Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

He located his alchemy blade and hefted it clumsily. He was going to be hard-pressed to defeat the handler using the sword in his off hand. For the first time, he almost regretted his disdain for wands-he could use a nice paralysis spell at the moment, and it wouldn’t matter that most of his good arm was hanging in shreds from his bones. But the only wand he carried was simply a light source, and he couldn’t have reached it in any event.

Kyrin rose from his place by the tiger’s corpse, his bare chest slick and red, his eyes wet and furious.

“Host damn you! You’re going to pay for that!”

Greddark set himself as d’Vadalis came for him. The dwarf held his short blade awkwardly in front of him as the handler advanced.

“I told you I didn’t want to hurt her,” Greddark said. “I only wanted to ask you some questions. All you had to do was tell me why you killed Demodir. And how many others you’ve killed.”

If Greddark could distract d’Vadalis long enough, keep him from attacking, he might be able to work a bloodspike out of his pocket with his right hand, though he didn’t think he could throw it with any accuracy. The tiger’s teeth had severed a tendon in addition to several arteries and veins, and Greddark’s fingers were already drawn up in a tight, agonized claw. If he could somehow manage to retrieve the spike, he’d have to be close enough to d’Vadalis to jam it someplace soft-an eye, maybe, or a temple.

“Demi was trying to steal Gaida from me. I knew there were others, but he was the only one she was really serious about. I knew if I could just get him out of the way, she’d be mine.”

Kyrin had a wild look in his eyes, but he was moving slowly, almost as if he were drugged. He was probably still in shock.

Greddark inched his right hand closer to his pocket, trying not to hiss in pain. Just a little more time-

“So you decided to kill him, to make sure he couldn’t challenge you for Gaida?”

“No. No! It wasn’t like that.” The tip of Kyrin’s blade wavered, as if it were becoming too heavy for the grief-stricken man to hold. “I snuck Shari into town, because Gaida wouldn’t come out here. I was going to surprise Gaida-I knew if she could just see how beautiful Shari was, how beautiful all the animals are, she’d realize her place was with me, not that washed-up blueblood. But when I got to her place, he was there-he was just coming out, and I knew he’d been with my Gaida. When he saw me, he started to laugh and I–I don’t know what came over me, but the next thing I knew, he was on the ground, and my sword was bloody. I knew no one would understand-they’d think I killed him on purpose, so I had Shari drag him away from Gaida’s house-I couldn’t have her walking out in the morning and finding him there! And then I had Shari chew on him a little-I figured Maellas would just blame it on the shifters and no one would ever know.”

Greddark’s hand had reached his pocket, and he was able to snag a bloodspike between two curled knuckles. Making sure it was snug, he slowly withdrew his hand, his eyes never leaving d’Vadalis.

“So it was just an accident,” Greddark said, his voice calm and soothing as he lowered his own blade. “Of course. I should have realized that. Accidents happen, and they’re nobody’s fault. This was all just a big misunderstanding.”

Kyrin nodded, the tip of his sword now dragging in the dirt. The anger had drained out of the handler as he spoke, and now he just looked sad, and lost.

“A misunderstanding,” Kyrin whispered, and Greddark made his move.

Lowering his shoulder, he rushed at the handler, colliding with the man so hard they both crashed to the floor, d’Vadalis’s blade skittering away while Greddark’s was trapped between them. Releasing the weapon, Greddark heaved himself up with his left hand and raised the bloodspike in his right, preparing to thrust it into the most vulnerable spot within reach-Kyrin’s wide, surprised eye. With any luck, the blow would only blind the handler, and not kill him, but Greddark was in no position to be picky. He had to end this fight now, before half the compound’s population arrived to investigate the commotion.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of multiple crossbows being loaded, the clicking of bolts rammed into their grooves echoing through the now-quiet barn.

Too late.

“One more move and you’re dead, dwarf.”

Sul, Therendor 22, 998 YK

As Andri lunged at the wight that had once been the shifter Thorn, he heard Irulan cursing and scrambling to her feet behind him.

“Don’t let it touch you!” the paladin called out, not daring to take his eyes off the undead monstrosity before him.

“Now he tells me,” he heard her mutter as her blade cleared its scabbard.

Then he had no more time to worry about the shifter woman, for the wight before him was barreling forward, thick arms raised for another blow.

With a quick prayer, Andri brought his sword up to parry the wight’s attack, the argent flames burning away what was left of the hair on the undead shifter’s forearms. With a weird, ululating cry, the wight recoiled, pulling its arms away from the holy fire and flashing its fangs in an angry grimace.

Andri pressed the attack, taking advantage of the wight’s fear to beat it back. As it stumbled over loose rocks from a broken cairn, Andri moved in to finish it off. Raising his sword, he intoned, “May the Flame have mercy on your soul, wherever it is,” and drove the blade downward toward the wight’s unprotected chest.

And was knocked three feet to the side as Irulan’s limp body came flying through the air and crashed into him, sending him and his sword in opposite directions.

Both he and the undead shifter scrambled to their feet. Irulan, obviously weakened by the other wight’s attack, lay panting where she had landed at the foot of a statue of Dol Arrah.

A quick glance told Andri the Thorn-wight would reach him before he could get to his sword. Knowing he had no other choice, he invoked the healing power of the Silver Flame and readied himself for the wight’s assault.

Now that the wight no longer had to fear the silver flames of Andri’s weapon, the creature abandoned all caution and charged. As it neared, Andri opened his arms wide, as if to embrace the undead shifter. The force of the wight’s rush knocked him to the ground again, but instead of trying to get away, Andri wrapped his arms tight about the thing’s leathery chest and let the divine healing force of the Flame flow through his hands and out from his fingers.

The wight screamed in agony as the holy energy coursed through it. Meant to restore living flesh, the paladin’s healing power washed over the undead shifter in a wave of pure silver light, eradicating the false life that had animated it and leaving its desiccated skin and bones crumbling to dust in Andri’s arms.

Climbing to his feet once more, Andri saw the other wight bending over Irulan’s supine form. Willing the shifter woman the courage to hold on, he sprinted over to retrieve his sword. Recalling the argent fire that had guttered and gone out as soon as the blade was separated from his hand, Andri hoisted the flaming weapon and rushed toward the unnatural creature.

“Get away from her!”

The wight turned its head, baring its sharp teeth in an evil grin before slamming one fist down in the middle of Irulan’s chest. Andri could hear the dull crack of ribs breaking and the sudden gurgling gasp that indicated a punctured lung. Worse, the thing was draining Irulan’s life with every blow, its corpse-pale face becoming flush with her stolen essence.

Andri knew she couldn’t withstand much more. With a desperate cry, he called upon the holy Flame once more to rebuke the creature.