Henry stared at Praetorus, momentarily speechless. The archer had his bow fixed on him, but even in the dim light of the cave, Henry could see the weapon trembling slightly.

  The others were still too preoccupied with fighting the dragon or the skeletons to notice this development, as the two of them stared each other down.

  Shock and disbelief finally gave way to a low, glowering anger in his stomach, as Henry slowly circled to his side, with Praetorus matching his movements.

  "Why?" he finally managed to mutter. "Why do this? Why now?"

  "My brother." Praetorus' face was uncharacteristically stricken; the betrayal was clearly beyond his usual coping limit. "His soul. It is being consumed. I must get him out."

  "And the hostages? The innocent townsfolk held by it?" Henry took a step closer, but froze as Praetorus drew his bow back further. "Must they die for his sake? Must we?"

  The archer struggled to speak for a moment. "I do not want this. But I must."

  Henry swiftly drew his dagger and held it in a ready position, as Praetorus stepped back to create some distance between them. "You know. This is the first time I've seen you act rashly. This isn't you."

  Praetorus' face twitched; a flash of anguish conveyed the turmoil he faced within. "No. It is not."

  "Don't do this. Come back to us." Henry slowly lowered his dagger. "We'll find a way to save him. To save them all."

  The noise of combat seemed to melt into the background, the din of crashing steel and crackling magic lost to the void as the two seemed to be enclosed within their own world again. Henry held the dagger out to his side, ready to drop it to show his willingness to cooperate. Praetorus' wavering bow lowered slightly as well, and Henry exhaled.

  Purple irises stared into his, their glowing hue giving off a mystical light in the dark cave; for the first time, Henry felt as if he could see into Praetorus. The archer was no longer masking himself under several layers of guarded wariness or closed caution, but instead allowing the squire to clearly see him.

  Henry saw genuine sorrow, fear, remorse. He was clearly paying the emotional toll for his actions, something Henry suspected was a rare occurrence.

  And yet, the squire also saw something else, something lying just beneath the archer's raw emotions in his eyes. It was barely perceptible, another hidden layer Henry would have easily missed had he accepted the seemingly visceral feelings Praetorus exuded.

  Cold, calculating pragmatism. An infinite calm lay completely undisturbed just behind the wall of unbridled passion, tranquil and still as the glass-like surface of a lake.

  Henry reacted with a start; Praetorus' apparent loss of control was very much under his control. The archer was deceiving him again.

  Praetorus moved, his motions a fluid blur that was faster than Henry's brain could even register; he raised his bow, drew the string back to its full extent, and fired.

  As the arrow left the bow, time seemed to slow for Henry; he could see every chip and nick in the arrowhead, the shaft flexing as it flew through the air. The arrowhead appeared to be coated with a red liquid or substance of some kind, which glistened in the low light of the cavern.

  He didn't have time to look at the projectile; he needed to move.

  The squire willed himself to dodge the arrow, and slowly, painstakingly, his body finally executed the orders his mind was screaming at him. Henry twisted and turned, stepping to his side to give the arrow a wide berth; relief flooded his chest as he watched the projectile whiz past mere millimeters from his face.

  It was quickly dashed, replaced with a dropping horror as he realized the arrow wasn't meant for him; it continued on its flight path, sailing through the air and hurtling towards its true target behind the squire.

  Rebecca staggered, stepping back in surprise as she looked down at the arrow sprouting from her chest. The lightning that was shooting from her hands sputtered out, as the mage sank to her knees and slumped over.

  Freed from its electric prison, the dragon roared and advanced, batting aside or crushing several skeletons underfoot as it surged forth. Arthur cried out, dodging out of the way as it trundled past him and Lyla, shooting straight for the incapacitated mage that had held it in place.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "REBECCA!" The scream left Henry's lips before he knew it; he leapt to the stricken mage's position and scooped her up, gingerly trying to avoid shifting the arrow lodged in her abdomen. The mage looked up at him, her eyes fluttering and slowly glazing over.

  "Henry?" she croaked, her voice weak. "Henry, what..."

  The dragon was almost on top of them; the squire tried to run with her in his arms, but the sea of bones and her added weight allowed him no more than a sluggish pace. As he struggled to reach the cave entrance where they had come from, a set of arrows flew over him and struck the dragon in its glowing green eyes.

  Praetorus stood atop the small rock outcropping, his bow already drawn back to loose another barrage.

  The beast screamed, stopping in its tracks; seizing the chance, Henry continued his beeline for the exit, but the dragon suddenly thrashed its tail ahead of him and smashed it over the opening. Parts of the cave wall collapsed, burying the exit beneath tons of rubble.

  Blast. Henry swung back around, frantically trying to look for another exit. Arthur and Lyla finally caught up to him, cutting down the few skeletal warriors that remained.

  "What's going on?" Arthur asked, looking warily at Praetorus. He switched his gaze to the limp Rebecca in Henry's arms, eyeing the arrow in her chest. "Why's one of his arrows in her?!"

  The archer was peppering the dragon and any skeletal warriors with his arrows, keeping them at bay. Henry was baffled; just what was he doing? First he had betrayed them and shot Rebecca, and now he was helping them again?

  "We need to get out of here." Henry looked at his comrades. "You see any other exits?"

  Arthur jerked his head towards the back of the cave. "The way me and Praetorus first came through. This way."

  Lyla grabbed Rebecca's arm and slung it over her neck, helping Henry carry the mage between them. Together, the party waded through the bones and towards Arthur's exit, leaving the archer to fend off the dragon on his own.

  As they slipped out of the cave, Henry cast one look back at the traitorous Praetorus, who stood with his back to them as he continued to keep the dragon from pursuing the four. What are you doing, Praetorus?

  The dragon snarled, finally backing off as the others left the cave. The voice slithered back into Praetorus' head, cold and sharp as a knife scraping against the inside of his skull as it spoke.

  WHY DID YOU ATTACK MY PAWN?

  Praetorus remained steadfast, refusing to let the voice's debilitating effects sway him. "That was not part of our bargain. I said I would get them to leave. I did not say I would allow them to come to any harm."

  The undead beast's lips curled back, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. The arrow shafts in its eyes popped out and dropped to the ground, as the mystical green flames erupted from its sockets once more.

  I WILL ALLOW THIS. YOUR KIND IS FOND OF TECHNICALITIES.

  "And now it is your turn." Praetorus looked up at the dragon, unflinching. "I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. The ritual remains undisturbed, and they will not return until it is too late." He took a step forward. "Now give me my brother."

  The bones around the dragon swirled, reforming into another score of skeletal warriors that flanked the beast on either side; the archer noted the weaker binding on these warriors as opposed to the ones he and Arthur had fought when they had first entered. Diana's incursion must have expended the bulk of its magic reserves, then.

  I SAID I WOULD REUNITE YOU WITH YOUR BROTHER. The dragon's mouth formed into a grotesque smile, as the flames in its eyes flared. TECHNICALITIES. THEY ARE INDEED AMUSING. I SEE WHY YOUR KIND LIKES THEM.

  Praetorus glared at the dragon and the ranks of warriors on either side of it. "I see. So it seems we have both committed treachery."

  YOUR BROTHER'S SOUL IS STRONG. HE WILL LAST LONG ENOUGH. The dragon crept closer to the archer, spittle dripping from its maw. I HOPE YOURS IS AS RESILIENT.

  A sudden sensation of agony gripped Praetorus; he collapsed, writhing in pain. Every nerve in his body felt as if it had been lit aflame, dipped in venom, salt poured in its wounds; he didn't even know he was screaming until he felt his lungs straining in his abdomen. He couldn't even hear his own thoughts, let alone his own voice.

  The skeletons around the dragon collapsed in on themselves; apparently, the process of extracting a soul required every bit of focus the entity had left.

  IF IT IS OF ANY COMFORT, I HAD PLANNED ON GIVING YOU YOUR BROTHER HAD YOU SLAIN THEM. The dragon leered down at the archer, the green flames blazing brightly as it drank from Praetorus. TREACHERY IS UNBECOMING. BUT I EXPECTED NOTHING MORE FROM A SON OF ASHENBOW.

  Praetorus willed every fiber to crawl to his belly, looking up at the dragon. He could see a faint line of mystical energy be drawn from his body, flowing like a river into the ground beneath the dragon.

  There it is. He felt himself slipping away, his consciousness being drained from him; it'd be up to the others now. Any second now.

  Everything suddenly stopped, as the dragon stepped back. It had been so focused on drawing Praetorus' soul that it had failed to notice the steadily brightening glow beneath its feet.

  Wyvern quills. The pain was lingering, but it couldn't overpower the satisfaction Praetorus felt from his earlier handiwork. They absorb all magic and fire before exploding.

  Sure enough, the quills he had fashioned into arrows and launched into the dragon's skull were blinking rapidly, glowing so brightly they hurt to look at; the dragon had unwittingly fueled the makeshift arrows with its mystical fire when it had popped them out of its head earlier, turning them into timed explosives.

  The dragon roared out and turned, but it was too late; the arrows blinked one final time, before they exploded in a fiery blossom of the same mystical energy that fueled the dragon. Bones were launched from the blast radius like tidal waves, as the entire cave was awash with fire and flame; the sound alone rocked the entire mountain, as Praetorus' ears popped into painful silence.

  But most satisfyingly, the stone floor gave way, swallowing the dragon, seas of bone, and Praetorus into its maw; his body still paralyzed from the attempted soul-extraction, Praetorus was powerless, able to do nothing but ride the riptide of rock and bone into the shadowy hole.