The Broken Song

Chapter Thirteen

— Isca Ilora, Occupied Carmeliard, Andavaran —

Her feet slipped in her own blood. Ori cried out against the pain as her legs wobbled, arms darting out to catch herself against the wall. Her abdomen stretched, tearing the already gaping wound in her side. From hip to ribs, there was nothing she could do to stop the bleeding. The sorceress' magic kept her own from healing herself. Every time she tried, it reopened more painfully than before. All she could do was press her hands to her right side as she frantically stumbled down each hall, searching for the marker she had left behind. Too weak to summon another portal, her marker was her only hope. The sorceress' minions were on her heels. If they caught her before she found it, they would show her no mercy.

Ori summoned her strength and tossed a fireball over her shoulder. It did nothing to slow them, their magically enhanced armor remaining un-scorched as they trailed after her. One readied a bow and fired. The arrow sailed past her ear just before she ducked down an adjacent hall. The marker was at the end of this corridor and in an empty room to the right. But she would need a moment to activate the portal. The guards would overpower her if she didn't find a way to slow them down.

Her bloody fingers clamped around the crystal raven pendent hanging around her neck. She uttered a few words in Eldaaran, the most ancient of languages known, seeking the aid of her friend. It took only a second before George came swooping in through the open window ahead, cawing as his skeletal form launched toward the guards.

The first guard screamed as the raven sailed straight into his eye, ripping out the back of his skull a moment later. George danced gracefully through the violent and bloody scene, his bones painted crimson as he cut through one's throat, burst through another's chest, and killed the last the same as the first. The guards fell into a pile atop one another, their blood pooling on the stone. George cawed as he fluttered over to Ori, landing on her shoulder. She cast a small spell to clean him of the mess. He nuzzled her cheek.

"I'll be okay," she wheezed. "I just need to get out of here."

Opening the door, she let out a small sigh of relief. The marker was still there. No one had found it. Limping into the room, she shut the door behind her and began her spell. George hopped on her arm, his sudden agitation heightening her senses. The portal roared to life just as the door burst open.

Ori cried out as something sharp tore through her right shoulder. She stumbled, but managed to catch herself, erecting a thick barrier in the next breath. The sorceress stood in the doorway, her dark eyes narrowed as she stared back at Ori. Beautiful, ethereal, and incredibly powerful, she looked like a goddess, standing there with more than enough strength to rip down her barrier and kill her where she stood. But the sorceress remained at the threshold, merely watching her as though assessing her enemy. In her left hand, she held the relic Ori had believed to be the Staff of Taerynas.

But she had been wrong. Very, very, wrong.

The sorceress smiled so darkly Ori felt herself shiver. She turned and darted into the portal just as the sorceress struck. She tumbled through the black abyss, her body falling, until it abruptly hit something solid. Whatever it was gave way, tumbling with her to the cold hard floor. The portal snapped shut behind her, George cawing unhappily as he circled above. Ori tried to push away from whatever she had landed on, but strong arms surrounded her, and suddenly, a face came into view.

Prince Alistair.

He hovered above her, emerald eyes wide with concern and disbelief as his attention shifted from her face to the horrible, bleeding wounds that still would not close. He stuttered for something to say, but Ori didn't let him find it. He needed to know.

"It's not...the Staff of Taerynas," she managed to speak, her voice raspy and barely heard. Tears began to fall from her eyes, her limbs beginning to shake. She would lose consciousness soon. He needed to know.

But the prince seemed not to care. He shook his head firmly, the fear disappearing from his eyes in an instant. He shed his fine gold and red jacket, balling it up to press it against her wound. He maneuvered his arms beneath her, hoisting her up as swift, steady strides carried her down the hall. The pain was unbearable, each jostled step agonizing as her eyelids fluttered, her vision beginning to darken.

"It's not...the staff," she tried to speak again. The prince shook his head again.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it later. Right now, you are more important, Savior."

"Not the staff..."

He shouted at someone further down the hall, but Ori could no longer distinguish between the shapes passing by. Everything was a blur, her heartbeat slowing, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"Not the staff," she whispered, though no one could hear her. "It's just...her."