainly cleaved him in two had Shalaris not softened the hit. He pushed up on the razor edge. It was wedged in tight to his arm, and he screamed as he quickly withdrew it. His left hand was numb, he couldn’t move it.
         The demon had staggered back, but Shalaris pressed on the attack, the shadowfire relentlessly flowing from the axe. Kendall got to his feet and stumbled back more, Kalos stepping in front of him. Kalos was hurt. A large flap of skin hung from his side; he could see the pale red of the ribs exposed at his back, and the way his flank looked, it was likely those ribs were broken. Blood had streamed down his entire left side. Despite all that, Kalos moved as if he were unscathed, faster even. “Stay back, milord,” he turned and said. His calm was unwavering.
         The other demon had regained its footing and was charging toward them. A legion of soldiers would have broken at the sight, but Kalos stood his ground. Kendall backed away quickly. With Shalla-Vanor, he drew a massive wall of water from the ground in front of the creature, hoping to slow it, but it burst through and destroyed it as if it were made of paper. The giant swung its blade low, parallel to the earth. Kalos was its target.
         He leapt over the blade, landing and immediately pressing the attack. Staff met blade so quick and often that Kendall could not see either weapon, just the vague and fleeting outlines of them in a flashing explosion of fighting. The iron staff somehow slipped past the creature’s defenses and struck it in the legs once, and the creature stumbled back a bit. Kendall lost sight of them as the other demon moved closer to Shalaris, despite the unending stream of black flame burning it.
         It writhed and wailed against her attack, but still it continued to move forward, slowly. She stopped her attack then, reaching desperately at her pack. The Vesvelid stood up high, and with a sideways throw it hurled its giant sword at her. It twirled in the air only once before it hit her dead on. She crumpled in an instant to the ground. She wasn’t moving. Wolf jumped in front of her, teeth bared. The demon moved in to finish the job.
         Kendall had to move quickly. He ran up to intercept the demon, but it was moving too fast for him. He swept the ground with the staff, turning the stone beneath it to sludge, but he was too late, the creature had leapt into the air already, fists clenched together above its head. NO!, his mind shouted.
         As the demon was in mid-flight, Shalaris suddenly rolled to her back and hurled Huinthall’s Dart at the face of the creature. It was a weak throw directly upward, but the strange arrow did not need much to make it deadly. It moved through the air in a streak of motion and struck the demon under its chin. The top of its head exploded as it exited, and the arrow continued as if it touched nothing, shooting upward until it disappeared into the dark storm clouds high above.
         The demon fell dead just behind Shalaris, face-first and flat onto the ground. She didn’t even look back; rather, her eyes were skyward, watching the clouds intently. It seemed like forever before the Dart fell back to the earth, landing harmlessly a few hundred paces down the road. Looking back at the other demon fighting Kalos, she stood, doubled over, and limped toward where the arrow had landed.
         The Quel-Noron continued his rain of attacks, but the demon showed no signs of fatigue, and deflected everything Kalos threw at it. It seemed a stalemate; neither one would tire, neither one would quit, and they were too evenly matched in skill to allow the other to hit them. He thought they might fight forever, if he let them.
He had no such plan. He had to get close to them. They moved much quicker than he could, so it would have to be planned expertly or it would put Kalos at the disadvantage. Running forward, he came up behind the demon. All of its attention was focused on Kalos; it didn’t see him. It was backing up his way, and when it drew close enough for him to touch its legs, he struck the earth with Shalla-Vanor at its feet, simultaneously jumping to the side. The ground beneath it transformed into water almost instantly, and not a split second after, Kendall undid the spell and froze its feet in the stone road. The creature tumbled back and dropped, hands behind it to break its fall. It was the opening Kalos was looking for.
         He was on it like a shot. With a swing to the knee, he shattered the leg just above the shinbone. The Vesvelid hit hard, legs still cemented to the ground. He struck the leg again and again, until it was a red-black mass of crushed bone and tissue. The creature howled and swung its sword futilely, unable to reach him.
Kendall circled around again and dared to move closer to its head. He used the staff again, and sunk the top half of the creature into the ground beneath it. When he detached the power, its head and shoulders were fixed in the rock, arms held out, still flailing the sword wildly above it.
         Kalos jumped onto its stomach and plummeted the end of his staff into its chest. The creature, incapacitated and blinded, still was able to attack Kalos with the sword, but he deflected it easily and plunged the reddened end of the iron staff into the body again, continuing until the body grew as still as the stone surrounding it.
All was quiet, then. Kalos jumped from the reeking corpse and washed his staff off in a growing puddle of rain. He, himself, was so covered with blood that he looked like the walking dead. Rain droplets slowly carved the blood out of the away in streaks down his chest and face. His body looked as if someone tried to rip him in half. And almost succeeded.  He resumed his post next to Kendall, staff upright in both hands, saying nothing. After looking at the ruin he had made of the demon, he was glad Kalos was on his side.
         Kendall ran to Shalaris, “Are you alright?” She was on one knee now, one arm holding her up and the other pressed close against her stomach. “Lords, woman! How did you avoid being sliced in two by that sword?”
         She tried to stand, smiling, “I told you we were blessed. The sword hit me hilt first. I think it might have knocked the wind from me, but I should be fine in a few minutes or so.” She looked behind him, her demeanor suddenly changing, “Kalos! Come here.” Her eyes flickered over to Kendall for a second, waiting for an objection, but he said nothing.
         She placed a hand firmly in the center of his wounds, along his exposed ribcage. The flesh began to move around it, wrapping itself over the hand until it disappeared under the healing flesh. She retracted her touch slow, and the hole she pulled her hand from closed as soon as it left his side. She had taken too much, he thought. It was as if the bones inside of her collapsed on her right side. She tried to hold it in, to stand against it, but it was too powerful.  Knees dropped to the ground and she cried, a silent, almost inaudible sob. Her entire flank was covered in newly issued blood, and she gripped it fiercely, as if she could somehow squeeze the pain out of her. Kalos stood above her, looking off into the storm, not a scratch on him.
         Kendall knelt down, placed a hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice. “Will you be okay?” he asked, feeling somewhat callous in doing so.
Her hand gripped his good forearm, and she said through gritted teeth, “There’s so much…” She swallowed. “I don’t know how he even stood, let alone fight. It’s… it’s always bad at the start. I should be able to walk in a few minutes or so.” She looked up at him, “I’m sorry, I could not leave him like he was.”
         “So you trade yourself in his stead? I need you as much as him, Shalaris. I hope someday you will learn that. We have to hide, now. It’s too dangerous to continue on. I have to move you, and it’s probably not going to feel good. Are you ready?” He gave her no time to reply.  She gasped as he put his arms under her body and lifted her up as gently as he knew how. She still cried out. He spoke to her, tried to comfort her, but she was lost in her pain. It was just going to take time, time for her to heal. Unfortunately, time was quickly running out.
         They headed toward a small building off the side of the road with a fat, stone awning. He walled up a portion with a stone septum, big enough to disguise them and still give them the ability to keep watch. The storm above was tearing the sky apart with thunder, and black clouds slithered in a great circle above them like a giant coiled snake. Shalla-Vanor almost groaned with the power. He was half-ready to dissipate it, drive it away entirely and return the weather back to normal, but he needed it still. Just for a little while longer. Until they reached the palace.
         Shalaris lie unmoving in the corner of the shelter with the wolf curled up at her feet. She spoke, her voice frail and barely intelligible in the thunder, “I need to talk to you Kendall.”
         “Rest. There will be time enough for that later.”
         “No, please listen. I have seen something, something I was holding back from you because I didn’t understand what it meant. I still don’t, but I think you should know about it.” She tried to turn and look at him, but the pain sent a chill through her and she curled up stiffly.
         He stopped her, “You obviously held it from me for a reason. Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”
         “I thought so as well, but now… if I don’t make it, you have to know.”
         “Why?” He stood and looked over the makeshift wall. “I cannot change what was meant to be, so why should I know about it? What if knowing about it causes it to occur? No, whatever it is you saw, keep it to yourself.”
         She shook her head, finally moving her body around to face him, “It doesn’t work that way, I have told you as much. There will be a great fire…”
         “I don’t want to hear it.”
         “Faundius is standing over you and…”
         “I said I don’t want to hear it!” He yelled.
         She flinched. Rarely did he raise his voice to her, and he suddenly felt ashamed.
         “No more visions, Shalaris. No more prophecies. Please.”
         She turned to face the wall again and said, “Very well.”
         “Shalaris…” He began, but he could think of no words to say.
         It seemed forever they were caught in silence before she spoke again, “Betrayal.” He blinked, not understanding. She lowered her voice until it was barely audible, “It runs in the family.”