The sight of Sari hugging Alverin's leg drove a spike of fiery anger through me. The black tendrils of her slave crest were mixed with the shadows of a Heart Crest, practically smothering her soul beneath their combined weight. It hurt, watching her cling close to the king, looking at me with eyes filled with fear and disgust.
"Take them!" Bethiv commanded.
The Last Light Company sprang into action, collapsing in on us from all sides. I shrank against Fable's side, feeling incredibly small against the tide of soldiers. We were a small party of fifth-level soldiers and adventurers, yet faced with a sixth-level threat leading a hundred fourth-level soldiers. Alverin himself, a seventh level, seemed content to watch the battle, but his presence was a looming threat that all but doused our hope.
"I'm sorry," Orion said sadly, lifting his sword. "I hope you'll forgive me for what we're about to do."
