To Serve the Light (Part 5)

Wyn blinked. Voices from far away. Hazy shapes. She blinked. What happened? She tried to think, even as she felt movement. The murmuring voices came closer, almost understandable through the haze. Angry voices.

She blinked, trying to make sense of everything.

Slowly, things became clearer. Wetness. Rain. Her head hurt. Dizzy. And someone was shouting.

"Don't do it, Lars! Don't!"

"Shut it, dog. Filthy dwarf deserves a lesson... properly servicing her betters..."

Tha... thas nae soundin right... The haze was parting, fading. Why... I cannae move...

"Don't...don’t you touch her! DON'T!"

...Tay...

"Shut up, ya love-sick pup!"

Sounds of a struggle. Impact. A moan of pain. Tay's voice.

Within her, something flared to life. Blearily, she struggled against the weight holding her down. Something... someone slapped her across the face.

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere..."

But the slap did nothing but stoke the fire in her dwarven heart. Blinking, she tried to focus. Disjointed images flashed before her through the fog - she struggled to make sense of them:

Lars, sneering down at her, pinning her to the ground…

…Lars holding her bound arms down above her head with one hand, brandishing a knife at her with the other…

…Taylor struggling with the other two…

…Taylor breaking free, grabbing Lars…

…Taylor and Lars, wrestling…

…the knife, impaling Taylor's chest…

…Taylor falling back, a look of utter shock on his face…

…the disbelief in Lars’ eyes…

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Looking at Tay lying there, dagger sticking out of him, something exploded. The fires of rage burned away all thought, all hesitation. A red haze fell over her vision. She rose to her feet, the shreds of her bonds falling away from her hands. Lars stared for a moment, blanched, then fled, knocking over the remaining lantern in his haste. Possessed of rage, Wyn moved to follow.

A whisper of sound stopped her.

“…Wyn…”

She blinked, turned, saw Tay sprawled on the muddy ground. Calling to her weakly. The red haze fell away, as suddenly as it had risen. She rushed to his side, kneeling in the mud.

“Ach, Tay…” her hand went to the hilt, but he stopped her.

“…no…Wyn. I’ll ble… bleed out…” blood seeped out of his mouth, his nose. His breathing was shallow, gurgled.

“Tay, we need ta get ye ta th’ healers…”

“… too.. late… too… close…” He coughed weakly, gasped at the pain. Wyn winced, rain and tears mingling on her face as she tried to support him, steady him. Helpless.

“Tay…”

He tried to smile, managing only a bloody grimace she could barely make out in the dark. “… sorry… Wyn… I… I guess… Mar… in… was ri… ight… we… we had… a… bad… end…” He went limp.

“Titans blast ye, Tay… donnae ye be givin up…”

Desperately, she pulled the dagger out of his chest. In the darkness, she could feel the warm blood flood outward – she pressed down on the wound to staunch the flow, pressing down hard. She cursed that they neither of them had been armed. Even boiled leather could have helped to prevent such a clumsy attack.

“… ‘always be prepared fer th’ werst,’ th’ ole man always said… damn…”

The lightning flashed, then. It lit up his face for a brief moment. She looked down. His empty eyes gazed back up at her.

“No… no… NOOOOOO!”

A scream of primal rage and pain pierced through the night. A voice filled with equal parts of fury, anguish, and loss.

Wyn didn’t realize – the voice was her own.