Ermolt paused. That was it.
He turned, and with all the force he could, hurled the baton.
Ermolt knew he was disarming himself. And without the baton, the Champion could kill him in a flash. But there was something they both shared.
Both Ermolt and the undead were fighters. And to them, a trusty weapon—well-used and familiar—was worth a great deal of trouble.
Like a mutt chasing a scrap bone, the Champion turned and immediately sprinted after the tumbling baton, trying to catch it before it sailed off into the pit.
Ermolt had no time to waste. He rushed to Elise’s side and tried to assess her situation without examining her too closely. Her leg was bent in a place it should not have been. Ermolt tried to ignore it. If he was too careful with her, the Champion would recover and cut them both down. He lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder, one hand resting against the small of her back to keep her in place. With the other hand he grabbed her sword. And then they were off.
The portal sat untouched, and unguarded. Just before Ermolt passed through it, he looked over his shoulder. The Champion was halfway out of the pit, one hand closed around the wood of the baton-like sheath. The other gripped tight around the hilt of his sword, and the blade was buried into the mortar of the floor, anchoring him.
Just before the blue membrane of the portal swallowed Ermolt up, the undead’s lips split into a grin.
Ermolt had expected the teeth to be odd. Ruined and cracked, or even filed down to cruel fangs. But they weren’t. Sure, they were yellowed with age, but they were otherwise smooth, clean, and square. They looked healthy. It somehow made the corpse’s inhuman strength and prowess seem all the more terrifying. This was no beast or madman. Ermolt knew that if he had been born centuries ago, this would, perhaps, be him.
And then it was gone.
Blue light enveloped his vision, and he felt the edges of the portal wrap closely around him and Elise.
The bright light caused him to shut his eyes, but he knew the way forward.
His foot came down on something soft and yielding, and he felt himself sink into it this time. He worried that Elise’s weight—added to his own—would cause it to envelop his foot, trapping them both in whatever this weird blue place was.
But it held long enough for him to take another step, and this foot landed on stone.
He was on the third floor.
Away from the Champion.
They were both alive, despite all odds.
Ermolt tried to not hear Elise’s hammering heartbeat right next to his ear.
For now, they were both alive. And he aimed to keep it that way.
Chapter Thirty
There was no time to waste. Fighting off his own rage to regain control had filled him with fatigue, but the threat of danger kept him upright. Sure, the Champion was gone, but Ermolt figured had a quarter of a bell—maybe less if the Champion knew some alternative route to the third floor—and Elise was still in a bad place.
He needed time to examine her, but first, he needed to get her somewhere safe.
Ermolt tried to tell himself that he would be able to patch her up, but part of him—no longer silenced under the avalanche of his rage—warned that he might only be able to make her last moments comfortable. He tried to ignore it, but the voice was too present. A whispering hollow that prepared him for the worst.
If Elise perished from her wounds, their quest would end.
Ermolt was prepared to face his own death trying to avenge her.
Surprisingly, the cold didn’t follow his dark thoughts. There was no rage to be found, or, rather, no wintery snow to drive the rage. Instead there was fear, and desperation.
Indecision gripped Ermolt, making him hesitate. But instead of trying to determine best routes and safest places, he just moved. His body would be smarter than his brain.
He rushed to the nearest door and kicked it open. Beyond was a darkened hallway, and Ermolt hurried down it, using the light behind him to navigate the way forward past the first door. As he blundered through, he realized the Champion would likely look in this room first, and then the first door in the hall second. Perhaps any noise the creature made would warn Ermolt that it was coming for them. With that thought in mind, he kicked open the second door on the left.
The room beyond looked like it had once been some sort of housing—less like the dormitories downstairs, and more like a domicile for a single person. All the wood had been not just rotted away to dust, but blown against the walls. At the back of the room was an empty archway where it was likely that a wooden door had once stood. Beyond that was nothing more than open sky. The floor was visibly covered in shattered glass, but there was otherwise no sign of what had happened here.
A pleasantly chilly breeze swept through the room and slid over Ermolt’s skin, soothing his aches. Though he wanted to enjoy it—to just take a moment and bask in the cold—he didn’t have the time. Elise needed his attention.
He lowered her to the ground as gently as he could, laying her out on her back. She was still breathing, but it was shallow and rapid. Her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids. There were a few cuts and bruises on the exposed skin of her face, but they were nothing compared to her leg.
Somehow the Champion had broken her leg through her greave.
Ermolt knew he may have done lasting harm by moving her so roughly with the leg broken, but her armor had acted as a makeshift splint. Even though the leg wasn’t set, it hadn’t flopped freely around, jabbing the jagged bone around the flesh.
Indecisive panic consumed Ermolt’s thoughts. He had some basic training in field medicine, but this was far beyond his minimal expertise. He could set and splint the broken bone, but not in a way that would enable her to walk safely for several days. And while Ermolt was sure he could safely carry Elise wherever they needed to go, she would be a liability when the Champion returned.
Could he truly leave her here, however? She’d have no way to defend herself against even the smallest undead creature. One bite from a long-dead rat could end her, if infection wasn’t treated.
The last thing he wanted to do was make that choice for her, however. She might have a better idea. Her knowledge in the realm of medicine was greater than his, and so, Ermolt was determined to wake her up. He dug through his pack, finding a few old rolls of bandage as well as a full waterskin. There were no open wounds that required immediate attention, but a splash of water on her face caused her to stir.
She looked so pale that Ermolt was grateful for even that small movement.
The second splash awakened her, coughing.
“What—Ermolt?”
“Hold still,” he said, though she hadn’t tried to move. “You’re wounded. The, um, your leg is broken. And I don’t know if I can do much about it.” He grimaced and picked at the roll of bandage in his hand, unsure of what to do. “I can splint it, but you won’t be able to walk until the bones knit.”
Elise looked to her leg. Ermolt could see beads of sweat forming across her brow, and knew the pain was great. She might have been fighting unconsciousness even now. “If I can’t walk, we’re dead.” She shook her head. “The Champion will kill us next time we see him, if whatever other guardians we run into don’t kill us first.”
“Oh, right.” Ermolt had forgotten the old man’s warning that there was at least one more guardian up here. He hoped it would give them less trouble than the Champion. “We don’t have another choice though,” Ermolt said finally, shaking his head. “Unless you have a suggestion.”
Elise shifted slightly, wincing. “I think I’m sitting on a Nether-touched rock.” She laughed, but it was an empty, hollow thing. “Alright. Other options…” Elise trailed off. Her eyes brightened for a moment and she turned to him. “There’s…” Her brow knit, and she shook her head, the light fading from her face. “No. There’s nothing.”
“What” Ermolt asked, arching an eyebrow. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She sh
ifted once more, going through the pain of keeping her leg as straight as she could. The greaves helped, but Ermolt wasn’t sure what else could. “There’s… the potion.” She shook her head immediately, as if rejecting the idea as soon as it was out of her mouth. “I have the potion Catarin gave us. But if we use it now, we’ll have nothing if Athala has need.”
“Ah.” Ermolt sat silent for a moment. He knew there was a risk there. They had no idea what state the Favor would leave Athala in, and that’s why Catarin’s gift had been so welcomed. But, on the other hand… “If you can’t walk, we’re not going to make it to the Favor. We’ll need both of us to be able to survive just getting there.”
The ex-Conscript shook her head, almost violently. “No. I refuse. There’s still a chance. If we can make it quickly, and just avoid the Nether-cursed Guardians. And the Champion.” She groaned. “Or, you know, just not fight them head on. We can do that. And then we’ll be there and also have the potion incase Athala needs it.”
“Would you be able to make it?”
Elise winced. “It’s a broken leg, not a bleeding gut.”
“It’s a broken leg where you are going to pass out every time I jostle you.” He looked away. “I could always attempt to rush for the Favor… alone.”
“I’d be a full purse on thin strings… but if you think its best.”
“I don’t,” Ermolt said, allowing some of his anger to bleed into his words. “What I think is best is that you drink the blasted potion, get better, and then we go destroy the Champion and win the day.”
“We can’t know that we’ll win the day without this hand to play.”
Ermolt blew a long sigh out of his nose, steadying himself. He understood why Elise was being so stubborn. They only had one potion. But without her… there wasn’t reason to go on. “If we get there, get the Favor, and Athala is in need of aid, we’ll deal with it then. You have the ability to make her comfortable and I could go and raid the bandit camp. Maybe they have more supplies. Or will know where to find something close by. But without you in fighting shape, there’s no guarantee we make it that far. And if we die, there’s no getting Athala back.”
Elise pursed her lips. She looked so pale.
Ermolt was afraid that she would allow herself to die out of sheer stubbornness. It would have been her way. But she slowly blew out a breath, deflating a little as she did.
“You’re right,” she said, finally, grimacing. “But there’s one thing we need to do.”
“What is it?”
She gestured to her leg. “If I take the potion now, it won’t heal right. I’ll walk with a limp, if I even am able to walk. We need to set it.”
“Oh.” Ermolt looked to her leg as well. “I can help. Just let me know what you need.”
“I appreciate the thought,” Elise said, but she shook her head. “I need to do it myself. There will only be one chance at this before I pass out. And if you do it, I’ll just get there faster.” She looked up at him and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “I do have the gentler touch.”
“Alright. Just, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
Elise nodded and started to unbuckle the straps of her greaves. She moved slow, deliberately avoiding both pulling the metal casing away from her leg, and also moving from the hip down.
Ermolt took the time to fetch Catarin’s potion. Once the bottle was in hand, however, he had nothing else to do but watch.
The ex-Conscript slowly pulled the metal away from her leg. Part of the greave was dented, but it would be easy to hammer back into place. Through her white slacks, Ermolt could see the bulging outline of Elise’s leg. There was no blood—the greaves had likely kept the bone from moving so far as to break the skin—but it was obviously off center. Elise still evaluated the break by running her hands up and down her thigh. She was breathing heavily with short, shallow breaths that quickened every time she got closer to the break. Her thigh was thick with both fat and muscle, and Ermolt knew it would make the process of determining the state of the break that much harder.
Ermolt wished there was something he could do.
“It’s worse than I’d hoped for,” Elise said finally, moving her hands away from her legs. She panted for breath, as if she’d been running for kren. “The bone is off center already. I thought it might have been… but Ydia’s Grace I hoped it wouldn’t be this bad.” She paused, frowning. “I’ll need your help.”
“What can I do?”
“If you… if you go to my foot. And when I say go, pull. Hard.” She frowned and took the potion from him, setting it aside. “It’s going to hurt. A lot. But no matter how much I scream, just… just don’t stop until I say it’s done, alright? We’re only going to get one chance at this.” Elise looked up, and Ermolt could see the fear in her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll have the strength for a second.”
Ermolt nodded gravely and got into position. Her booted foot was cantered at an odd angle, likely from the break. “Alright,” he said, even though there was no confidence behind the words. He wrapped a hand around her ankle, trying to keep his grip gentle. “I’m ready. Whenever you are.”
The ex-Conscript nodded. She put her hands to either side of her thigh along the break. It was as if she were testing the area. She pressed down just hard enough that she was forced to grit her teeth in pain, even though her hands had barely moved. Elise took a breath in through her nose, and hissed it out through her teeth. Her hands moved ever so slightly, putting just a little more pressure on her leg. She took another breath. And a third.
“Go,” she said, her voice full of agony.
The next few moments were some of the most unpleasant of Ermolt’s adult life. He didn’t want to imagine what they were like for Elise, but he desperately wished it was him. If he was the one suffering, he wouldn’t worry so much about being the one inflicting the pain.
It felt unnatural to pull on her leg and feel it move without pulling the rest of her body along.
As soon as he pulled, Elise’s teeth snapped together audibly. She had been pale before, but when the fresh pain hit her, her face turned bright red. Ermolt worried she would lose consciousness, but she stayed alert. She pressed her palms in against the sides of her thighs, and Ermolt could almost feel the scream of pain struggling to break free of her throat.
He should have offered her something to bite down on. Something to help alleviate the pressure.
It was too late now.
There was a grinding noise in Elise’s thigh, and the scream began to slip through her teeth as a snarl. Tears stood out in her eyes, clashing with the brilliant red of her cheeks.
One hand tore away from her leg. Her fingers scrabbled at her discarded greave. It was almost as if she couldn’t get a grip on it. With a muted howl of both triumph and pain, Elise retrieved the metal and slapped it back down onto her thigh with little concern for pressure. She flinched at the impact, and fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. But she didn’t lose consciousness. Instead, her hands shook as she fastened the buckles on her greaves, getting them tightly into place to keep the bone from shifting. She tightened the straps as tightly as she could, but eventually collapsed back against the wall.
“Stop!” she said, her voice as hoarse as if the scream in her chest had fully escaped. “Ydia’s Grace please… stop.”
Ermolt had already let go at the first exclamation. Elise’s face was drained. She gasped for air, although her breaths were deep and even, even though she looked like death.
Careful to avoid jostling her, Ermolt moved quickly away from her leg. He grabbed the potion as he crawled up next to her. She seemed barely conscious after the effort she’d forced herself through. He hoped she was awake enough to avoid drowning on the potion.
With a quick fingernail through the wax seal and a gentle tug, Ermolt un-stoppered the potion. He poured it hurriedly into her mouth.
Elise coughed, and precious droplets of the dark liquid appeared on her lips. But she raised
her hand, touching the bottom of the flask to encourage Ermolt to keep pouring.
She swallowed eagerly, and if she had intended on only accepting some of it in some strange self-sacrifice, it was lost to urgency. Or perhaps the pain of setting the bone had been enough to convince her that she required all of it.
As soon as the bottle was empty, Elise let out a contented sigh, her eyelids fluttering as she relaxed back.
Ermolt tossed the empty bottle aside, letting it roll across the floor into the corner.
He hoped the potion would be enough to get her mobile again. She’d need a few moments before they could test it, and after the pain he’d caused, he was willing to sit tight and wait. He just hoped they made the right call, and that they wouldn’t face a greater need for the potion later.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ermolt stayed at Elise’s side until her breathing evened out. Color started to return to her face, and he watched as the bruises on her skin began to fade. Before the cuts closed, Elise’s thigh began to spasm gently, and there was a creaking noise like the bones were knitting themselves with magical alacrity.
It was disturbing, but, in a way, Ermolt was jealous. His own aches and pains were rising to the surface, and he either needed a night’s rest, or a potion of his own. He distantly wondered if Athala could eventually make some energy booster that he could utilize when his rage had faded.
With Elise’s recovery assured, Ermolt didn’t want to sit around and do nothing. He had to run somewhat randomly when he came out of the portal, and he figured once Elise was ready to move, they would need to waste as little time as possible getting to the next floor.
All he could do to help was scout around. If he could figure out which way was the fastest, without running into the Champion, it might get them going in that right direction sooner.
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