Yodren sat up with a sharp gasp, his hand seeking the gash from which his life had leaked – and finding nothing but a hole in his tunic. “Yonfi?” he croaked.
Yonfi opened his eyes, shrieked, and fell into the arms of his brother, who was still bewildered as to what had happened. But when he slowly got to his feet, with Yonfi clinging on him as if they shared a heart, he saw the viscera on the ground, and then his eyes strayed over to the remains of Velius and his terrified warriors, who stared at him and muttered, “He’s alive! He’s alive!” while retreating further away.
No one needed say anything, for it was now obvious to everyone – even to Yonfi, who had just witnessed the resurrection of his brother brought about by the mere touch of his tears – that they stood before the manifestation (no matter how unlikely) of a legend, to whose side Yern and the Seers instantly gravitated in silent awe.
Yet the Scavengers, despite their evident fear, didn’t seem quite ready to lay down their arms and flee. After all, they’d been promised a life of plenty, a home inside the Castle, and all the comforts they’d been forever denied. And though they had been rendered headless, they couldn’t surrender this dream of an easy, dignified existence – not yet. So they lingered in aggressive indecision, weapons still raised and faces flushed with enmity, eyeing the little boy who was Royen and wondering how many of them would have to die before they could subdue both him and his handful of fighters.
It could have been a vicious battle, and quite possibly a losing one for the three Kobolds and the Seers – for how many times and how successfully could Yonfi raise them after they’d been slashed and smashed over and over, while being simultaneously beset by hundreds of wrathful men and women thirsty for his immortal blood?
But the battle wasn’t meant to happen, for just as the Scavengers were bolstering themselves for the attack, the Monster came down from the sky.