Paul Kemp - Twilight Falling

Dolgan recovered quickly, released one hand from his axe, and flashed a punch to Cale's chest. The blow knocked Cale back a step but he somehow managed to finish his incantation and grab Dolgan by the wrist with a hand glowing red and charged with power.

The big man's arm seemed to explode from the inside. Gashes erupted on his skin and blood poured from the holes. The bones of his forearm twisted and broke. He screamed, dropping his axe and clutching his spell-wracked arm. Cale stepped past him, stabbing him through the side as he did.

Eyeing the woman as she regained her feet, Cale began again to incant.

Jak caught motion from the corner of his eye-Azriim. He spun to face the half-drow just in time. Azriim's long sword cut a path for Jak's throat. Jak leaped back, deflecting the blow with his short sword. Iron rang on iron. Azriim lunged forward, dropped low, and stabbed for Jak's gut. Jak barely managed to slap the stab aside, though it skinned his ribs. Wincing, he danced backward and tried to open some space to allow him to cast, but the half-drow followed up immediately. A stab. A slash. Another. Another. Jak's arm went numb. Azriim was far stronger than his size would indicate.

Desperate to buy himself a few heartbeats, Jak threw his dagger. The half-drow dodged aside but the small blade nicked him in the abdomen. If it harmed the half-drow, he showed no sign. Jak pulled his holy symbol and hurriedly incanted a spell that would hold Azriim immobile.

Nothing!

The half-drow grinned at him with those perfect teeth and rushed forward, blade high.

Jak backstepped as fast as he dared on the wet grass. He shot a glance to his right.

"Cale!" the halfling called. "Help!"

Cale was just finishing his own spell and he showed no sign of having heard Jak. He pointed a finger at the easterner dueling Riven. The easterner emitted a grunt and suddenly froze in mid-lunge, knees bent, falchion thrust forward. Jak saw that both Riven and the easterner already had taken and given several slashes.

"End it," Cale commanded Riven, and in his cold voice Jak heard no pity.

Without a moment's hesitation, Riven swatted the easterner's falchion from his grasp and stabbed him through the chest with both sabers. He jerked them free with a flourish. Blood fountained from the wounds.

Cale moved to engage the woman and Jak could watch no more. Azriim was upon him again. The half-drow unleashed an overhand slash at Jak's head. Jak stuck his short sword in its path but the impact of the blow drove the edge of his own blade back into his face and opened a cut above his eye. Blood flowed down his face. He grunted, spun aside, and lashed out with a vicious stab. Azriim sidestepped it and swung his blade in a crosscut. Jak ducked beneath it just in time and danced back, but too slowly. Azriim's boot clipped his forehead and a stab took him in the shoulder. Sparks exploded in his brain, pain in his arm. His vision went blurry and he went down, flat on his back and looking up at the sky. Rain pelted his face. He wanted to jump to his feet but his body wouldn't answer.

In that moment, Jak knew he was going to die.

The half-drow appeared over him, his mismatched eyes devoid of emotion. He took a two handed reverse hold on his long sword-an executioner's grip. Jak tried to call for Cale but the blow to his head had left him able only to inaudibly mouth the words.

He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He would see death when it came.

Azriim lifted his blade high, held it for a half a heartbeat, stabbed down-

— Riven appeared from nowhere and at a full run slammed his shoulder into Azriim's unprotected ribcage. Jak heard bones crack. The half-drow grunted and his breath blew from his lungs. The stab that would have killed Jak instead pierced only the earth beside him.

Though the blow from Riven should have flattened Azriim, he somehow kept his feet, rolled with the impact, and tossed the assassin from him with a strength that his slight frame should not have possessed. Riven landed five strides away, rolled, and leaped up. He shot the half-drow a hard grin and whirled his blades.

"Try something a little bigger, prig," Riven challenged.

Azriim, bent and gasping from the broken ribs, looked to his left to where Cale fought with the woman. Jak followed his eyes.

Without the easterner's speed or Azriim's strength, the woman was no match for Cale's bladework. Already she bled from several wounds. Cale lunged in, feinted high, drew her blade up, and abruptly stabbed low. The steel skinned her hip and she stumbled. Cale followed with an overhand blow that would have opened her throat had she not stuck an arm in its path. Cale's blade sank deep into her forearm. She screamed and as she did, her voice deepened, became more bestial.

She began to change.

Her body grew taller, and thickened. Her nose and mouth expanded and she offered a mouth full of fangs. Her hands lengthened, and her fingers birthed claws. Her alabaster skin turned darker, and began to grow ridges, scales.

"Let us begin again, Erevis Cale," she spat.

Wide-eyed, Cale took a step back.

"Elura!" Azriim shouted. "Don't!"

In mid-transformation, she whirled to look at the half-drow, a question on her metamorphosing face.

"Don't!"

She cocked her head and a long, forked tongue licked the ridges of her lips. Jak felt certain that an unspoken communication passed between her and the half-drow.

"Leave him," commanded the half-drow, indicating the easterner.

Simultaneously, each of them quickly pulled out their bronze teleportation rods, twisted them, and disappeared. Dolgan clambered to his feet, leaking blood from his side and arm. Again he had survived seemingly mortal wounds. He too removed his teleportation device, manipulated it, and vanished.

Jak, still dazed, took a few moments to whisper a healing prayer to the Trickster. The battle was over.

Cale went first to Ren. He would have uttered a spell of healing to close the seeping stumps of the young man's fingers, but in his hunger for violence he had requested from the Lord of Shadows only spells suitable for combat. He regretted that, and wondered if there wasn't a lesson in it.

So instead, he used his dagger to cut off strips of his cloak and with those wrapped Ren's hands. He then traced a symbol of power in the air with his fingers and intoned the prayer that would free Ren from his magical paralysis.

The moment the spell took effect, Ren fell forward, gasping, cradling his hand. Cale caught him under the armpits and kept him from falling.

"My hand, Mister Cale! My hand!"

To his credit, Ren managed to hold back the tears. When it seemed the young guardsman had gathered himself, Cale held him at arm's length and looked him in the eyes. Ren's face was pale, his eyes sunken. He had been through a lot.

"Can you walk?" Cale asked softly.

It didn't please him, but he had to send Ren back to the city alone. This business was far from over.

Ren looked up from his hand and met Cale's gaze, obviously disconcerted by the mask Cale wore.

"Yes, Mister Cale."

Cale nodded, gave him a gentle shake, and said, "Good man. Listen to me. We can't take you back to Selgaunt and it's dangerous for you to remain here with us. Can you make it back alone? Now?"

For a moment, Ren looked as though all of Toril lay on his back, but he rallied quickly. He stood up straight and gave Cale a nod. His severed fingers made him wince.

Cale thumped him on the shoulder and said, "Good. Go directly to Stormweather. Tell Tam-Tell Lord Uskevren what happened to you, what you saw." Cale debated what else to say. "Also tell him that I now have the entire sphere and that there's no further danger to the House. But also tell him the task is not yet done and that I have to see it through. Do you understand?"