Hope

The rage contorting Dietfried’s face sent a chill down Reagan’s spine. “You’ve picked the wrong side, Alan,” he said. His low voice dripped with loathing.

Alan didn’t respond. He stood still on the uneven ground, feet apart, knees bent, sword held in both hands. It never moved, never wavered. His breathing was even and rhythmic. Reagan had seen that same calm, steady presence when Alan had faced down the horde of Schialtags.

Nobody moved. Alan kept his gaze fixed on Dietfried, Dietfried stared back at him. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

Then Reagan took a step back.

Dietfried lunged, aiming for Reagan. Alan intercepted and parried Dietfried’s blow, sending him back a few steps. The sound of their swords clashing together echoed around the small room.

The pair traded blows in quick succession, and, evenly matched, neither made any progress across the room. They came to a standstill, regarding each other, then Alan’s pocket glowed as he started a fire spell.

Dietfried threw up a barrier before Alan could finish casting his spell, and the weak flames billowed harmlessly around the shimmering wall.

When Dietfried started the same fire spell, speaking faster and with more practice, Alan didn’t have time to put up his own barrier -- the spell he’d taught Reagan was nearly twice as long as the one Dietfried used. He had to dodge Dietfried’s flames, throwing his entire body to the right and rolling quickly to his feet. The swing he aimed at Dietfried in retaliation was parried quickly, and the sounds of their swords clashing resumed.

Reagan kept an eye on Alan as he aimed for Elisa. I don’t care if I get out, but I can’t leave Elisa trapped here with me. He reached her quickly.

“Put on the cloak and wait for an opening. I’ll draw them away from the doors so you can leave,” he said in a low voice. The clashing of metal against metal behind him almost drowned out his words.

“What about you?” She clutched the cloak tighter, but made no move to cover herself. Her wide eyes looked from Reagan to the fight behind him.

Reagan shook his head. “I’m not letting Alan take the fall for me.” Not again. Never again. He grabbed the cloak and pulled it over her, but when it touched the ground, Elisa was blurred, but still visible in the flickering lamplight, like the ghostly image of a double exposed photograph. It’s not enough…

Before he could think of a solution, Reagan heard a loud grunt behind him. He whipped around to see Alan stumble back a few steps, off-balance. Dietfried, his dark eyes glimmering with a twisted satisfaction, glanced at Reagan at the same time as he started mouthing a spell Reagan couldn’t hear.

Reagan grabbed Elisa’s hand through the cloak and took off running with her close behind. The last word of his barrier spell spilled out of his mouth as he reached Alan, and the whole room went white.

Blinded, Reagan covered his eyes and squinted into the light. The barrier stifled some of it, but not enough. He didn’t have the chance to question what kind of spell Dietfried had used before Dietfried’s sword smashed into the barrier. It bounced off without doing any damage.

“Drop the spell,” Alan said, and the second Reagan did, he thrust forward. A wet sound preceded his blade, followed by a soft gurgle, then the white light started to fade. When Alan pulled his sword back, the blade dripped with bright red blood.

Something thudded. The rest of the white light disappeared.

Dietfried’s body lay motionless on the ground. Blood spread across the white fabric of his uniform, surrounding the wound where Alan’s sword had plunged through. A puddle of blood seeped out from beneath him, permeating into the loose dirt.

As he looked at Dietfried’s corpse, Reagan felt… Empty. He didn’t feel joy. Didn’t feel relief. With nobody to direct it at, he felt the loss of his fear and anger. Nothing more.

Alan stood still, panting softly, and looked down at the head mage. His face gave nothing away.

The adrenaline drained from Reagan’s body, leaving him cold and weak. He swayed on his feet, but stayed upright.

“Are you three okay?” Alan asked. He cast a worried glance at Reagan, then Elisa, who had shed the threadbare cloak and stood beside Reagan, ready to catch him should he threaten to fall.

Reagan turned away, hiding his injured side from Alan. Although the healing salve had staunched the bleeding for the wound on his side, it still throbbed relentlessly.

He couldn’t bring himself to heal it.

“Two,” he said, looking down at the dirt ground. “There’s only two of us now.” His low voice shook.

“Liam disappeared when Dietfried destroyed the room,” Elisa explained, taking over where Reagan couldn’t continue. “He…” She trailed off.

Reagan looked around the room at the aftermath of the fight -- the pockmarked ground where they’d initially stood as the destruction spell went off, the debris littering every corner of the obliterated room, the ashes still floating in the air. Lastly, he looked down at his wrist, where the tether had been attached for ten years.

No evidence remained of the silver thread.

“If we’d been a little closer to the door,” Reagan said, speaking mostly to himself as he looked up to where he’d last seen Liam. “If I’d moved toward Liam while casting the barrier… He would have been safe. He’d be with us now if I’d protected him.” He dropped his gaze to his feet.

All I ever do is protect myself.

“I see,” Alan said, solemn. “I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner. Dietfried intercepted me before I could retrieve my amulet, but I couldn’t rush in without one.” He pulled the object out of his pocket, turning it back and forth as he spoke. “When one of Dietfried’s amulets started glowing during the interrogation, and he rushed out toward the archives, I assumed you’d found a way in, but this is not what I expected to see.” He shook his head and straightened, quickly clasping the chain around his neck. “I’ll take care of things here. Can you two escape the same way you snuck in?”

Reagan opened his mouth to answer, but Elisa was faster. “We’re not leaving yet,” she said. She spoke with conviction, clenching her fists at her side. “We still need to find the real archives.”

What’s the point of finding that now? “How?” Reagan said, still unable to meet her gaze. “This room was a trap. We don’t know where else to look.”

“Why bother locking a trap room?” She whipped around and walked to the nearest wall where she pushed against the bricks. She repeated this at intervals, even pulling one of the few remaining oil lamps off the wall to illuminate the surrounding area.

“What are you doing?” Reagan asked. Her odd behavior momentarily distracted him from the weight pressing down on his chest.

“Looking for the real archives,” she said. She had reached one end of the wall and was scrutinizing the corner. “I’m not giving up. If we can find the right spell, I can bring Liam forward, and you can perform it.” She grunted softly as she pushed against the wall with all her weight. “It’s not over yet.”

Alan, too, began to move. He gathered the wood and paper that hadn’t burnt up in Dietfried’s initial spell and piled it up beside Dietfried. “I’ll handle this. You two focus on finding what you need.”

It took everything Reagan had to force himself to move. All of his limbs ached now that the adrenaline had drained from his body, and he groaned at the stiffness in his back and legs. Weakness made his legs tremble as he sheathed his sword and took the first step forward.