Chapter 167: Forest
"If Lucas handed things over to his brother, it means Lucas is up to something. I figured Lucas wouldn’t be so relaxed in the dungeons if he didn’t have a backup plan," Dorian muttered as he ducked under a low-hanging branch, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his dagger.
"Of course, it was your idea," Alaric snapped, stepping directly into a patch of mud and letting out a sound of pure aristocratic disgust.
Dorian rolled his eyes. "Oh, forgive me, your royal magicness, for trying to be useful," he said. "If they’re hiding anywhere, it’ll be in the forest," he added, ducking behind another tree and peering out. "Get your magic ready, magic man."
Alaric groaned, the kind of long-suffering, dramatic groan only a man who thought very highly of himself could pull off. "You’re insufferable," he muttered. "Why Herod lets you speak is beyond me."
Dorian grinned over his shoulder.
The forest thickened around them, the setting sun filtering through the canopy, illuminating the damp underbrush.
His eyes scanned the path ahead.
Dorian crouched down, slow and silent as a panther. He picked up a log, feeling the weight of it in his hands. The moment stretched out.
He swung. The sound was sickening. Alaric dropped, blood blooming from the side of his head.
Dorian stood over him, panting. "Sorry, Al," he said.
He gave the fallen mage a light kick then wiped his brow dramatically.