Alaric stared at her, his internal struggle written across his face. She could see the battle playing out in his eyes—the prince bound by duty, and the man bound by something far more personal.
Finally, he exhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do it," he said, his tone filled with resignation. "Use the magic. Save yourself."
Lysandra blinked, surprised by his answer. "And what about the law?"
"To hell with the law," Alaric muttered, stepping back to give her space. His eyes met hers, filled with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I can't let you die."
For the first time, Lysandra hesitated. The choice she had made so quickly before suddenly felt heavier under the weight of his words. But the venom's spread was relentless, and she knew there was no time for second-guessing.
Clutching the rune stone in her hand, she whispered the incantation, her voice steady despite her trembling limbs. A warm, golden light flared to life, enveloping her leg and spreading through her body. The fire burned some of venom from her blood, leaving her gasping as the pain began to subside.
When the light faded, the rune stone dimmed in her hand. Lysandra slipped it back into the secret pocket of her satchel with shaking fingers, her breath ragged. She looked up at Alaric, who stood above her, his expression unreadable, his jaw set tight as if weighing words he hadn't yet spoken.
"There's still some venom in me," she said before he could speak, her voice steady despite the weariness in her tone. "Not enough to kill me, but it's there." She shifted her injured leg, grimacing. "The bleeding's slowed, and I can't see the bone anymore, so that's something." Her fingers brushed against her back, wincing as she felt the raw, jagged wounds left by the ghoul's claws. "My back's another story, but I'll live...I think." She gives a small laugh.
The sound of hurried footsteps cut through the oppressive silence. Donall and Kellan appeared from the shadows, their faces pale and streaked with dirt, weapons still drawn.
"There you are!" Donall said, his voice tight with urgency. "We've taken care of most of the ghouls, the rest run back into the forest ,but we need to move. Everyone's reforming at the camp."
"Roderic wants to pack up and get the hell out of here," Kellan added, his tone grim. "Says this place isn't safe anymore."
Lysandra straightened as best she could, leaning heavily on Alaric's arm for support. "He's right," she said, her voice clipped. "The ghouls won't stop. Not until we're far enough away from their den—or until they've wiped us out."
"Then let's not waste time," Alaric said, his tone decisive as he sheathed his sword. "We'll head back to camp. Can you walk?"
Lysandra tested her weight on her injured leg, wincing as pain shot up through her thigh. "Barely," she admitted, biting back her frustration.
Without a word, Alaric crouched slightly, his arm slipping around her waist. Before she could protest, he lifted her to her feet, bearing most of her weight with ease.
"Save the protests," he said when he caught her glare. "We're wasting time."
Donall and Kellan exchanged a glance but said nothing, falling into step beside them as they made their way back through the dense forest. The smell of blood and death lingered in the air, mingling with the faint, acrid stench of burned ghoul flesh.
When they reached the camp, it was a scene of chaos. Mercenaries dismantling tents and knights loading wagons with frantic urgency, their movements sharp and efficient despite the lingering fear etched on their faces. Roderic stood near the center, barking orders as he surveyed the surrounding forest with narrowed eyes.
"Good, you're here," Roderic said as soon as he saw them, relief flickering briefly across his face. "Lysandra, Alaric—glad to see you're both still breathing. But we need to move."
"What's the plan?" Alaric asked, his tone calm but commanding.
"We head furtherest down, toward the river," Roderic replied. "The ghouls won't follow us that far, not with dawn approaching. We'll regroup properly once we're out of there."
Lysandra nodded, her grip tightening on Alaric's arm as the pain in her back flared again. "Then let's not waste time talking about it."
Roderic gave her a sharp nod, then turned to shout more orders, his voice cutting through the chaos. Everone moved quickly, their movements sharp and practiced as they dismantled the remaining tents and loaded the wagons with haste. The air was thick with tension, the clatter of hooves and hurried commands filling the clearing.
Alaric didn't waste time. He guided Lysandra to her horse, his arm steady around her waist as he helped her into the saddle. She winced as the movement jostled her injuries, but she grit her teeth and gripped the reins tightly.
"Can you manage?" Alaric asked, his voice low but firm as he mounted his own horse.
Lysandra nodded, though her face was pale with pain. "I'll manage," she said through gritted teeth. "Just don't expect me to keep pace if you charge ahead."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips despite the situation. "Don't worry. I won't leave you behind."
With a sharp tug of the reins, Alaric urged his horse forward, falling in beside Lysandra. The wagons were already pulling away, the wheels creaking under the weight of supplies as they rolled onto the forest path.
The group moved quickly, the urgency palpable as the knights and mercenaries rode alongside the wagons, weapons drawn and eyes scanning the darkened trees. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every rustle of leaves a potential attack.
Lysandra leaned forward slightly in the saddle, her hand brushing against the hilt of her sword for reassurance. She could still feel the venom lingering in her blood, a dull ache spreading from her leg. Her back burned with every jolt of the horse's stride, but she pushed the pain aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.
The forest seemed to close in around them, the towering trees casting long shadows across the path. The faint glow of dawn on the horizon offered little comfort—it was still a long way off, and they were far from safe.
"Stay close," Alaric said, his voice cutting through the tense silence.
"I wasn't planning on wandering off," Lysandra replied, her tone laced with dry humor despite the situation.
He glanced at her, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he turned his attention back to the road. The wagons ahead picked up speed, the drivers urging the horses onward as the group pressed on.
The sound of rushing water grew louder as they neared the river, a faint glimmer of hope breaking through the oppressive tension. If they could just reach the water before the ghouls regrouped, they might stand a chance.
The group rode hard, the wagons rattling over uneven ground as the horses pushed forward. The first rays of dawn began to streak the sky, faint and pale, but their arrival brought little relief.
After what felt like an eternity, Roderic raised his hand, signaling the caravan to halt. They had put a good distance between themselves and the site of the attack, and the sound of the river nearby gave him some confidence that they had crossed into safer territory.
"We stop here," Roderic announced, his voice carrying over the murmurs of exhausted soldiers. "Tend to the injured, rest the horses. We'll regroup and move again."
The soldiers dismounted, their faces pale and drawn, as they began setting up a temporary camp with careful efficiency. Lysandra pulled at her reins, trying to guide her horse to a stop. Her body felt heavy, the adrenaline that had sustained her, now fading and leaving behind a searing pain throughout her body.
She swung her leg over the saddle, intending to dismount, but as her foot hit the ground, her knees buckled. A sharp cry escaped her lips as her injured leg gave out, and she crumpled to the ground.
"Lysandra!" Alaric was at her side in an instant,as he dropped to his knees beside her.
She waved him off weakly, though her hand trembled. "I'm fine," she lied, sweat dripping from her brow. Her skin was pale and clammy, and her breathing was shallow. The remaining venom in her system burned through her veins, her body locked in a desperate fight against the poison.
"You're not fine," Alaric snapped, his voice tight with worry. He glanced at her leg, where blood seeped through the makeshift bandage, and at her back, where the ghoul's claws had torn through her armor and flesh. "You shouldn't have been riding like that."
Lysandra shot him a glare. "Like I had a choice," she muttered, wincing as she tried to sit up.
"Stay still," Alaric ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He signaled to Donall, who was tending to another injured soldier nearby. "Get the healer. Now."
Donall nodded and hurried off, while Alaric carefully supported Lysandra, helping her lean against a nearby tree.
Her head lolled slightly as exhaustion and pain threatened to pull her under. "It's just a scratch," she muttered faintly, with a small laugh.
"You fought off ghouls, used magic, and nearly got yourself killed," Alaric said, his voice quieter now, though the tension remained. "You're not allowed to downplay this."
Lysandra smirked faintly, though the effort cost her. "Careful."
He didn't answer, his expression grim as he gently wiped the sweat from her brow with a clean cloth.
The healer arrived moments later, kneeling beside Lysandra with a satchel of supplies. Alaric didn't move from her side, his hand steady on her arm as the healer began their work.
Lysandra's eyes fluttered shut as the pain and exhaustion became too much. Before darkness claimed her, she heard Alaric's voice, low and resolute.
"You're going to be fine," he said, more to himself than to her. "You have to be."