Marsheila Rockwell - The Shard Axe

“It was almost as amusing as watching your temper tantrum in that same Council chamber. Is that what this is, duergar? My father took away your toy, so now you want to take away mine?”

Sabira cringed as she swatted another thrust away with the head of her shard axe. Aggar was using the Noldrun woman’s ploy against her, to even better effect than the assassin had used it herself.

“It wasn’t a toy, you arrogant whoreson! It was my inheritance! ”

Sabira saw Eddarga’s stance shift forward suddenly and knew she was stabbing her blade at Aggar’s gut, leaving her flank unprotected in the process. But the Marshal couldn’t get past the assassin’s second mindblade to take advantage of the opening.

“As Frostmantle is mine,” Aggar returned, his own axe flashing orange as he sidestepped Eddarga’s lunge and swung low, aiming for her legs.

An icy lump formed in Sabira’s stomach at the sight, and she risked a glance toward the fissure, only to have her fears confirmed. As they had battled Eddarga, she’d thought she’d noticed it getting warmer. And now she saw why. The magma had continued to rise, far more quickly than she had expected. It was now only a few feet from the lip of the chasm, and would soon be spilling over onto the very ground upon which they now stood.

As if somehow sensing her distraction, the mindblade darted forward, slicing a fine line along her jaw before she could wrench her head away. Then, as Sabira brought her urgrosh up to parry another blow, the blade simply winked out of existence.

“You’re starting to bore me,” Eddarga commented idly, and suddenly she was shrinking back down to her regular size and once again wielded only a single blade. She stepped back, her mindblade weaving a defensive black wall in front of her as the dragonshard on her ring began to glow. “Let’s try something new.”

Aggar jerked to attention abruptly, like a marionette on too-short strings.

“Yes, Aggar? You had something to say?” Eddarga taunted.

Aggar’s voice, when it came, was halting and unnatural.

“I love my mistress and would do anything to please her.”

Eddarga’s hideous face split into a cruel smile.

“So. Please me,” she said and then laughed as Aggar rushed at Sabira with a ferocious roar, axe swinging and death gleaming in his eyes.

Sabira settled into an easy stance, awaiting Aggar’s attack. The last time she and the assassin had crossed paths, in a cavern very similar to this one, Sabira had followed her sworn duty to protect her charge at all costs—and the cost had been very high, indeed. Eddarga undoubtedly expected her to do the same now. But Sabira wasn’t going to hold back. Not this time. This was bigger than Aggar, and keeping him safe was no longer her chief priority. It couldn’t be, not with the entire population of Frostmantle going about their daily business somewhere far above her, unaware of the danger that was even now topping the lip of the fissure and oozing purposefully toward her.

If she had to kill Aggar to stop the assassin, she was prepared to do it.

And knowing how dogged the Tordannon heir was, she just might have to.

Aggar ran at her, but instead of attacking head-on, when he was just a few feet away, he catapulted into the air. The leap took him far higher than should have been possible under his own power. As he soared over her head, his greataxe whooshing down at her from above, Sabira realized that he must have used yet another of his rings.

She brought her urgrosh up to block the swing. Their axe-heads met with a metallic clash, and as Aggar’s trajectory took him out of range, the bit of his axe slid down the cheek of hers and across the haft of the urgrosh, slicing the back of her left hand to the bone. Then he was past her, and she was spinning around to face him while still trying to keep the Noldrun woman in her sight.

Luckily, the duergar assassin seemed content to watch her puppet at work and showed no sign of launching her own attack. Or perhaps she simply couldn’t control both Aggar and her mindblade at the same time. Whatever the reason, she remained where she’d climbed, atop a broken-off stalagmite ten feet away, and Sabira was grateful not to have to battle on two fronts at once. Especially since Aggar was proving to be a far better fighter than he’d been the last time she’d had occasion to cross blades with him, seven long years ago.

Twisting in the air and landing with almost feline grace, the red-bearded dwarf had barely touched down when he was rushing at her again, the haft of his greataxe held parallel to the cavern floor as he ran. She knew that grip. It was the one Aggar used when he wanted to get up close and personal with an opponent. For, unlike a normal axe, a greataxe was double-headed and double-edged, making it an effective and deadly weapon both at arm’s length and in close quarters.

She couldn’t let him get inside her guard. Not unless she wanted her last sight to be of him eating his own eyes at Eddarga’s command before the assassin finished them both off. And before she then moved on to do the same to Frostmantle.

With her shoulder throbbing, her hand on fire and dripping, and her grasp on her weapon made slippery by warm blood, Sabira went on the offensive. She charged forward to meet Aggar, her shard axe singing as it whizzed through the air toward the dwarf’s knees. With her superior reach, her best hope was to try and harry him with attacks he had to either parry or dodge, and to keep him too busy to get close.

But she’d forgotten about Aggar’s preternatural jumps. He leaped up, over her blow, and landed within arm’s reach. As she struggled to arrest her swing and bring the shard axe’s spear-tip to bear, Aggar punched her in the gut with the spike that separated the blades of his axe. The sharpened metal tip stabbed into her flesh, not nearly far enough to puncture anything vital, but still drawing blood and an oof of pain from her.

Then he yanked the haft of his greataxe to the left, intending to disembowel her with the axe-blade on the right. She threw her hips backward, arching her back, and the edge of the blade skimmed along her stomach, scoring her armor. Before he could reverse his momentum, Sabira completed her own backswing, catching him behind the knee with the butt of her shard axe. Aggar’s leg folded and he went down with a surprised grunt.

Sabira stamped down on his wrists until he let go of his weapon, then she planted the toe of her boot under his ribs. As the air rushed out of him and he was momentarily stunned, Sabira kicked his axe away, sending it skittering across the uneven ground and right into the leading edge of the advancing magma flow.

She stood over him, the tip of her urgrosh nestled at the base of his throat. As she leaned into him, the Siberys shard broke skin. The power inherent in the golden dragonshard seemed to momentarily counteract that of the darker one on Eddarga’s finger, for Aggar’s eyes cleared of the mad rage that had filled them and then widened in horrified realization. But Eddarga would not be so easily denied her prey, and the hatred bled back into his face as the duergar attempted to reestablish her influence over him. Aggar fought the assassin’s mental onslaught valiantly—Sabira could see it in the sweat beaded on his upper lip and the deep lines of effort creasing his brow—but he wasn’t strong enough. As Eddarga’s mind once more took hold of his, Aggar was able to whisper a single, urgent entreaty.

“Forget about me, Saba. Save Frostmantle.”

Then all recognition was gone from his eyes, and Sabira had the space between two ragged heartbeats to make her choice, the same awful choice she’d been faced with seven years ago, triggered by the same awful words.