Page 55 of Red Ruin
I can hold on.
I have to hold on.
I swing, stab, and slash.
My fight is nothing fancy, but I’ve been training since I was five.
Guides learn young.
We have to protect ourselves. Unless we find Sentinels willing to put us first.
That wasn’t going to be Kevan.
There was always some battlefield emergency that dragged him and his undead army away, leaving me to fight his enemies alone.
When did it become my job to run and savehim?
Did he ever think of me as a partner, or was I always this convenient, fuckable tool?
I’m an idiot for letting myself believe we had a special bond, but I have to thank Kevan for one thing.
I’m used to fighting by andformyself.
Thanks to years of practice and the reach of my long pole, I hold on from being overwhelmed.
I slash at leaping wolves. They feel like flesh when my blade cuts into their fur, but when I score a fatal hit, they puff into white powder.
Definitely chalk.
At least it helps my grip.
I sneeze between attacks, but I don’t think they’re replacing themselves as fast. I dust another wolf and swing my glaive back to center in a chalky puff.
As I fight to catch my breath, nothing else attacks.
The last few wolves hover haunch-to-haunch at the border of the array.
“You couldn’t leave me one pelt?” I ask, heaving every breath.
The pack leader tips back his head in a mournful howl.
I shiver and brace for their final attack.
Instead, the wolves crumble, falling to form heaps of chalk.
Staggering, I just barely stop a fall with my pole. Then my adrenaline drains and I slide to my knees.
I wheeze in the dark.
The crystals are out.
That’s bad news for whatever is beneath the seal, but I’m not taking one step into that cursed array field. Not even for infinite money and the chance to erase all my memories of Kevan.
I need to get back to base. Then I can summon every array master in Faervaine.
Let someone more qualified clean up this mess.
I’m slogging the long way around the cavern when my spiritual senses prick. I turn slowly, praying that I’m feeling wrong.
