The monotony of Lancecain’s life eventually came to an end. After having his bodily needs tended to, the hands pulling him through the darkness entered another tunnel. One that went upwards rather than sideways. Lancecain heart hammered with excitement at the implication.

It felt like he’d spent a small eternity in the dark. Eventually, his patience had run out. He lashed out with words and magic. In return, Little Water made good on her vague threats. Lancecain was no stranger to pain but he hadn’t been trained for torture.

She claimed to be one of the weaker caster’s in her brood but she was strong enough to drown him before pulling the water from her lungs. If she didn’t have the mana, or simply felt like changing things up, the estrazi had brought along plenty of blades. It was an…unpleasant experience.

The young knight hated the female estrazi but not with all his heart. The moment he stopped his short rebellion, the torture ended. He had antagonized her with his actions. Worse, he couldn’t say she had gone “too far” as he knew without a doubt that the knights of Victory would do far worse if the need arrived. Even himself.

He wanted to villainize her. Knew that he probably should. Yet, lying in the darkness while waiting for her to speak to him, he couldn’t bring himself to. It wouldn’t stop him taking revenge if the opportunity presented itself but their relationship remained cordial.

His conviction was about to be tested. Their ascension didn’t stop, the estrazi carrying him moving steadily upward. He became certain that his captors were finally willing to breach the surface. His best chance to escape was coming. He lacked his sword and armor but he had the element of surprise. After their fun below, he doubted Little Water was prepared for him to mount a resistance.

Lancecain was willing to bet he could throw one spell before they reacted If he used it right, he might be able to escape. Or at least signal the fort. They had shown that they were reluctant to kill him and slowing them down would also be a victory.

He was cementing the details of his plan when they cleared the tunnel. Lancecain knew they were no longer underground because he could feel a cold wind as it chilled his skin and tousled his hair that had grown unruly without proper attention.

But the darkness didn’t abate.

They hadn’t surfaced during the night. He wasn’t surrounded by a gloom broken by unobstructed stars and however much of the moon was visible. It was the complete darkness he’d been so hopeful of escaping.

Lancecain’s stomach dropped as he recalled the fight that led to his abduction. The fire spell that hit him in the face. When he’d woken up, whatever medicine the estrazi used had dulled his pain. Frequent applications had healed and smoothed his blistered skin. He hadn’t thought about his injury soon after.

“I can’t see,” he said in a dull voice. The accusation lacked condemnation, his anger not yet strong enough to pierce his shock. “You blinded me.”

“You resisted,” Little Water said without a shred of remorse.

That gave his anger the fuel it needed to explode. “You cripple me for life and blame me?!” he screamed. His hand flexed, desiring his sword. He channeled his mana, ready to burn the insolent lizard, and his frustration peaked when he realized it’d be impossible to hit anything he couldn’t see.

He tried to stand but his legs felt weak. A hand grabbed his arm to steady him but he knocked it away…then promptly fell as his legs failed to support him. He flushed with anger and helplessness. Lancecain was almost ready to throw his magic around indiscriminately and hope for the best but Little Water’s voice, a voice that had been his whole world, grabbed his attention.

“You have not been crippled for life.”

“Of course I have! Do you think healers can work miracles?!” There were two rules when it came to magical healing. The first was that magic wasn’t an answer to disease. Fighting sicknesses burned through mana more than any other kind of healing. For that reason, they stayed away from plagues. Most refused to ply their talents against simple illnesses, including children’s sniffles or fevers.

The second rule regarded time. The older an injury, the harder it was to heal it. Lancecain didn’t understand the reasoning behind it but it was an established fact.

The best healers could close gaping wounds and reattach limbs right after the injuries occurred but the chances of success dropped to nearly nothing after a single day. After a few days, open wounds became harder to heal and saving limbs became impossible. Weeks? It better to let the injury heal naturally than waste the mana unless the situation was dire. It was why, despite Victory’s many healers, knights could still be maimed during the campaigns.

Lancecain knew his injury couldn’t be healed. He, the man meant to be the next northern light, would spend the rest of his life in darkness. The poetic nature of his tragedy would be entertaining if he weren’t the focus of the joke.

“Your injury is not simple but it can be healed. Good Life could restore your eyes with effort. Great Life with the ease of breathing. If I can accomplish my goal of connecting the humans and the estrazi, you can negotiate for healing.”

Lancecain still wanted to put a burning lance through her chest but his anger was softened by the offer of hope. As long as Little Water’s claim about the casters of her brood weren’t gross exaggerations, they could succeed where human casters would fail.

“Your salvation may be even closer. The elf you describe. She uses magic like an estrazi and has life magic. If she is as strong as you say, she can also heal you.”

That made the young knight’s heart pound in excitement. He liked his chances of getting help from Kierra much more than forming an alliance between two hostile races.

“More reason for you cooperate.” Lancecain could hear the smugness in her tone but he didn’t comment. “You, pick him up.”

He grunted as someone put him on a bony shoulder. Feeling the world move without seeing the change was beyond disorientating. He’d managed underground as the movements had been small and he had willed himself to stay strong with the knowledge that he’d escape the darkness eventually.

Now, he couldn’t say that for sure. His shattered determination mixed with his dread and made him feel nauseous. The jarring impacts to his stomach with each of his escort’s steps didn’t help. He half-hoped he would vomit on the bastard. It was the only revenge he’d get as he’d decided to cooperate.

On the small chance he managed to escape from the estrazi and returned to Victory, the best he could hope for was the life of a servant for a long time. Months, if not years. He would be confined and interrogated after encountering the estrazi. If he managed to convince them he wasn’t being manipulated like Khan, it would still be trying to arrange escorts to Quest to seek out the elf for healing.

If he cooperated with the estrazi, he would be aiding the enemy, something he had cursed Khan for on a near daily basis recently. But, Little Water didn’t want to be an enemy of the north. She wanted to be an ally and save lives by opening communication between Harvest and her people.

He wouldn’t be helping her to harm anyone. Helping her reach Quest was more likely to do her harm than jeopardize the kingdom. Her rough negotiation tactics would not work quite as well against Lou and the rest of her house. One could say that by leading her to failure, he was doing his duty as a knight. Being healed in a timely manner was just a bonus.

Frantic reasoning to justify what the north would undoubtedly consider a betrayal. Mentally berated himself for his weakness but he remained limp in cooperation as he was carried away.