Relan approached Faust as if he were a feral animal. “We’ll be your allies if you’d only trust us, Your Majesty. With your knowledge, we can conquer Alios—return it to its rightful ruler. Windilum will rise again, and we can rule Alimphis with you.”
Faust sneered, the wind lashing out in a fury of blue blades. “I will not be your pawn!”
Heat surged from below and locked around Faust’s magic. He didn’t think. Faust whirled and jumped.
“Catch him!”
Earth magic hurled down after him in a desperate grab but missed.
“What are you doing! Fly!” a deep voice bellowed.
Fire roared above Faust’s head in a wild rush of an explosion, rocketing him into the water. Ice prickled through his body in a violent current. He reached for the fading surface, but his sight speckled with black.
Two
Faust lurched on his side, coughing up water, heat searing through him. Water dripped from his hair. He gripped at the ground, digging his fingers into the moist soil as more coughs racked his body. He wretched, grimacing at the wet sound.
Blinding heat seared his wrists and ankles as the shackles cracked and fell to the ground.
A strong, warm hand rubbed at his back, and Faust swore the person was talking, but he couldn’t understand a word the man said, his mind far too foggy. Faust saw the blurry form of a man roughly the same size and complexion as Ignas. A soothing warmth followed his thoughts and a sloppy smile crossed his lips. Maybe it was Ignas.
Another fit of coughing interrupted Faust’s find. It was so violent, he wretched again. His stomach cramped, and he struggled to breathe.
The incense!
He needed the cure.
Faust fumbled out garbled words.
The faint sound of a cork popping hit Faust’s ears. The man rolled him on his back and into his exceptional arms. Heat wafted through Faust again. His clothes no longer clung to his frame, but Faust still shivered.
Against his better judgment, Faust opened his mouth to drink from the vial pressed to his lips. The liquid burned on the way down. He coughed, gripping at the man’s chest, bunching his hands in what felt like coarse fur and leather.
The man pulled back.
Faust tried to focus on his savior, but the adrenaline from his escape waned, and his sight lapsed into another vision.
A cabin ceiling came into focus above Faust. Rough sheets bunched under his fingertips and pelts covered him. A desk and a familiar chest were off to Faust’s right. It was a simple chest of wood, just like the one he’d opened in Hol.
Faust turned left and met concerned sky-blue eyes belonging to none other than Linos. He’d never seen the deity wear such a distraught expression.
Warmth brushed his forehead and heat loomed a small distance away.
The gentle sway of his body told Faust he was being carried on someone’s broad back. A heavy coat covered him, but his body was on fire.
Heat lapped at his magic.
Faust tapped at it curiously. Heat reminded him of Ignas, but this felt different. It was stronger and carried a sense of surety only Aris carried.
“Are you awake?” a deep, gruff voice asked.
Awareness hit Faust hard.
He didn’t recognize that voice.
Faust grasped at the natural magic in his panic, but only made the wind howl through the trees.
“Relax,” the man said. “I will not hurt you. It is not wise for you to use magic right now. You can barely control it. You need a healer. The guild is just up ahead.”
Faust slumped with a huff.
“My name is Vas,” the man continued.
The High King paid Vas no mind as the crackle of fire grew louder. Natural fire danced in a large bonfire, and the noise hit his ears at all once. Faust cringed and buried his face in Vas’s fur collar.
“There you are, Vas,” Earl said, jogging over to the mercenary. “You left without a word. We thought we were under attack.”
“We were not, he was,” Vas said with a shrug of his shoulder.
Faust gripped at Vas tighter. The Guild of Smithery could be his enemies now.
“Who did you bring?” Earl asked, his tone flat.
Faust cautiously raised his head, but his head wouldn’t stay upright and he slumped back against Vas causing the man to jerk.
Earl leaned closer and gasped. “Lord Arcus!”
The camp came alive with even more noise, attentive to the shout.
“What’s wrong with him?” Earl asked in a rush and steadied Faust. His eyes widened. “He’s so warm!”
That explained the heat, but sound faded in and out again. Faust’s stomach turned, and he shivered. His body ached.
“The green bastard of a Blessed spouted something about an antidote,” Vas said. “I gave it to him.” He showed Earl the vial. “There was not a lot.”
Faust garbled out that it was incense, but it didn’t make a lick of sense, even to himself.
Earl cursed. “Wake Roe!” he bellowed. “Follow me, quick. How long has it been?”
Faust tried to answer again, but he wound up heaving in an attempt not to lose the contents of his stomach.
Earl brushed Faust’s bangs back as Vas walked fast. “Hold on, Lord Arcus. Stay with us a bit longer.”
Faust’s consciousness drifted and the next he knew he was in a canvas tent, lying on a cot covered with pelts. His limbs shook and spasmed beyond his control.
A slender man in dark robes threw the tent flap back and crouched by Faust’s side. A single water stone hung from the pale man’s belt.
The man reached out to touch him.
Faust snarled, his magic snapping in response. The small movement forced bile to his mouth, and he hurled, rolling to his side.
Vas rubbed Faust’s back, murmuring for him to remain calm. “The healer only wants to help you. You are safe.”
“Roe, do you know what they gave him?” Earl asked.
“Give me the vial,” Roe ordered. He inspected it and scraped the inside with his finger, sniffing the remnants. “We don’t have much time. Keep him still, Vas. If he acts up anymore, it will spread faster.” Roe rushed to the other side of the tent and mixed several herbs.
Faust wheezed. His arm spasmed again.
Vas gathered Faust in his arms, soothing him.
The High King grasped at Vas’s chest as if it was meant to do something. The smooth leather and furs made his mind race with thoughts of Ignas. He needed Ignas. This man wouldn’t do, but Faust didn’t understand why.
Roe shoved a cup of murky liquid in Faust’s vision. “Drink all of this, Lord Arcus. I fear we might be too late, but you must.”
Faust grimaced, reeling away, but Vas kept him locked in place. Wind sparked again despite his not calling upon it.
“Please, Lord Arcus,” Roe pleaded. “Let us help you. Ignas will be most upset if you die.”
Faust reached for the cup with shaky hands.
Vas grabbed the cup and tipped it closer to Faust, helping him drink it.
The High King grimaced through it, coughing and sputtering. He had to stop one time to hurl. It only resulted in more being given to him.
Faust rested against Vas’s broad chest, his eyes growing heavy. He felt awful, and he was filthy. He wanted to be clean and warm. “Ignas,” Faust mumbled. He needed to tell Ignas to find Aris.