"LIA!"

Valtherion's voice.

Not through the bond this time. Raw, physical, torn from his throat across fifty feet of battlefield.

I saw him through the crimson haze.

Fighting through three cultists, taking hits he shouldn't have been taking, burning through his reserves to reach me.

He broke free. Sprinted toward us.

Malachar turned. Raised his free hand.

A lance of dark energy.

Concentrated, lethal, aimed not at me but at Valtherion.

I couldn't warn him. Couldn't move.

Malachar's grip on my throat held me pinned, his dark magic still flooding through the connection.

Valtherion saw it coming.

He didn't dodge.

He threw himself between the lance and me.

The dark...