Asher didn't hesitate. He ran to Henry, his shoes slipping on the dewy grass, and slid to his knees besides Wade, sending drops of mud every which way.

"Move over," he told Wade, surprised at how calm he sounded. He'd never done this before, and didn't want his friend to get hurt.

"I don't--that man--"

"Move!"

Wade looked at Asher for a moment, his face flashing between confusion and sorrow, and then moved backwards. Asher would never be able to explain the gratitude that rushed through him as he saw just how much trust was flickering in the boy's eyes.

He returned his attention to Henry. The man had a deep gash in the back of his head and another on his side. Asher had never seen so much blood. Taking a deep breath, he wrestled with the magic, which was about to explode along with all the emotions raging inside him. Then he placed his hands over the blacksmith and poured the magic into Henry, telling it to heal his wounds.

A white radiance engulfed Asher's arms, and the edges of the lacerations began to close. Asher watched, amazed, as Henry's skin slowly knitted together and became whole once more. When it was finished, Asher carefully examined the smith. He was breathing evenly, but still unconscious. A measure of blood had returned to his face.

Sick with relief, Asher sat back heavily. Wade rushed to his father's side and gazed at him for a moment before turning back to Asher.

"You're a magic-user."

Asher nodded wearily.

"You need to get out of here before he comes back."

"I'm not leaving you both." Wade opened his mouth to protest, but Asher interrupted him. "What happened?"

An intense look of guilt crossed over Wade's face. "The Valkir came by and asked for you. I said you weren't here. I didn't realize what . . . Then he started walking to the house; somehow he seemed to know where it was. Father tried to stop him . . ." He hung his head. "I should've done something. When I saw the explosion--"

"He would have killed you," Asher said, shaking his head. "The best thing you could've done was stay out of his way and help your father."

He stood up unsteadily and pressed a hand to his spinning head. "We need to move. I think I can teleport us--that's how I got here so fast." He chose not to mention that the energy it would take from him would likely cause him to pass out.

Wade got to his feet. "Okay, but--" His face paled as he noticed something behind Asher. He took a step backwards, his hands curling into fists. "Ash. Run."

Asher knew what Wade had seen. He felt a bleak smile tug at his lips. So this was what gallows humor felt like. "What did I just tell you? I'm not leaving."

As he spoke, he used magic to push Henry's limp body behind a nearby tree, where he would be protected from whatever was about to happen. "Take him and get to Aleran; I can hold the Valkir off."

Wade rolled his eyes. "If you won't do the sensible thing and get out of here, I won't, either."

Asher could feel the invisible bindings starting to wrap around his body. With a growl of frustration, he raised an arm and bodily lifted Wade into the air, who yelped and struggled fiercely.

"Go," he whispered, throwing as much urgency he could into the word. "Please." He threw Wade towards his father. The boy crashed against the ground, scrambled to his feet, and turned around to glare at Asher. He took a step forward, but stopped. A pained look in his eyes, he grabbed Henry's arm and disappeared into the shadows.

The world darkened; Asher would have fallen if not for the force holding him upright. He sagged against it gratefully, fighting a crippling wave of nausea. This was what happened when you used too much magic, apparently. Good to know.

Footsteps behind him.

"So." Asher flinched; the Valkir was so close, just beyond his shoulder. "You survived."

"Why did you attack him?" Asher asked weakly, stalling for time. He tentatively reached for the magic, fully aware he was pushing himself to the absolute limit. He could sense the force holding him; it felt like cold, smooth metal.

"The blacksmith? He got in the way."

Gritting his teeth, Asher gathered what little strength he had left and used magic to slam into the barrier. There was a strange resistance, like that of two magnets pushing away from each other, but it wavered and fell away with surprising ease.

The Valkir grunted and released Asher, who lurched backwards and jabbed his elbow into the man's stomach. The assassin snarled and jumped back. Agony ripped through Asher's right leg, and he fell with a sharp cry. He looked up and saw the Valkir holding a thin, wickedly sharp sword. Blood dripped from the blade.

"That was rather stupid," the Valkir remarked, wiping the weapon clean on his cloak. Asher looked at his leg and saw a deep gash in his thigh. Through the haze of pain, he felt a faint sense of relief the Valkir hadn't hit any major arteries.

"I had to . . . do . . . something," he managed to say. The Valkir chuckled, which made the hairs on the back of Asher's neck stand on end. He leaned over the boy and nudged his leg with a shiny black boot. Asher screamed; the sound echoed through the forest. He tried to stand up or even just crawl away, but his muscles failed him. He was exhausted.

"You're strong, young Magi. Stronger than most."

"Magi?" Asher didn't particularly care what the term meant, but he needed to distract the assassin for as long as possible.

"Ah, you wouldn't know. That's the term for rogue magic-users."

Asher suppressed a shiver. Something about the label made the situation more real, suddenly. This was it. Seven years in hiding, and everything had changed in one day. And now he was going to die.

There was a long pause as he stared at the Valkir, who just gazed back with a slightly amused expression. The only noises were that of Asher's ragged breathing and faint birdsong coming from the forest.

"Are you waiting . . . for me to bleed out?" Asher finally mumbled, letting his head fall back against the ground. The pain seemed to grow worse with every passing moment. "It might take a while."

Another quiet laugh. "I am aware. No, I'm trying to figure out what to do with you."

"I think you decided when you collapsed a house on top of me."

"How did you manage to live through that?"

Sure, Asher thought. Let's have a pleasant chat while I'm lying on the ground trying not to pass out. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Um . . . table. Then the storm."

"That's not very descriptive."

Asher closed his eyes and groaned as fresh pain shot through his leg. "This is a pointless conversation."

"I didn't see you when I arrived at the house. How did you get past me?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Perhaps I should go find your young friend and ask him."

Asher's eyes flew open; a modicum of strength returned to his voice. "Leave them both alone. They don't know anything."

"Then answer my questions, and be truthful."

". . . I teleported," Asher relented, averting his eyes. The Valkir raised an eyebrow.

"And I'm assuming you healed the man when you arrived here."

"Yes."

"Tell me, how often do you use magic?"

"Hardly ever. Twice in the last few years."

The Valkir stared at Asher, who kept his eyes determinedly fixed on the sky above. "So, after barely using magic for years, you summoned a rather impressive thunderstorm, teleported, healed two life-threatening wounds, and somehow still had the strength to overcome my bonds. Though I will add I was not employing my full strength. And you moved two people, what, a half-dozen yards or so? That was interesting to watch."

Asher did not like the way this was going. "Yes, I did."

"How are you feeling?"

Asher let out a feeble laugh and then hissed in pain as the action shifted his leg "Does it matter? You'll kill me soon enough."

"There is an alternative."

"Not for me, there isn't." Asher relaxed slightly as the words left his mouth. Now, at least, they both knew where he stood.

The Valkir thought for a moment. "Nevertheless, I'd like you to answer the question."

Asher gave up trying to understand this man's thought process. "You stabbed me in the leg. How do you think I'm feeling?"

The assassin sighed. "Don't test my patience. I can and will find . . . harsher methods to make you talk."

"Fine. Dizzy, faint, and weak. It's getting harder to think straight. I can barely move at this point. And I'm going to die soon, so . . . terrible. I feel terrible." He shifted his gaze and looked directly into the Valkir's eyes, so much like his own. There was no sign of emotion there. No hatred or sympathy. Nothing.

He waited awhile before speaking up again. "So what now? Are you going to kill me yet?"

"It's likely. I would like to consult with Soren first, however."

Asher was stunned. "Soren? As in the King?"

"Yes. Now be quiet and let me think."

"What? Why?"

The Valkir frowned at Asher, which was why he didn't see Wade coming up behind him until it was too late. There was a metal clang, and the man crumpled to the ground. Wade viciously kicked the Valkir, presumably to ensure he was unconscious, and then dropped the metal tongs he was holding and knelt next to Asher. His eyes wandered over his friend's body before inevitably landing on his wounded leg.

"You're an idiot, Ash."

"Thanks. For saving me, I mean."

"I got lucky." Wade cursed under his breath and shrugged off his woolen jacket. He pressed it against Asher's wound, ignoring the resulting moan of pain. "Can you heal yourself like you did before? Nevermind, don't answer that. You look half-dead, Ash. What were you thinking?"

"Where's your father?"

"I got him halfway to the house before running back here. He was starting to wake up."

"What are you going to do now?"

Wade sighed and tightly tied the jacket around Asher's leg. "I've no idea. I should probably kill him." He twisted around and glared at the Valkir.

"Will you?"

"I don't know. With any luck, he's already dead after that hit. What I'm worried about is his friends. He's surely alerted the other Valkir; we should get you as far away as possible before they come."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry you both got dragged into this."

"Now's not the time, Ash. Can you stand?"

Asher wasn't sure if he could even sit up. He shook his head, hating himself for being so weak.

Wade bit his lip. "We could--"

He was interrupted by heavy, running footsteps. Wade's hand drifted towards his discarded weapon just as Henry burst into view, looking pale but otherwise healthy. The smith glanced around and rushed over to the boys, ignoring the Valkir entirely.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Ash is a magic-user. I'll explain the rest later; right now, I think we need to focus on helping him and getting out of Aleran," Wade said.

Henry knelt next to Asher. "Are you okay, son?"

"I'll live," Asher replied. "I can heal myself later."

"Why not now?"

Asher closed his eyes for a second, struggling to stay awake. "Too much magic."

If Henry had more questions for Asher, he kept them to himself. The smith looked at the Valkir, and then Wade. "Is he dead?"

Wade groaned in frustration. "I don't know, and I don't care. Other Valkir might be coming, and we need to get Ash someplace safe."

"Right," Henry said. He lowered his head, clearly mulling things over. "I think, for now, we should head to the woods. It will be harder for anyone to find us there. When Asher recovers, we'll figure out what to do next."

Wade nodded.

"Asher, I'm going to carry you. This may hurt."

Without further warning, Henry picked Asher up. He was right. It hurt. A lot. Asher cried out, but he didn't have to deal with the pain for long. As they began to move, the darkness that'd been lingering at the edge of his vision finally began to carry him away from consciousness. Too tired to resist it, Asher closed his eyes and slipped away from reality.