'Caelyn'd scold me for my foolishness. There's no reason she needs to die with me.'
Markos let the elf go. If she'd fly, or whatever it was that'd save her from falling to her death, he hoped that she'd do it once she was free of the maraium.
'Iliana could've done it with me holding her.'
The elf drifted away from him, freeing his hand to draw his dagger from his belt. It'd never been his intention to her the elf, but it seemed, Laima decided that today was the day to test his determination. He couldn't fly but maybe he could stop his descent and climb up. He swung wide, plunging the dagger into the pit wall.
Steel tore into loose dirt, he skidded downwards.
'Damn it. I'm too heavy!'
He pressed more of his weight against the dagger, seeking deeper purchase to no avail. He scrambled to gain a handhold, slipping. His eyes widened in panic behind his helmet as he fell backward. Markos's armor impacted with a crunching clanging crash of a hundred pounds of armor against stone.
'Is this how I die?'
Laid out flat against his back, on a ledge that he processed had not been there moments before, he suspected the elf had something to do with it. He'd been too distracted by his fear of imminent death to notice the gathering of magic around him.
Above him, the light of the stables were dim and distant, casting long shadows into the pit below. Against the opposite walls was the elf suspended in a dark tangle of cloak and dress. Markos smiled, relieved that at least she had been successful. Barking and screaming continued as the temple dog continued its assault. His head spun as he tried to move his limbs, everything felt heavy and numb. Armor was a poor defense against gravity and he'd landed wrong. His nerves started screaming as sharp pain exploded from his right leg as exposed bone scraped against metal. He fought back a wave of nausea and a scream.
'Am I this hopeless without them beside me?'
He didn't blame the elf for this. It was that damn apostate's fault for appearing out of nowhere. Why had he dropped the elf in the pit as well if the intention was to protect her? All magic at the mage's disposal and dropping both the templar and the elf that was to be rescued into the pit was a stupid idea. If he ever got hold of the mage, he'd kill him.
"*sshole!" The elf yelled upwards, her clothing twisting around her like a fluttering of wings as she landed easily next to him. "You need to remove your armor," she said flatly as she knelt beside him. "Or you won't move again." She frowned as she appraised his condition. "I can save you, if you let me."
Markos laughed weakly, as he tried to focus on the flow of magic in his body. He could at least numb the pain. "Why?"
"It's impolite to let a man die without giving a name first," she replied softly, placing a hand on his breastplate. "And elves are nothing but polite."
There were a dozen reasons to comply. Most of those reasons ended dead in the bottom of a magical ditch from blood loss, or from the hole being closed over him. A large number of them said something about dying honorably in the execution of his duties, killing the elves, and recapturing the embers, and the other drivel the Holy Sword sold as the truth. He could martyr himself for the lie or let her help him. There wasn't a reason to trust her other than the alternative was a painful death if not paralysis, if he survived this at all.
All these years, he wondered what her name was. It'd be fitting that she'd only give it a known elf killer and tyrant of the Order's will on his deathbed. It was better if she left him before the Order was alerted of the incident. She'd die if she was trapped here beside him. His vision blurred.
"What is it?" He rasped as the elf placed his head on her lap. He felt too weak to stop her even if he wanted to try.
"You sound like you intend to die. "She leaned down, her hands pressing against the sides of his helmet. "If you like, I can whisper it in your ear so you can pass it to Mara on your way to the dark lands."
'It figures. I'll die without knowing her name.'
Despite the pain, he laughed, it came out as an agonizing wheeze. "Liar." He weakly managed. He wanted to hate her for making a joke while he was bleeding out.
She pulled the helmet free and stared down with glowing blue eyes edged with tears. He tried to smile but grimaced instead. Her face blurred the more he focused on her. "My name is Sintija." There was a building sense of dread in recognition of what she was doing. She needed her strength to escape more than trying to overcome his armor. "And you will live." Soft, warm hands cradled the sides of his head as tears fell against his cheeks. "This might be enough.. I should be enough..."
'You need to get away from me.'
He wanted to warn her. The apostate and her had caused enough of a ripple that the Whisperers would've noticed. He opened his mouth to say something more but her lips pressed against his. The kiss surged through his body and electrified each nerve ending, making every hair on his body stand on end. At the back of his mind, he heard an elderly woman speaking in a language he couldn't understand. There was something soothing in her tone that freed him from his pain. A momentary stillness quieted his mind and other thoughts came unbidden with a growing sense of wonderment and regret.
'Iliana. Caelyn... I failed. I'm sorry. We won't break this cycle.'
In his delirium, he sensed his friends nearby. He could hear Iliana laughter ringing out with Caelyn's, they were calling him. He closed his eyes, the world above fading within a heavy fog. Power brushed the edge of his senses that vaguely reminded him of a ward. Magic crushed against his body, the weight stealing his breath from his chest as surely as the broken ribs did.
Death had come for him.