Zahra couldnāt have been more of a stranger than when she inhabited this placeāso unusual, so uncomfortable. Sheād latched onto Abelasās words as soon as they fled from his lips. Best for all of you to leave, and never return. That, she could get behind. Whatever was happening had gone over her head. Far beyond it. All she could do was stand behind them, ever present but far too focused on getting out of here to be of any use in the conversation. Not that she couldāve said much. It didnāt appear as if Abelas was much of a talker, beyond telling them that they were temporary allies, intruders in this place, their home.
Fair enough.
Though her heart tugged. Swelled in her chest and sunk just as quickly when the subject of Ves was brought up. It was a solid reminder that she was not a good personā¦ at least, not conventionally. Would she have sacrificed these people, these strangers, for someone she cared about? The answer came easily. Quick as a serpent, coiled in the darkest parts of her. She would. But this was not her choice, and hers would have been riddled with a poison not so easily forgotten or forgiven. All she could do was curl her hand into a fist and bite back whatever words sheād had perched on her tongue, because the Inquisition and all of its people represented a goodness she appreciated, but sometimes, couldnāt stomach.
It was harder to turn away from that than sheād thought. Easier to set it aside, however, now that they were in motion. Heading to the Well. Whatever that was. The importance of it was lost on her, as were many things here. Not that she particularly minded. All she knew, and all she needed to know, was that preventing the Venatori from reaching it was of the utmost importance. So, that was what sheād do. Would try to do, at least. She exhaled sharply and rounded another corner with the others; focusing on the slapping of feet on cobblestones.
The templeās walls felt constrictive at her sides, pushing inwards, even if there was plenty of space. Not having the open sky looming overhead made her feel as if sheād suffocate, as if she were trapped. Surrounded by whispery old ruins and an ancient people who didnāt want them there. For once, no quips, and certainly no jokes came to her. She trotted alongside Cyrus and maintained her pace, bow at her side, arrow peeping out between her knuckles; at the ready for anyone they might encounter on the way. If that explosion was anything to go by, theyād have company soon enough.
They came across evidence of the fighting first, bodies left where they'd fallen on the temple floors, elves and Venatori alike. The casualties looked to be evenly spread, if a little weighted on the Venatori side. They were paying for the ground they were taking, but judging by the lack of elves holding their ground, they were taking it all the same. At least it didn't seem like Corypheus had come through this way. No doubt the situation would be much worse in that case.
"We must hurry," Abelas urged them. Needlessly, as it turned out. They could move no faster, especially not Ves, who was pushing himself beyond his limits already.
They rounded a corner, working their way away from the temple's center. Abelas knew the way, and judging by how Ves ran at his side, he somehow did too. Saraya's doing, no doubt. If she'd been here before and all. A staircase was ahead, and there they found a detachment of the elven sentinels holding their ground against superior numbers of Venatori soldiers and mages, using the high ground to make their advance difficult. There were other pathways, though, doors forced open by the enemy that the elves had failed to defend. These ones needed to be relieved quickly if they were to avoid being overrun.
Ves and Abelas were first into the fray. The leader of the sentinels dashed into melee range, falling upon the Venatori from behind with blades of magic not unlike what Cyrus used, though these were shaped as katars, darting in and out of enemies and leaving fatal wounds in the blink of an eye. There was magic in his every movement, carrying him out of range of attacks and into range to cut down another. Arrows flew into the Venatori's backs around him, Zahra's included.
Ves was not nearly so graceful, not even compared to his normal fighting self. His bardiche axe cut down a Venatori archer before she could turn to face him, and he cleaved into the next, splitting a shield. That enemy's mace found his side, a blow he normally would've avoided somehow. He went down, bringing the Venatori man with him, though Ves seemed to have fared the worse of the two.
Fortunately, Harellan was there, moving with uncanny grace and precision. Magic put him right behind the Venatori man in an eyeblink; crossed fade-swords parted his head from his shoulders in a smooth, almost elegant motion before the elf flickered away again to trouble a larger knot of them.
Cyrus elected to keep himself in a range close to Zahra, fending off anyone who tried to get into melee range of her while she was aiming steady fire at the Venatori. When a crackling ball of fire shot towards him, she could see his shoulders rise and fall in a steady breath before he swung his own arcane blade to meet it, cleaving through the spell with his own magic. It dissipated harmlessly to either side of him, guttering out as though it had never been there at all. Frowning, he flung a bolt of lightning from his fingertips, catching a small cluster of Marcus's troops with the chaining cascade of it, and leaving them prime targets for the others to finish off swiftly.
Stel swiftly took advantage, wading into the milieu and putting quick ends to the paralyzed Venatori with sharp flashes of her sword. She was hardly so striking in her approach as Abelas or Harellan or even Cyrus, but at the same time it was obvious just how tremendously-far she'd come since the Inquisition's early days. Her style had always been aggressive, but now it was fluid, too, precise and carefully-measured.
Utilizing Cyrus as a bulwark against approaching Venatori, Zahra was able to continue peppering them with noxious arrows. Precise, calculated and loosed intent. While she still lagged far behind those used to fighting at the forefront, she, too, had improved over the years. Her impatience had tempered itself. Her arrows were resolute, catastrophic; her aim true. Rom and Rilās recent alchemic lessons had proved invaluable to her, not just in her endurance, but in the strength of her armsāarrows struck like a blade.
One managed to get close enough to swing wildly at her, slipping past Cyās arcane blades as he faced another. She ducked beneath it and swung upwards with her bow, slamming the end of it into the bottom of his chin. Ironbark was hard as hell. No worries of breaking this particular bow. The man reeled backwards and his cries were cut off as Cyrus put an end to him. She turned back to the bulk of Venatori, tangled with Abelas and the others, and took aim once more.
She needed to keep them at bay as best she could. Keep them from crowding those stuck in the middle.
The Venatori here had not been prepared for the flanking attack, and they fell in droves against the superior skill of those on both sides of them. When the last fell, the elves that had been holding the line here regrouped, looking to Abelas for their orders. There was more fighting clearly going on down the hallway to their right, judging by the echoing clashes of steel and screams of pain. But Abelas led them left, away from the battle.
"We're going to leave them?" Vesryn asked, panting for breath. He was bleeding from some unseen wound, something that had slipped through his armor somewhere. Astraia hovered around him, barely paying attention to the slaughter as she applied healing spells. There wasn't a great deal she could do on the fly like this, but obviously that wouldn't stop her from trying.
"The quickest path to the vir'abelasan is this way," Abelas clarified, not slowing as he answered Vesryn's question. "The sentinels will delay them as long as they can. We must ensure the Well cannot fall into the enemy's hands." He had no further interest in explanation, picking up his pace to a run and forcing the others to hurry to keep up.
More battle-noise filtered in from ahead of them, but it wasn't until Abelas led them around a corner that Zahra realized the defenders were not more sentinels, but rather Amalia and Lia. No sooner had her eyes found them than Amalia dropped the last of their foes, grasping both sides of the Venatori soldier's head in her hands and wrenching until the bones in his neck snapped and he dropped. She blinked over at them, her face set into hard, strong lines. Not even a trace of relief flickered over her features at seeing themāshe was much too intent for that, it seemed.
"Marcus is ahead," she warned, her tone low and dark. "If we are to give chase, we must do so quickly." She didn't wait for any kind of answer before turning her back to them and taking off down the corridor; though she'd never been in the temple, her path did not err. It probably wasn't even hard: the ongoing clashes marked his passage easily enough.
Lia didn't spare any breath to greet them, but that may have been more just to conserve energy. Her armor was spattered with blood, at least most of it appearing to belong to others, and her quiver was more than half-empty. They'd clearly fought their way through quite a bit to make it this far. She did offer Stel at least a nod before she took off after Amalia, slowing only to nock another arrow.
Abelas didn't seem to care who they were. They killed Venatori and were aligned with those he'd already met, and that seemed to be enough for him. They made their way through the temple corridors, passing several traps along the way. Pits of spikes half-filled with Venatori bodies. More of them filled with darts after someone set off a pressure plate releasing them from the walls. Either Abelas knew the way around any others, or they knew not to go off for the likes of Cyrus, Stel, and Harellan. Perhaps both.
"How much farther?" Astraia asked from the back of the group.
She'd aimed the question at Abelas, but it was Ves that answered, between ragged breaths. "Not... far."
A door lay before them, already hanging open; no doubt their quarry had already passed through. A shaft of deep golden sunlight spilled into the hallway from the other side of it, almost blindingly-bright compared to the dimness of this part of the temple. Amalia did not hesitate before sprinting through, the rest of the group in tow.
When Zahra's eyes adjusted, she found herself in another courtyard, this one with a very obvious feature apart from its lush garden: ahead lay what seemed to be a cliff face, leading up to some kind of elevated plateau. Already ascending was a figure in night-black robes, slabs of stone floating to create a stairway to the plateau, lit beneath in a vivid orange light.
"Marcus!" The snarling shout was about all Amalia left behind her, accelerating as if to catch him on the stairs themselves.
The figure paused, turning back over his shoulder. The afternoon sunshine caught the porcelain of his mask, flaring brightly. He raised one hand, beckoning them forward in a way that couldn't be anything but a taunt, but even as he did the bottom-most slabs started to detach themselves and fly over the courtyard towards the pursuers. Amalia jumped cleanly over the first, but the second caught her in the abdomen, knocking her hard to the ground, where her shoulder collided with more stone in a sickening crunch. There was little time to check on her, thoughāmore slabs were still careening through the air towards the group.
Abruptly, Zahra felt a tingling in her fingers and toes. Her breath came easier, like every limb was alive. The brief sensation of being submerged in warm water was followed by a clarity she wasn't used to, like the very opposite of drunkenness: everything was sharper, her reactions faster, attuned more closely to her thought. It felt electric, like she herself was lightning. She might need to be.
Zahra was clean out of surprise at this pointāa garden nestled inside an ancient temple was easy enough to absorb. However, she hadnāt expected that sonnuvabitch to start chucking slabs in their direction. She hardly had time to blink. Amalia sailed past them in a blur of limbs, flying through the air, until one of the slabs slammed into her and anchored her back to the ground. More loose stones were levitating and being flicked towards them with little more than a flick of his wrist. He intended to slow them down, that much was obvious.
Abelas had powerful magic of his own, and the slabs that came his way he deflected up and over their heads with impressive arcane force, sending them crashing harmlessly into the wall behind. Astraia managed to get a piece of one that flew at her with a stonefist spell, but a second was coming in too fast. Ves was quick enough to react, shouldering the much smaller elf out of the way, but not in time to avoid it himself. It smashed into his shoulder, flipping him end over end until he clattered to the ground in his armor, unmoving.
"Ves!" Astraia screamed, crawling on hands and knees over to him, trying to keep her head down and away from the incoming projectiles.
How powerful was he? She knew next to nothing about him, other than the fact that he was a massive thorn in their sidesā¦ and something of a personal grievance to Amalia, Lia and Ithilian. They would be the hammer slamming down. The blade at his throat. An end to his beginning. Had to be. That much she understood. A chunk of stone hurtled down. Her gaze flicked to the side, quick as a hawk. She grit her teeth and threw herself to bodily, crossing the distance quicker than she thought possible, pushing into one of the elven lasses trying to usher to Abelasās side. They looked frantic, eager to toss themselves up the stairs, voices raised in a language she couldnāt understand.
Too damn close. One misstep, and the stone wouldāve taken their heads off. She managed to keep her footing and haul the woman back up, clapping her on the back once, before turning back towards the disappearing staircase. She felt refreshed, ready to tear into whoever faced them, but not being able to reach anyone was frustrating. She couldnāt stop Marcusās ascent or magic away any of those cobblestones, let alone try to pave the way. There was a sound that made her cock her head to the side, familiar. Coming from behind them.
There, her answer. She paused and strained her ears, swinging back towards the long hallway theyād been running down. The sound of footfalls, armor chuffing together, and Tevinter cries rallying them together. If she could do anything here, itād be holding them off. A hand drew back into her quiver. Her fingers groped in the air, once, twice, and fell back to her sides. None left. She supposed she couldnāt be that lucky. She huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders. She shouldered her bow, and pulled her rapier free from its scabbard before stepping back up the slope, eyes trained on the approaching figures.
Lia had only just freed Amalia from where she'd fallen, the elf's bow slung over her shoulders so she could help her mentor with both hands. "Astraia!" she called desperately. "A healing spell, anything! Now!"
The elven healer had been trying to ascertain Ves's state, but she looked up in time to grab her staff, conjuring a hasty healing spell for Amalia. She couldn't even know what the damage was, but it would have to do. The elves were caught between defending themselves from Marcus and engaging the Venatori that had begun attacking their rear. It was chaos.
The slabs were still coming in much too close for comfort. Together, Cyrus and Harellan blasted one of them out of the air, chunks of stone and debris raining down on all of them. Cyrus used the opportunity to get to Amalia's side with a streak of blue light, assisting the others in picking her up off the ground by the collar of her black armor and pressing a blue-lit hand to the back of her shoulder. Zahra knew he was no healer, not really, but at this point no doubt whatever help he could give Astraia would be better than nothing.
āCan you still fight?" He asked Amalia loudly enough for Zahra to hear. Whatever the response was, it wasn't nearly as audible, but it must have satisfied him, because he nodded and stepped away from her, gesturing quickly to Lia as well. The three of them sprinted for the ridge where Marcus had disappeared; Cyrus waved both hands as he ran, picking up several of the slabs that had fallen and reassembling them into a hasty, thinner replica of the staircase the magister had taken.
Neither Amalia nor Lia wasted the opportunity, flying up the staircase as fast as their feet could carry them, then disappearing over the lip of the ridge to whatever lay above.
Fair enough.
Though her heart tugged. Swelled in her chest and sunk just as quickly when the subject of Ves was brought up. It was a solid reminder that she was not a good personā¦ at least, not conventionally. Would she have sacrificed these people, these strangers, for someone she cared about? The answer came easily. Quick as a serpent, coiled in the darkest parts of her. She would. But this was not her choice, and hers would have been riddled with a poison not so easily forgotten or forgiven. All she could do was curl her hand into a fist and bite back whatever words sheād had perched on her tongue, because the Inquisition and all of its people represented a goodness she appreciated, but sometimes, couldnāt stomach.
It was harder to turn away from that than sheād thought. Easier to set it aside, however, now that they were in motion. Heading to the Well. Whatever that was. The importance of it was lost on her, as were many things here. Not that she particularly minded. All she knew, and all she needed to know, was that preventing the Venatori from reaching it was of the utmost importance. So, that was what sheād do. Would try to do, at least. She exhaled sharply and rounded another corner with the others; focusing on the slapping of feet on cobblestones.
The templeās walls felt constrictive at her sides, pushing inwards, even if there was plenty of space. Not having the open sky looming overhead made her feel as if sheād suffocate, as if she were trapped. Surrounded by whispery old ruins and an ancient people who didnāt want them there. For once, no quips, and certainly no jokes came to her. She trotted alongside Cyrus and maintained her pace, bow at her side, arrow peeping out between her knuckles; at the ready for anyone they might encounter on the way. If that explosion was anything to go by, theyād have company soon enough.
They came across evidence of the fighting first, bodies left where they'd fallen on the temple floors, elves and Venatori alike. The casualties looked to be evenly spread, if a little weighted on the Venatori side. They were paying for the ground they were taking, but judging by the lack of elves holding their ground, they were taking it all the same. At least it didn't seem like Corypheus had come through this way. No doubt the situation would be much worse in that case.
"We must hurry," Abelas urged them. Needlessly, as it turned out. They could move no faster, especially not Ves, who was pushing himself beyond his limits already.
They rounded a corner, working their way away from the temple's center. Abelas knew the way, and judging by how Ves ran at his side, he somehow did too. Saraya's doing, no doubt. If she'd been here before and all. A staircase was ahead, and there they found a detachment of the elven sentinels holding their ground against superior numbers of Venatori soldiers and mages, using the high ground to make their advance difficult. There were other pathways, though, doors forced open by the enemy that the elves had failed to defend. These ones needed to be relieved quickly if they were to avoid being overrun.
Ves and Abelas were first into the fray. The leader of the sentinels dashed into melee range, falling upon the Venatori from behind with blades of magic not unlike what Cyrus used, though these were shaped as katars, darting in and out of enemies and leaving fatal wounds in the blink of an eye. There was magic in his every movement, carrying him out of range of attacks and into range to cut down another. Arrows flew into the Venatori's backs around him, Zahra's included.
Ves was not nearly so graceful, not even compared to his normal fighting self. His bardiche axe cut down a Venatori archer before she could turn to face him, and he cleaved into the next, splitting a shield. That enemy's mace found his side, a blow he normally would've avoided somehow. He went down, bringing the Venatori man with him, though Ves seemed to have fared the worse of the two.
Fortunately, Harellan was there, moving with uncanny grace and precision. Magic put him right behind the Venatori man in an eyeblink; crossed fade-swords parted his head from his shoulders in a smooth, almost elegant motion before the elf flickered away again to trouble a larger knot of them.
Cyrus elected to keep himself in a range close to Zahra, fending off anyone who tried to get into melee range of her while she was aiming steady fire at the Venatori. When a crackling ball of fire shot towards him, she could see his shoulders rise and fall in a steady breath before he swung his own arcane blade to meet it, cleaving through the spell with his own magic. It dissipated harmlessly to either side of him, guttering out as though it had never been there at all. Frowning, he flung a bolt of lightning from his fingertips, catching a small cluster of Marcus's troops with the chaining cascade of it, and leaving them prime targets for the others to finish off swiftly.
Stel swiftly took advantage, wading into the milieu and putting quick ends to the paralyzed Venatori with sharp flashes of her sword. She was hardly so striking in her approach as Abelas or Harellan or even Cyrus, but at the same time it was obvious just how tremendously-far she'd come since the Inquisition's early days. Her style had always been aggressive, but now it was fluid, too, precise and carefully-measured.
Utilizing Cyrus as a bulwark against approaching Venatori, Zahra was able to continue peppering them with noxious arrows. Precise, calculated and loosed intent. While she still lagged far behind those used to fighting at the forefront, she, too, had improved over the years. Her impatience had tempered itself. Her arrows were resolute, catastrophic; her aim true. Rom and Rilās recent alchemic lessons had proved invaluable to her, not just in her endurance, but in the strength of her armsāarrows struck like a blade.
One managed to get close enough to swing wildly at her, slipping past Cyās arcane blades as he faced another. She ducked beneath it and swung upwards with her bow, slamming the end of it into the bottom of his chin. Ironbark was hard as hell. No worries of breaking this particular bow. The man reeled backwards and his cries were cut off as Cyrus put an end to him. She turned back to the bulk of Venatori, tangled with Abelas and the others, and took aim once more.
She needed to keep them at bay as best she could. Keep them from crowding those stuck in the middle.
The Venatori here had not been prepared for the flanking attack, and they fell in droves against the superior skill of those on both sides of them. When the last fell, the elves that had been holding the line here regrouped, looking to Abelas for their orders. There was more fighting clearly going on down the hallway to their right, judging by the echoing clashes of steel and screams of pain. But Abelas led them left, away from the battle.
"We're going to leave them?" Vesryn asked, panting for breath. He was bleeding from some unseen wound, something that had slipped through his armor somewhere. Astraia hovered around him, barely paying attention to the slaughter as she applied healing spells. There wasn't a great deal she could do on the fly like this, but obviously that wouldn't stop her from trying.
"The quickest path to the vir'abelasan is this way," Abelas clarified, not slowing as he answered Vesryn's question. "The sentinels will delay them as long as they can. We must ensure the Well cannot fall into the enemy's hands." He had no further interest in explanation, picking up his pace to a run and forcing the others to hurry to keep up.
More battle-noise filtered in from ahead of them, but it wasn't until Abelas led them around a corner that Zahra realized the defenders were not more sentinels, but rather Amalia and Lia. No sooner had her eyes found them than Amalia dropped the last of their foes, grasping both sides of the Venatori soldier's head in her hands and wrenching until the bones in his neck snapped and he dropped. She blinked over at them, her face set into hard, strong lines. Not even a trace of relief flickered over her features at seeing themāshe was much too intent for that, it seemed.
"Marcus is ahead," she warned, her tone low and dark. "If we are to give chase, we must do so quickly." She didn't wait for any kind of answer before turning her back to them and taking off down the corridor; though she'd never been in the temple, her path did not err. It probably wasn't even hard: the ongoing clashes marked his passage easily enough.
Lia didn't spare any breath to greet them, but that may have been more just to conserve energy. Her armor was spattered with blood, at least most of it appearing to belong to others, and her quiver was more than half-empty. They'd clearly fought their way through quite a bit to make it this far. She did offer Stel at least a nod before she took off after Amalia, slowing only to nock another arrow.
Abelas didn't seem to care who they were. They killed Venatori and were aligned with those he'd already met, and that seemed to be enough for him. They made their way through the temple corridors, passing several traps along the way. Pits of spikes half-filled with Venatori bodies. More of them filled with darts after someone set off a pressure plate releasing them from the walls. Either Abelas knew the way around any others, or they knew not to go off for the likes of Cyrus, Stel, and Harellan. Perhaps both.
"How much farther?" Astraia asked from the back of the group.
She'd aimed the question at Abelas, but it was Ves that answered, between ragged breaths. "Not... far."
A door lay before them, already hanging open; no doubt their quarry had already passed through. A shaft of deep golden sunlight spilled into the hallway from the other side of it, almost blindingly-bright compared to the dimness of this part of the temple. Amalia did not hesitate before sprinting through, the rest of the group in tow.
When Zahra's eyes adjusted, she found herself in another courtyard, this one with a very obvious feature apart from its lush garden: ahead lay what seemed to be a cliff face, leading up to some kind of elevated plateau. Already ascending was a figure in night-black robes, slabs of stone floating to create a stairway to the plateau, lit beneath in a vivid orange light.
"Marcus!" The snarling shout was about all Amalia left behind her, accelerating as if to catch him on the stairs themselves.
The figure paused, turning back over his shoulder. The afternoon sunshine caught the porcelain of his mask, flaring brightly. He raised one hand, beckoning them forward in a way that couldn't be anything but a taunt, but even as he did the bottom-most slabs started to detach themselves and fly over the courtyard towards the pursuers. Amalia jumped cleanly over the first, but the second caught her in the abdomen, knocking her hard to the ground, where her shoulder collided with more stone in a sickening crunch. There was little time to check on her, thoughāmore slabs were still careening through the air towards the group.
Abruptly, Zahra felt a tingling in her fingers and toes. Her breath came easier, like every limb was alive. The brief sensation of being submerged in warm water was followed by a clarity she wasn't used to, like the very opposite of drunkenness: everything was sharper, her reactions faster, attuned more closely to her thought. It felt electric, like she herself was lightning. She might need to be.
Zahra was clean out of surprise at this pointāa garden nestled inside an ancient temple was easy enough to absorb. However, she hadnāt expected that sonnuvabitch to start chucking slabs in their direction. She hardly had time to blink. Amalia sailed past them in a blur of limbs, flying through the air, until one of the slabs slammed into her and anchored her back to the ground. More loose stones were levitating and being flicked towards them with little more than a flick of his wrist. He intended to slow them down, that much was obvious.
Abelas had powerful magic of his own, and the slabs that came his way he deflected up and over their heads with impressive arcane force, sending them crashing harmlessly into the wall behind. Astraia managed to get a piece of one that flew at her with a stonefist spell, but a second was coming in too fast. Ves was quick enough to react, shouldering the much smaller elf out of the way, but not in time to avoid it himself. It smashed into his shoulder, flipping him end over end until he clattered to the ground in his armor, unmoving.
"Ves!" Astraia screamed, crawling on hands and knees over to him, trying to keep her head down and away from the incoming projectiles.
How powerful was he? She knew next to nothing about him, other than the fact that he was a massive thorn in their sidesā¦ and something of a personal grievance to Amalia, Lia and Ithilian. They would be the hammer slamming down. The blade at his throat. An end to his beginning. Had to be. That much she understood. A chunk of stone hurtled down. Her gaze flicked to the side, quick as a hawk. She grit her teeth and threw herself to bodily, crossing the distance quicker than she thought possible, pushing into one of the elven lasses trying to usher to Abelasās side. They looked frantic, eager to toss themselves up the stairs, voices raised in a language she couldnāt understand.
Too damn close. One misstep, and the stone wouldāve taken their heads off. She managed to keep her footing and haul the woman back up, clapping her on the back once, before turning back towards the disappearing staircase. She felt refreshed, ready to tear into whoever faced them, but not being able to reach anyone was frustrating. She couldnāt stop Marcusās ascent or magic away any of those cobblestones, let alone try to pave the way. There was a sound that made her cock her head to the side, familiar. Coming from behind them.
There, her answer. She paused and strained her ears, swinging back towards the long hallway theyād been running down. The sound of footfalls, armor chuffing together, and Tevinter cries rallying them together. If she could do anything here, itād be holding them off. A hand drew back into her quiver. Her fingers groped in the air, once, twice, and fell back to her sides. None left. She supposed she couldnāt be that lucky. She huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders. She shouldered her bow, and pulled her rapier free from its scabbard before stepping back up the slope, eyes trained on the approaching figures.
Lia had only just freed Amalia from where she'd fallen, the elf's bow slung over her shoulders so she could help her mentor with both hands. "Astraia!" she called desperately. "A healing spell, anything! Now!"
The elven healer had been trying to ascertain Ves's state, but she looked up in time to grab her staff, conjuring a hasty healing spell for Amalia. She couldn't even know what the damage was, but it would have to do. The elves were caught between defending themselves from Marcus and engaging the Venatori that had begun attacking their rear. It was chaos.
The slabs were still coming in much too close for comfort. Together, Cyrus and Harellan blasted one of them out of the air, chunks of stone and debris raining down on all of them. Cyrus used the opportunity to get to Amalia's side with a streak of blue light, assisting the others in picking her up off the ground by the collar of her black armor and pressing a blue-lit hand to the back of her shoulder. Zahra knew he was no healer, not really, but at this point no doubt whatever help he could give Astraia would be better than nothing.
āCan you still fight?" He asked Amalia loudly enough for Zahra to hear. Whatever the response was, it wasn't nearly as audible, but it must have satisfied him, because he nodded and stepped away from her, gesturing quickly to Lia as well. The three of them sprinted for the ridge where Marcus had disappeared; Cyrus waved both hands as he ran, picking up several of the slabs that had fallen and reassembling them into a hasty, thinner replica of the staircase the magister had taken.
Neither Amalia nor Lia wasted the opportunity, flying up the staircase as fast as their feet could carry them, then disappearing over the lip of the ridge to whatever lay above.