Steel rang continuously on steel as she and Maarkov danced the steps of their deadly battle. His technique was almost perfect. He wasted no movement at all; each thrust was placed in exactly the right spot, each slash just wide enough to get the job done without wasting strength. Shawna’s own technique was good, but Maarkov’s was like a sword honed to the perfect edge over years and years of fighting. Shawna made up for her inexperience with her extra blade.
Finally, the battle began to take a toll on Maarkov, and he started moving slower and slower, his reactions growing more hesitant. Shawna’s own side burned like fire, and she could feel blood leaking from the wound and running down her side. The exertion of the fight was taking its toll on her as well, and if she didn’t do something quickly Maarkov would kill her.
Shawna feinted with her right, a weak blow that was intended to play to the illusion that she was tiring and feeling the pain of her injury. She felt a split second of elation as Maarkov took her bait, ignoring the feint and instead slapping the her left sword aside with his own, then stepping into a lightning quick thrust aimed straight at her midsection. Shawna suddenly exploded into motion, dancing backwards while she moved her right sword across her body, sliding the tip of Maarkov’s sword aside just enough to work her way inside his guard. She reversed her motion suddenly, springing off of her back foot and driving forward, smashing the pommel of her right sword into Maarkov’s nose.
He let out a muted growl of pain as his head rocked back, but Shawna wrapped her left arm around his sword arm, trapping it beneath her armpit and rained another hard blow onto his nose with the pommel of her sword. She heard his nose break with a crunch, and that dark blood of his splattered across his lips. He reacted instinctively, pulling against her and throwing a punch at her own face with his free hand, but Shawna avoided the blind punch easily.
Using his own pulling motion against him, she stepped into his arm and planted her heel hard against the back of his foot, causing him to lose his balance as she rained yet another blow into his broken nose with the pommel of her sword. He fell backwards and slightly to the side, feet coming out from under him, and Shawna tightened her grip on his sword arm to keep it from coming loose and cutting her on the way down. His back hit the ground with a thump, and his eyes grew wide as he saw what was coming.
Shawna’s right blade thrust downward, seeking his throat. Maarkov got a hand up in time to block the thrust, but Shawna’s magical steel simply slid right through it and into the man’s throat. Maarkov gurgled as her sword slammed down through his neck, black blood bubbling up from his open mouth and oozing down the sides of his face. He lay there, pinned to the earth, unable to move. Shawna realized that she was staring down at him, breathing hard and still holding on to his sword arm. She let go and took a step back, leaving her sword sticking out of him.
His arm fell limply to the ground. He’d let go of the sword already, which lay beside his inert body on the grass. Shawna’s heart was beating with the battle lust, and she slowly began to come down from the high. Her side ached and burned where his sword had cut into her, but she didn’t feel faint, which was a good thing. She walked over, still breathing hard, and reached down to slide her sword out of Maarkov.
“I guess they didn’t teach that in your day,” she said.
She turned, leaving him to bleed out onto the grass.
****
Dormael moved forward, keeping his spear moving. The Vilth had drawn those wicked looking knives and crept along the ground in a half crouch, waiting to see what Dormael would do. He could feel the man’s magic moving through their surroundings, but hadn’t made a move to actually perform a spell yet, so Dormael held his own Kai in check as well.
Finally, Dormael let out a battle cry and charged at the Vilth, swinging his spear more like a quarterstaff. He swung high, and the Vilth ducked under, but as the wicked knife came up to slash at Dormael’s guts he spun the bottom half of the spear around and knocked the man’s hand aside. The wooden haft vibrated with the impact, and Dormael threw a kick at the Vilth, but he rolled away and made it to his feet.
Dormael kept rushing him, thrusting with the blade this time, trying to keep him off balance. The Vilth slid left and right, dodging the weapon with quick little movements, and every now and then reaching up to turn the haft aside with one of his knives. Dormael felt his magical attack coming just an instant too late, and as he was in the middle of trying to summon his own Kai to counter it, he suddenly felt the Vilth’s magic crash into his chest, flinging him backwards and driving the breath from his lungs.
He flew perhaps ten links through the air, but before he could hit the ground he enacted his floating spell, and suddenly he was travelling at just half the speed as before. He used the time to turn a backwards flip in the air and plant his feet. He felt another attack coming, and got his eyes up just in time to see another of the great stones hurtling through the rain directly at him.
Dormael punched out angrily with his Kai, sinking his magic into the very makeup of the stone, and with a great booming sound the rock disintegrated almost instantly into fine sand. It fell onto the hillside in a great cloud that was steadily pushed down by the rain. The cloud obscured Dormael’s view of the Vilth for a few moments, and he gripped his spear and thrust his senses out, waiting to see what the Necromancer would throw at him next.
The Vilth came into sight, walking slowly uphill in Dormael’s direction through the cloud of sand as it fell to the ground. He stopped suddenly and threw his arms outward, and a pulse went through the cloud as if it were the surface of a pond that someone had dropped a pebble into. The cloud suddenly began to float as if weightless, undulating as tendrils of fire snaked outward into it from the Vilth. Dormael tensed his Kai, heart beating in anticipation of the man’s attack.
Something flew at him from the cloud, emitting a squealing noise and trailing a tiny tendril of fire. Dormael reached out to try and knock it aside, but he missed the thing and it slammed into his right shoulder with hot agony. Dormael reached up to rip the thing from his shoulder. It cut into his hand as he pulled it out and looked at it.
It was glass…glass with a razor sharp point on the end, like a broken knife.
He heard another squealing noise, and sent his magic out into the air around him, summoning a whirlwind made of air and rain that tossed the little glass shards out and away from him. They flew at him one after the other, until the Vilth finally abandoned his attack and began running toward Dormael again. Dormael dropped his whirlwind, but didn’t waste any time.
He pulled power down from the storm above him, and crackles of electricity arced around him as he thrust his arm out and sent a bolt of lightning hurtling down at the Necromancer. But the Vilth was faster this time, and Dormael felt the man’s Kai cut into his own, Splintering his spell. His magic suddenly slammed back into him with that numbing feeling, and Dormael desperately tried to hold onto it, but it was no good. It slipped through the fingers of his mind like water back into a bowl.
The ground beneath him heaved upward, and he was thrown backwards violently, tumbling as he flew through the rain-soaked air and finally landing on the slick grass with a violent expulsion of breath. He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet, coughing up a mouthful of blood as he felt a sharp pain roll through his midsection with the movement. He was dazed a bit from the fall, and he stumbled around for a second trying to get his bearings.
He was near the ruins again. The stone wall surrounding the temple was ripped mostly apart by the spell that he and D’Jenn had thrown at the walking corpses, but there were remnants of the large rocks used to create it lying here and there, and in places the wall was still intact. Dormael put one hand on it as he steadied himself, looking back down the hill.
The Vilth was walking slowly towards him, feet slipping slightly in the grass as he steadily climbed the low grade. Dormael’s spear was lying near his foot. He hadn’t realized that he’d dropped it during the fall, but he was happy to see
it. He calmed his mind and reached once again for his Kai as he stooped to take up his weapon, and the magic filled him with life.
The Vilth whipped out with his magic, ripping another stone from the wall, but Dormael lashed out with his own power and shattered the rock before the Vilth could attack him with it. The stone crackled loudly as it fell to the ground, but the Vilth reached for another. Dormael defeated the attack in the same way, but then the Vilth was on him, face clenched into a grimace as he swung at Dormael with those twin knives. Dormael knocked them aside with his spear, using the bladed end and fighting more in the style that his brother had taught him, choking out on the haft and using it to menace the Necromancer and keep him at bay.
He scrambled backwards along the line of the ruined wall, moving toward the entrance to the courtyard, menacing the Vilth with his spear. The Necromancer kept coming, whipping his knives at Dormael’s spear and trying to get in close, but Dormael kept his feet moving and kept trying to get a slash in, all while building his Kai to a crescendo. Finally, even as he felt the Vilth pulling together his own working, Dormael struck.
He planted his back foot suddenly and reversed his direction, thrusting hard at the Vilth’s throat. The Necromancer slipped out of the way, but Dormael’s sudden change of direction had caught him off guard, and Dormael scoured a long gash across the top of the Vilth’s left shoulder. He hissed in pain and recoiled from the blow, but Dormael was ready. He whipped his Kai at the Necromancer, slamming it against him with a powerful blow, and sent him flying sideways, toward the section of ruined wall they were standing next to.
The Vilth tried to brace against Dormael’s powerful attack, but it had been too late. Dormael poured even more power into the blow against the Necromancer’s resistance, and the wall cracked under the force of it as the Vilth slammed into it. Dormael held him there, split his focus quickly and Splintered an attack that the Vilth aimed at his magic. The stone cracked again and shattered into pebbles as the Splintered magic reacted violently, and the Necromancer was tumbled into the courtyard.
Dormael quickly hurtled over the rubble left in the wake of the shattered stone, and dashed toward the Vilth’s fallen form. He saw the wasted form of the man attempting to struggle to his feet, and Dormael raised his spear and yelled out a battle cry as he jumped for the Vilth, bracing for the final blow that would pin the bastard to the earth with his spear. He saw the Necromancer’s hand come up then, and felt his magic coalesce.
Dormael felt something slam into him from the side, sending him tumbling across the courtyard and making him drop his spear again in the process. His entire body felt as if some great hand had come from the sky and swatted him aside like a buzzing insect. He slid across the ground for a small distance and slammed into a stone that lay forgotten in the middle of the courtyard, bumping his head and causing stars to dance over his vision.
How had the man recovered so quickly from the Splintering? Dormael grunted in pain, rolling to an upright position and spitting blood into the grass, trying to clear his head enough to summon his magic again. His head swam with the effort, and he could feel something broken inside of him. Sharp stabs of pain accompanied each breath he attempted to take. He didn’t see his spear lying anywhere near him, and his body wouldn’t respond quickly enough for him to scramble upright.
The Vilth was reaching into that satchel he was wearing, and Dormael had a feeling that he knew exactly what would be inside. The Necromancer pulled out a small bottle and uncorked it. Dormael could see the lights swimming around inside of it from where he was struggling to stand, and his heart dropped. The bastard took a long sip, and Dormael saw it when one of the lights rushed into his mouth. He watched as the ribs beneath that emaciated chest began to crackle back into place, and the minor scrapes, bruises, and burns that he’d suffered during the course of their battle healed.
Dormael couldn’t take another blow like the one he’d just been hit with. The Vilth, though, could be near death and as long as Dormael gave him time to sip from that damnable bottle, he’d get right back up again and enter the fight. Dormael felt like his chances of living through the day had just drastically dropped.
He struggled to his feet, wincing against the stabbing agony that wracked his midsection as he coughed. He tasted the coppery film in his mouth that could only be blood, and reached one hand up to wipe it from his lips. Dormael watched as the Vilth’s eyes alighted on him, and he reached for his Kai again.
It slipped away from his grasp, receding into the pool of his mind.
Suddenly he was picked up violently from the ground, and he could feel the Vilth’s magic tightening around his entire body like some great snake constricting the breath from his lungs. Dormael grunted and struggled with every muscle in his body, but it was to no avail. The Necromancer pushed against him, and he flew backwards to slam into yet another stone, the pain of it sending white hot explosions of agony throughout his body. His vision went dark for a second, but he was able to stay conscious enough to see the Vilth stalking toward him, a smile on his leathery, pallid lips.
Dormael reached once again for his magic, but the Necromancer whipped out with his own and Splintered the power as soon as it came to him. The formless energies seeped out into the world, and a sudden tremor rippled out through the ground, shaking the very stones of the temple with a great rumbling noise. Dormael’s mind reeled from the backlash, and he was dizzy for a moment.
“You will be the first Warlock from the Conclave that I’ve killed, you know,” the Vilth rasped, striding up to Dormael and looking him up and down, “I’m rather proud of myself.”
“Congratulations,” Dormael coughed through the pain. The Vilth’s magic was constricting his breathing a little, but he could still pull in enough breath to speak, if painfully, “I’m sure the Lord of Bones will do a little dance for you when you get to the Six Hells.”
The Vilth laughed, “Oh, Saarnok will be doing no dancing on my part, I assure you. The entire world will dance to my strings, though. I’ll become a God, and you will be nothing but one of the many stones I tread upon in my path to power. It must gall you to think of it. Tell me, does it bother you to know that I will skin your friends alive when I am done with you?”
“They’ll kill you,” Dormael shot back, but the Vilth just laughed at him.
“There are so many things that you just don’t understand, little wizard,” he chortled.
That much, at least, was true.
“Did you know,” the Vilth continued, “that I can eat your power, wizard? Did you know that I can absorb your very magic, and use it against your friends? When I’m done here, I’ll be twice again as powerful, thanks to your own incredible talent. I’ll use the very magic that you hold to break your friends. It will be…satisfying, to say the least.”
Dormael wanted to say something back, but the comment chilled him too deeply. He hadn’t known that. He struggled to reach for his Kai, but it still hadn’t recovered from the Vilth’s Splintering. He looked desperately around for some sign of his companions, but all he saw was the rain.
The Vilth raised a finger and began drawing designs in the air around Dormael. He heard the stone began to hiss around him, and could feel heat burning into the very rock. He couldn’t see what was happening but he could imagine it; the Vilth was preparing a Circle for his impromptu ritual.
Dormael struggled against the Necromancer’s magic, physically and mentally. He was held fast against the stone, and could barely even move his fingers, much less an arm or a leg. His magic resisted his call, and try as he might Dormael could come up with no options. He began to panic as he realized that he simply didn’t have a way out of this.
The Vilth smiled as he worked, and even began to hum a little tune under his breath as if he were a kitchen cook preparing a stew. The scars on his face wrinkled a bit as he smiled, and the effect was strangely comedic and revolting at the same time. Dormael would have laughed if he weren’t about to be eaten, or something close to it. T
he Necromancer continued working, checking that his glyphs were all correct before moving on to the next section of his Circle, but stopped suddenly, his eyes alighting on Dormael, then narrowing and peering off to the side.
Then Dormael heard it, too – another song ringing out in the magic.
Bethany’s song.
Dormael’s heart began to beat with real fear. Gods be damned; he’d told her to stay where she was! The girl wasn’t ready for something like this, and Dormael was chilled to think of what the Vilth would do to her once she was within his grasp. He struggled against the magic, and was able to turn his head in the direction that the Necromancer was looking.
Bethany stood at the entranceway to the temple, between the large statues of Evmir and Eindor. Her hair was undone, and it was floating as if she were underwater, undulating with some invisible force that was swirling around her. Her fists were clenched and she was breathing hard, obviously afraid.
Bethany’s Kai was singing loudly in Dormael’s ears, and he was amazed at how powerful the girl really was. Her magic was swirling around her, mostly wild with the torrent of emotions the girl was feeling, drawn around her like a cloak made of pure power. The rain seemed to fall into a slowly undulating maelstrom around her, floating through the air in random patterns as it came near to the little girl. Even as Dormael watched, stones began rising slowly from the ground and floating through the air – even the large ones scattered about the courtyard. Tiny arcs of lightning flashed through the air around her, webbing through the drops of rain and illuminating the courtyard in quick flashes of bright light.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 98