For a moment, Jaenor just stood there, swaying, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. His reserves were almost depleted, his healing barely keeping pace with his injuries.
But he was alive, and Vasthren wasn't.
"Impressive."
The voice was weak but defiant. Jaenor turned to see Hilda struggling to her feet at the base of the temple steps. Her robes were scorched and torn, and blood ran from her nose and ears, but she was still conscious.
Still dangerous.
"You actually killed Commander Vasthren," she continued, each word clearly painful.
"The Lord will be... displeased. That man was worth a dozen normal warriors."
He furrowed his brows. "Lord?"
"The Lord can be displeased all he wants," Jaenor said, retrieving his sword.
"I will go after him too, don't worry."
Hilda laughed, a wet, broken sound. "You think you've won? You've barely survived against two of us. The Lord commands legions. He wields power you can't imagine. You're nothing but an insect to him."
