“Wesley? You took Wesley to Laegenshire?”
Alora cringed at the anger in her uncle’s voice.
“Truthfully, Mr. Whitford, Beth grabbed Alora’s arm at the moment we transported, so both she and Wesley went to Laegenshire with us.”
“And you left them there?” asked Raelene.
“I panicked. I was trying to send the wendts back to Vindrake.” Alora swiped her sleeve across her face to brush away the tears. “The Stone Clan warriors couldn’t see them to kill them. And Wesley couldn’t shoot them from far away without a long bow. I sent one away, but then the other one was… It was coming right at us, and—”
“And you saved our lives.” Kaevin tightened his embrace. “But we must go back.”
“Go back? You think I’m going to let you go back?” The blood vessels stood out on the side of Charles’ red face. “And did you tell your father you came without permission?”
“To be quite honest, he never asked. He was only concerned with
the battle. After this is over, we will accept any punishment you deem appropriate. Stone Clan warriors are dying, Mr. Whitford. They can’t defend against a monster they can’t see. We must return so Alora can eliminate the other wendt.”
“And we will go with you,” said Raelene, placing a hand on Charles’ arm.
He looked as if he might explode, but then his bluster flew away like a popped balloon. “Fine. Let me grab my pack.”
Alora shot her eyes over to her grandmother, whose serene smile gave no hint of explanation for her uncle’s accommodating attitude. Was something going on between the two? She shivered at the thought of her uncle and grandmother in a relationship. It was too weird. Although her uncle wasn’t actually related to her at all, as she’d discovered only two months earlier.
Over his shoulders, Uncle Charles slipped a cloth backpack she knew was filled with medicines, bandages, zip ties, duct tape, waterproof matches, and ceramic knives—transportable items that had proven to be helpful in Kaevin’s realm of Tenavae.
“Are you having any head pain with all this transporting?” Raelene linked arms between her and Uncle Charles.
“It’s funny, Grandmother. Our heads were hurting, but the pain disappeared when we went to Laegenshire.”
“Good.” Uncle Charles’ voice was sullen. “You don’t need to do any more kissing, then.”
She saw Kaevin biting back a grin. Uncle Charles’ objection to their kissing was a daily occurrence, though he recognized the occasional necessity.
Ignoring her uncle’s jibe, she asked, “Where should I take us? I don’t guess we want to go right back to that roof-top.”
All humor left Kaevin’s face as he replied, “We should transport Raelene and your uncle to the healing house. Then we will return to battle the wendts.”
She shuddered. What had the wendt done after she and Kaevin had transported to Montana? Had he killed another warrior? Were Jireo and Wesley in danger from the monster now?
“I know what I have to do. I promise I won’t freak out this time.”
“I believe in you.” Kaevin squeezed her hand. “Take us to Laethan.”
*****
Vindrake stumbled backward as the wendt crumpled on the ground at his feet. He prodded the creature with one foot, observing the awkward position and motionless state. It must have broken its neck on impact. Shouting ensued among his startled guards, but Vindrake ignored them, pondering the dead monster. It had appeared out of nowhere.
A wendt could never fly back against the imbedded compulsion; the mindless creature could only attack the Stone Clan warriors until it was killed. How did it return? There is only one way the wendt could come here—Alora must have sent it. Alora and Kaevin are back in this realm.
Vindrake couldn’t suppress a giddy smile. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Thankfully, he hadn’t remained behind at Portshire in Water Clan. He could remain a safe distance away from Laegenshire, surrounded by his guards, and still make use of the poison blade.
Briskly rubbing his hands together, he addressed the guard. “Prepare to move further up the road, closer to Laegenshire.”
*****
Upon arriving at the healing house, Kaevin urged Alora to transport them back to the roof. She was still trembling as they landed. He’d been as frightened as she was, but he couldn’t let her know. He felt frustrated and powerless, unable even to see the attacking monsters. He was supposed to be the strong one. The fighter. The protector.
It was ridiculous—a future Stone Clan chief cowering behind Alora’s slim frame. If he got the opportunity, he’d replace his puny ceramic knife with a long blade. He had to restore his pride. He needed to feel useful as more than simply a companion to Alora.