The lamia disappeared.

  Instead of chasing her, Kel rushed to Vanessa, even though he had no idea what he could possibly do. Her face was wax-pale, her breathing barely there. Blood soaked through her clothes and spread across the dirt beneath her.

  “Neimar! Over here!” Kel shouted, desperately hoping the young healer would hear him.

  He scanned her condition. She was closer to dead than alive. The lamia had turned her insides into a shredded, bloody mess.

  And there was nothing – absolutely nothing–he could do.

  Neimar burst from the trees. One look at the scene was enough. Without a word, he dropped to his knees beside Vanessa. The usual uncertainty on his face vanished, replaced by sharp, unwavering focus.

  A faint golden light gathered above the healer’s palms. After a moment, Neimar started pulling potions from his inventory one after another. He drank a few himself, then poured the rest between Vanessa’s lips.

  “It’s not working,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Even a real healer would barely stand a chance here… and I’m just an apprentice.”

  The potions ran out. Neimar’s mana was almost gone as well. Kel could see his numbers dwindling with every second. Sweat rolled down the healer’s forehead, his hands beginning to shake.

  “Do you know what to do?”

  “I’m a theorist, remember?”

  Kel asked again, more firmly this time.

  “Do you know or not?”

  “I do. But I’d need ten times more power than I have. I’m completely useless here.”

  “Then if you know–do it.”

  A foolish decision. Borderline suicidal.

  Kel placed a hand on Neimar’s shoulder and released a stream of mana into him.

  The dark archmage had once shared his power with all his subordinates, acting as a living source for them. That was why Kel knew–transferring mana was possible.

  Neimar stared at him, eyes wide with shock. But he didn’t say a word–just turned back to the healing.

  Good. Kel had no desire to lie or make excuses right now.

  Vanessa clung to life.

  Neimar healed.

  Kel fed him mana.

  Half an hour passed like that.

  At last, the golden glow faded, and Neimar let out a long breath.

  “She’s stable. Well… stable enough. She’ll live.”

  Then he simply dropped to the ground beside her and lay on his back, staring up at the sky. He didn’t look much better than Vanessa.

  The scan showed that Vanessa really was better.

  Now he just had to figure out what to do next.

  Neimar spoke unexpectedly.

  “Kel, listen…”

  So–not the formal Kelmir anymore. Just Kel. Friendly. Simple.

  “I’m going to ask one question, and then I won’t ask anything else. Deal? Can we get help at the Alliance camp?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. The Alliance was gathering forces to fight the archmage. That means there should be plenty of top-class healers there. They’ll definitely get Lady Vanessa back on her feet.”

  Kel rubbed a hand over his eyes.

  “Neimar… are you sure you don’t want to ask anything else?”

  “No. You decided to help a wounded companion. For now, that’s enough for me.”

  Enough for him.

  Just like that.

  Trust was a dangerous thing–especially when placed in the wrong person. Kel knew that better than anyone. One careless word, one curious question, and the entire fragile disguise he’d built could shatter.

  And yet Neimar had chosen not to ask.

  The kid had impressive self-control. Kel wasn’t sure he would have resisted digging for every possible answer in the same situation. If their roles were reversed, he would have already prepared a list of questions–and a few escape routes.

  “Then let’s go,” Kel said at last. “If we wait any longer, the cart will leave without us.”

  When Kel stepped out of the forest with Vanessa in his arms, the farmer who had been driving them let out a heavy sigh.

  “I told the lady these parts were dangerous. And when there’s noise like that, you don’t run toward it–you hide as best you can.”

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  “She doesn’t listen to anyone,” Kel muttered.

  He laid Vanessa down in the cart, helped Neimar climb in after her, and told the farmer to drive as fast as possible. No stops.

  Vanessa’s family name truly worked miracles. Healers were found in the camp almost instantly.

  “Impeccable work,” one of them said to Neimar, clearly impressed. “How is it you haven’t been invited to the Tower yet?”

  “I’ve sent several applications,” Neimar replied, a little awkwardly. “Never got an answer.”

  “I’ve always said your arrogance would get you nowhere,” another healer chimed in. He was dressed in the robes of the Temple of the Silver-Hand. Turning to Neimar, he added,

  “You should come to us instead. We’d welcome you with open arms.”

  And those will be the only arms the poor guy ever gets in this life, Kel thought.

  He barely paid attention to their half-joking exchange – until someone asked:

  “But how did you get that much mana for the treatment?”

  “I had mana recovery potions,” Neimar answered. “Healer Ingis gave them to me. You might have heard of him?”

  Not a single lie – and yet not a shred of truth either. Neimar really did have potential.

  The mention of Ingis unsettled the healers. They exchanged glances and their faces darkened.

  “I see. I’m surprised he didn’t come here himself the moment the archmage was killed.”

  Kel decided this was a perfect chance to learn a little more about the former royal healer. He began carefully:

  “I heard he used to serve at the royal court before retiring. What does he have to do with the archmage?”

  The healers exchanged glances again. The one from the Temple of the Silver-Hand answered.

  “He really did serve the local king. The best of the best. Could heal anything short of death itself. And he had a talented son, too. Unlike his father, though, the boy wasn’t a healer – he was a mage.

  But something went wrong, and he failed the Tower’s trial. With Ingis’s status and wealth, the son could have lived comfortably without worrying about a thing. Only… without magic, he didn’t want to live at all. So he found another way to gain power without the Tower. Can you guess what that way was?”

  Kel figured it out. Judging by Neimar’s sharp intake of breath, he had too.

  “That’s right. Ingis’s son entered the service of the dark archmage. Only out of deep respect for Ingis’s loyal years of service was he not executed as a traitor’s relative. They simply exiled him far away instead. He was incredibly lucky.”

  Well then. The situation with the healer was starting to make sense. But Kel decided to keep his guesses to himself for now.

  Neimar looked utterly shaken.

  “But why execute him at all? He didn’t do anything–unlike his son!”

  The temple healer shrugged.

  “That’s the law. Anyone who associates with an apostate–and their entire family–is to be put to death. Perhaps, when the law was written, they hoped the thought of one’s relatives would prevent reckless choices.

  And laws can’t be broken by anyone. Except, of course, the kings who make them.”

  Kel barely managed not to laugh. That would have been wildly inappropriate. Instead, he stepped out of the healers’ tent, muttering that he needed a bit of fresh air.

  Kel stepped out of the healers’ tent, needing a breath of fresh air. Inside, the mixture of potions had been almost overwhelming, so the cool evening breeze was a relief.

  In this part of the camp, besides the healers themselves, there were soldiers who had been injured during the castle assault. Those with minor wounds–or those on the mend–had stepped out of the tents and were entertaining themselves however they could. They talked, argued, and shared all sorts of stories. Most often, though, they played cards or rolled dice.

  Kelmir leaned against a post, watching them quietly. For the first time in days, he could just observe without having to act, plan, or fight.

  One of the soldiers playing dice waved at Kel, inviting him to join their group. He probably mistook him for one of them. Kel shook his head and made a gesture meaning, “Sorry, my pockets are empty.” The soldier immediately lost interest.

  As for “not planning to,” Kel admitted he had been a bit optimistic. He needed to figure out his next steps–fast. At least Vanessa would be fine, and that was something. And as harsh as it might sound, he was glad she wouldn’t be present during the ritual with magic. He was certain he wouldn’t get the same understanding from her as he did from Neymar.

  But the healer couldn’t perform the severing ritual alone. And Neymar was utterly drained – completely spent – and couldn’t do anything for the moment.

  Kel could almost feel time slipping through his fingers.

  The Lamia wasn’t in the camp. Naturally, after their clash, she hadn’t returned. But she also hadn’t left the Wastelands. That was good news. The thought of chasing her across the entire continent did not appeal to Kel in the slightest.

  The even better news: during their encounter in the clearing, she had used only a fraction of her power. Apparently, she was careful not to draw the attention of the magical threads. That meant he could stick to the original plan–just… postpone it a little.

  Kel’s attention shifted back to the players. Something strange was happening. One of them had rolled double sixes five times in a row. Naturally, suspicions of cheating arose. Kel looked at the man and detected no trace of mana–so it was just sleight of hand. Still… how reckless.

  The argument at the table was on the verge of turning into a fight, so Kel decided to step aside. None of this was his business.

  “Hey, wait up!” someone called from the table.

  “I’m not playing,” Kel said again.

  “You don’t have to. Just help us settle a dispute. This guy”–a man pointed at the supposed cheater–“claims he’s just lucky. That it could happen to anyone. We’ve all played with him, so we have a stake. You haven’t. Just roll the dice five times, and we’ll see the results. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

  The man’s gaze didn’t bode well for the “lucky” player.

  Kel actually felt a little sorry for him. They’d probably beat him half to death–or worse. No one liked cheaters.

  He picked up the dice. Completely ordinary, with no hidden weights. He looked at the “lucky” player again. His eyes were terrified, wide with fear.

  Kel shook the cup and tossed the dice onto the table. Two sixes.

  The table went silent. The “lucky” player’s eyes widened, sweat beading on his forehead. Nobody moved.

  I could demand he return his ill-gotten winnings and swear never to cheat again, Kel thought as he threw the dice.

  Each time, the numbers landed perfectly. Two sixes in a row. Over and over.

  Kel wasn’t sure the man was guilty. He didn’t want to ruin his life. Probably foolish, but he couldn’t care less.

  He threw the dice for the fifth time. Adjusting their trajectory mid-air, he made sure they would land on the desired sides.

  The dice froze in midair. The very air thickened, filling with a white mist. The people around him stilled. Kel couldn’t feel their breathing, nor their pulse. Time itself had stopped.

  Green sparks danced in the fog. One by one, they formed shifting silhouettes: a man, an old woman, children – until a female figure stood before him. Her face was gone, replaced by a smooth, featureless mask.

  Horror washed over Kel. He realized he couldn’t move.

  The woman reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek.

  “I CANNOT RECOGNIZE YOU. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHICH OF THEM YOU ARE. INCORRECT DATA.”

  Her fingers were ice-cold, burning his skin as if searing it.

  “TOO LITTLE TIME. I HAVE NONE. YOU HAVE NONE. UNDERSTAND WHO YOU ARE.”

  The cold seared through him. Kel felt like he would lose his mind if the woman didn’t remove her hand.

  Darkness crept into his vision.

  “UNDERSTAND WHO YOU ARE.”