When I reached Clark’s Inn, I fell against the front door, barely staying upright. Throughout the walk to the inn, the boy felt like a boulder with ever-increasing mass. Now that we’d made it, my arms burned, shaking with the effort to keep him from tumbling to the inn’s stoop. The only thing that had kept me from dropping him before this point was his own grip around my neck.

  With my right shoulder propped against the door and both my arms required to hold the boy, I banged the side of my head against the door. Three knocks were all I could manage before the pain rattling around in my skull nearly knocked me to the ground.

  Something scrambled inside, the latch was released, and we tumbled inside. I had just enough wherewithal to fall on my right side, keeping from squashing the boy with my bulk. Pain flared deep within my shoulder and all along the wounds on my back.

  “Oh my god!” Cynthia came into my view and crouched down beside me, inspecting both the boy and me.

  “Oh my god,” she said again. “What happened?”

  Despite my immense pain, the sound of her voice, the concern so obviously present, awakened the slumbering emotional turmoil I’d fled from just the night before. I turned my gaze to the floor.

  After many long seconds, I looked up, facing the concern in her eyes. That moment nearly broke me. Tears rose to the brink, and a sob began to constrict my throat. I tightened my hold on the boy, who was now lying atop me, still holding tight, and with effort far beyond that which I’d summoned to bring the boy and me to the inn, I kept the emotions contained.

  I couldn’t think of any simple way to explain what had happened, so I ignored her question. “I need help.” The admission surprised me. I didn’t want to ask Cynthia for anything, to impose my weakness on her after what I’d done.

  “Yeah, of course.” She stood. “Clark! Clark, I’m going to need your help.”

  Only a few seconds passed before I heard Clark yelp in surprise. “Oh, dear!”

  The two of them bent and reached underneath me. They tried to help me to my feet, but I was just too big.

  “You’ll need to help us help you, my boy.”

  I let out a long breath that was nearly a groan and began the arduous task of rising to my feet. With Cynthia and Clark’s help, I got my right hand underneath me and pushed myself to my knees. Getting to my feet was marginally easier. I leaned heavily on both of them as they walked me to one of the couches near the hearth. As I tried to lower myself to the cushion, my knees gave out, and I fell. I grunted in pain as my torn flesh met the cloth back. I fell to my right side, still holding the boy.

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  The fog in my mind thickened, nearly pulling me to unconsciousness. I felt a tugging at the boy. He reacted by gripping my neck harder.

  “It’s okay,” I choked out. “Leave him be.” The words came muffled and slurred, but the tugging at the boy ceased. Then the darkness won and thought fled.

  I came to, still on the couch. Coals glowed in the inn’s hearth, the only light in the room. Beyond the faint crackling of the smoldering wood, all was silent. I lay still, my attention wholly consumed by the shifting hues of red, orange, and yellow. Though my conscious thoughts were unfocused and in the present, all that I’d experienced had latched on to the depths of my soul, telling me to hold on to this moment, to soak in the stillness. My mind, fickle as it was, betrayed me, stealing the peace.

  “Where’s the boy?”

  An irrational panic filled me as I sat up and looked about. I only had vague memories of my return to the inn, but I remembered the feeling of the boy’s weight atop me as consciousness fled. I stood, my fear for him growing with each moment.

  “Boy!” I yelled, frustrated that I didn’t know his name. “Where are you?”

  My body began to shake, my hands clenching and unclenching. I pulled my hammer from my inventory. The now-familiar feeling of the wood against my palm did nothing to calm me, but it did focus me.

  My voice hardened. “Boy!”

  The single word boomed through the dark, silent inn. I cast about the tables and chairs once more before turning toward the stairs to the second level. I stalked forward, hammer held firmly in both hands.

  “Henry, he’s okay.” Cynthia stood at the top of the stairs, hair askew and eyes bleary. I thought I saw a flicker of apprehension cross her features as she looked down at me, but before I could think on it, she hurried down the stairs.

  When she reached me, she placed a hand on my shoulder and spoke quietly. “He’s okay, Henry. He’s sleeping.”

  I stared at her with furrowed brow and clenched jaw. All that met my glare was concern and assurance. The readiness for violence that had filled me evaporated. I looked down, returning my hammer to my inventory. I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

  “He’s okay?” My question was soft, barely audible.

  “Yes, he’s okay.” She sighed and wrapped herself in her arms. “He’s been through something beyond horrible, but we were able to get him to eat and drink some. He fell asleep still at the table. I had Jeff take him up to my room.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Her hand returned to my shoulder, gently squeezing until I looked up. Cynthia smiled. “You saved him, Henry. . In the morning, we should talk about what happened to him. I don’t know what I can do to help, but I’ll try.” Her gaze grew distant. “We’ve both… well, I feel a kinship to him.” She focused back on me. ”Without you, he’d still be suffering. We both would.”

  My vision blurred, and I looked at my feet. A tear fell to the floor between us. “I’m going to bed.”

  I stepped around her and hurried up the stairs to my room.

  “Goodnight,” she said softly, just as I reached the top of the stairs.

  Once on the other side of my door, I took a few shaky breaths and wiped away my tears. I sat on my bed, tipped to my side, then rolled completely on. I still wore my blood-stained, tattered armor and clothes. My exhaustion was enough that I didn’t care about my clothes or my uncomfortable emotions. However, something did occur to me just before sleep took over: I had absolutely pain.

  ArchMage-Knight of Frost. [System Apoc] [Progression]

  [Class Selection]

  [ArchMage-Knight of Frost]

  ? WHY READ THIS:

  + Not Grimdark, I try to keep things hopeful. TRY.