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“Bravery is what wins wars,” Wodred replies simply. “That and tenacity. We just need to not give up. Besides, who is to say that the demon isn’t lying about this being part of his plan? He could not have meant for me to survive when he had his imp bring down the avalanche. He’s still vulnerable, still wounded from the last time I faced him. Get me close enough to him and I’ll kill him this time, and he and his plans will be no more.”
“I wish I could believe what you are saying, but you weren’t in the demon’s mind,” I insist. “It’s hard not to feel that it’s not all hopeless,”
“It may be hopeless,” Wodred acknowledges, “and we may even lose. Nothing is guaranteed in war, especially when you battle an evil creature of legend. But that doesn't mean that we should stop trying. At the very least, let us not make it easy for that son of a whore to get what he wants.”
I latch onto Wodred’s quiet optimism, the soft, sure timbre of his words. He’s right. The lives of those I love are counting on me to not give up. If I stay sitting and waiting for Grazrath to get his hands on me, I would be, in his words, delivering my family in a neat package into his hands.
I will not do that. Not willingly, at any rate. At the very least, I can fight to my very last breath.
“Give me a knife,” I command Wodred.
“Why?” he asks warily. I can see in the dim light of the mine that his brows are knit with concern.
“If it appears that Grazrath is going to win and take me, if his imps get a hold of me, I need to be able to keep him from my magic, even if it means that I kill myself before he can drain me. He can’t take mana from a corpse.”
“That will not happen,” Wodred responds, his voice harsh.
“Please,” I say gently. “Understand that it is not my first choice, but I need to be able to deprive him of the magic he craves. If it means saving my family from what he intends for them, I will do anything. Let me have that power.”
Wodred hesitates, and I can almost make out something like anguish on his features before he stiffly nods. I feel one of his hands leave my body and delve into his belt under the cloak. He pulls out a dagger in a sheath about the length of my forearm and presses it into my hands. I can feel the ornate filigree of the metal on the hilt as I take it, the sign of this being a fine orc-make blade.
“Drive it firmly into the side of your neck through to the other side, as speedily as possible,” he says gravely. “This will sever the carotid artery. It will be the quickest and most painless way to go. If you cannot reach your neck, drive it into the join between your leg and hip to cut the femoral artery. You’ll bleed out in seconds.”
“I understand,” I say, taking the dagger. I recognize the kindness in his instruction, even though what we discuss is my death. “Thank you, Wodred. For trusting me.” I fidget slightly on his lap so that I can tuck the blade into my own belt. My hands touch the embroidered leather pouch of runes that I carry there, reminding me of their presence. It gives me an idea.
“I always trust you to know what you are doing, but please,” Wodred says, breaking into my thoughts, still sounding grim, “make sure there is no other way before you take such a step. It is something that you cannot take back. I would never forgive myself if our kingdom lost you when there was another chance to succeed without your death.”
“I will be prudent,” I tell him. “Only as a last resort.”
“A last last resort,” Wodred says, the frown evident in his voice.
“I do not hold my life so cheaply that I will panic and kill myself,” I assure him. “I will only do so if there is no other way to stop Grazrath.”
Above me, Wodred nods. I can feel his chin tickle the top of my horns as it moves, his facial hair brushing the tips.
“If that is sorted,” he says gruffly, “we should get a move on. We don’t want to just be sitting here when the imps dig through into the mines.”
“You’re right,” I say, pulling out my pouch of runestones. “But we shouldn’t go in blindly. Old mine shafts are dangerous. There could be monsters within or noxious gases. I will consult my runes on what we should do.”
“Is that wise?” Wodred asks. “You used too much mana in the storm and didn’t get much rest because of the demon. I don’t want you to overextend yourself.”
I do a quick internal scan, checking to see if he’s right. My mana is weak, it’s true. I’ll need to be careful not to use too much before I can truly rest and recharge.
“I’ll be cautious,” I tell Wodred. “But you know that I am right. We cannot go deeper if death is all that waits for us.”
Wodred pauses, then sighs. “You are right. I just worry.”
I smile at that, the action feeling a little strange due to the dire circumstances we find ourselves in, but I can’t help it. I like Wodred fussing over me, worrying for my life and safety. As someone who has had to take care of themself and others their whole life, it feels strange but welcome to have someone want to take care of me.
“Trust my judgement in this as well,” I say. “I won’t go too far. Communing with the stones takes only a small amount of mana.”
I undo the pouch and pour the stones on the ground, then I am met with a problem. I can barely make out the forms of the stones on the ground, let alone the runes atop them. I need light. Normally, I could conjure some light using my illusion magics, but with my mana as weak as it is right now, I cannot risk it.
“Do you have something we can use for light?” I ask Wodred.
I’m relieved when Wodred responds, “Yes. I carry a lumen crystal fragment, for times when it is too dark even for orc eyes to see. I haven’t used it yet because you were sleeping.”
I can feel as Wodred reaches down to fish the crystal out of his belt. It occurs to me that I am very intimately pressed against Wodred, sitting here in his lap, sharing the warmth of the heat charm. Rather than being embarrassed or stressed because of it, I am comfortable. Being this close to Wodred doesn’t bother me. I know he’d never hurt me, a statement I, of all people, do not make lightly.
