The Witch and The Thief

27

Lachlan groaned and pushed himself onto his hands and knees, unsure of what had occurred. A deafening, tinny sound roared in his ears, drowning out all other noise. Blood trickled down his neck and soaked into his tunic as he struggled onto his feet. The room spun, and his vision wavered, but miraculously, he remained standing.

Looking around the room for any sign of Maera or Rhys, his stomach dropped to his toes, and his heart nearly stopped upon spotting Rhys lying unnaturally still on the opposite side of the room, within an arms reach from Lucida's corpse.

He curled his hands into fists at his side and bit back the mournful cry building in his throat, aching to be released. His eyes focused on his friend for any sign of movement, and he sagged with relief when Rhys twitched, then slowly lifted his head.

A curious blend of relief, desperation, fear, and steely resolve propelled him as he climbed down from his pile of stones, stopping once when another wave of dizziness hit him. His limbs trembled, and his stomach lurched, threatening to empty its contents. He took a deep breath before continuing his descent in search of Maera.

The fire and smoke parted, revealing Drummond and Aggie at the epicenter of the fireball, momentarily diverting Lachlan's attention.

Nathair stumbled from within the massive, empty hearth, no doubt considering it good fortune he'd forgone a blazing fire that morning. He pressed a hand to his head and swayed forward several steps before latching onto his charred throne and sagging to his knees.

The acrid sting of smoke stung his eyes and burned his nose and throat, choking him as he blindly searched for Maera. Confusion, fear, and panic sank their claws deep and refused to let go as chaos broke loose in the next heartbeat.

Clouds gathered overhead with such unnatural speed that there was little doubt magic had summoned them. A loud rumble shook the ground seconds before a torrential downpour soaked Lachlan to the skin and made navigating over the ruins perilous. He slipped, then tripped and rolled the rest of the way down, grunting in pain when he collided with the sturdy base of the table.

Wiping wet strands of hair out of his eyes, Lachlan blinked against the rain and struggled to focus on what looked like a feminine arm dangling over the edge. Bile burned the back of his throat, and his heart seized, knowing it belonged to Maera.

His gut clenched, and a cry tore from his lips as he stumbled to his feet and found Maera lying there. Oblivious to the tumult around him, he pressed an ear to her chest and wanted to weep in relief when he heard a strong, steady heartbeat.

Nathair coughed and stumbled down the broken remnants of the platform toward Drummond as the old, stooped warlock picked up the Dragon Tooth Stone and staff and joined them together. "At long last, after countless years of searching... 'tis finally within my grasp once more."

A low, threatening hum of power sang upon the air, making the hairs on the back of Lachlan's arms and neck stand to attention.

"That doesn't belong to you," Nathair snarled, reaching for the staff with a claw-like hand.

A short bolt of dragon fire left the staff in a whoosh, reducing Nathair's throne to ash within seconds. Drummond's lips curled in a smug smile as he arched a brow and gazed at the staff in adoration, "I disagree." He motioned Aggie forward, "'Tis time to leave, we've got what we came for."

"NAY," Nathair screeched, "you ruin everything you touch, get your bony claws off it, t'was always meant to be mine."

"'Tis war then, you fork-tongued viper," Drummond sneered.

Nathair thrust his hands high above his head as though reaching into the heavens. Words fell from his lips with the mighty roar of thunder, lightning crackled, writhing around his fingers and wrists in glowing tendrils, and flew through the air toward Drummond like hundreds of arrows.