Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

He ducked and twisted, delivering powerful blows that knocked the demon back, parrying its return strikes, but even he seemed unable to do lasting damage. They fought for several moments, and instead of continuing to lose ground, the demon seemed to be strengthening, gaining firmer footing as it took Asome’s measure and adapted.

Asome saw it, too. “Brothers! Form a ring! Nie’s servant must not be allowed to escape!”

He barely got the words out before the demon struck hard, one of its flailing tentacles slipping past Asome’s defenses. Magic stopped the limb short of connecting, but the impact still sent him flying through the air.

Ashia was already moving, diving into a roll and coming up with her spear in hand. She studied the mimic in her warded sight, but it was unlike any demon she had faced before. Every demon—every living thing—had lines of power. The essence of dama’ting sharusahk was breaking these lines by striking the points where they converged.

But the demon’s lines were as amorphous as its body, growing and retracting, ever changing. She sensed a pattern in it all, but it was beyond her ability to grasp, her attention focused upon simply staying alive.

The magic she had absorbed on her initial blow surged through her, making her impossibly fast and strong. Horned tentacles came at her from all sides, but she spun her spear, picking them off.

The demon hawked and spat fire like a flame demon, but like a flame demon its eyes squeezed shut and in that instant she quickstepped around it to come from another angle. This time she made no effort to strike a killing blow, instead thrusting the spear rapidly back and forth to strike half a dozen shallow ones.

Each wound flared brightly at first, the demon’s ichor giving off raw magic like smoke from a fire. But then the loss stemmed, and the area around the wound dimmed as the demon’s flesh knit back together.

The changeling shrieked, and this time she wasn’t fast enough as it spat lightning at her. Pain like she had never imagined wracked her body, jolting limbs rigid as she was thrown through the air. She thought she would lose the spear, but when she struck the ground it remained locked in her frozen grasp. She could not have let go if she wanted.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pain dissipated and her muscles unclenched. Her entire body burned, but there was still magic coursing through her, and already it was easing. She looked up to see Asome back in the fight, hammering at the mimic while his brothers struck at it from all sides.

Savas caught two tentacles in his bola, and the warded chain held them fast, unable to melt away. Another was caught in Hallam’s alagai -catcher.

But even these seemed minor inconveniences. The demon would writhe from the bolas soon enough, and it swung Hallam to and fro by his alagai -catcher pole. Others lent their strength to the task, but they were sorely pressed and out of the fight.

Asome continued to pound at the demon, and as she retrieved her shield, Ashia could see a pattern beginning to emerge in the creature’s magic. Even this fiend had a limited supply, and she watched as it ebbed and flowed, healing its wounds, powering its blows, reshaping its body.

With every blow he struck, Asome grew a fraction brighter, the demon, that much dimmer. If they could keep it at bay long enough, his victory was inevitable.

Ashia moved back in, stabbing hard where the creature was held by the men at the catcher pole. She hacked the blade of her spear through a tentacle at its base, severing the limb. The demon repaired the damage, but the tentacle, and the magic it had contained, lay in the dirt, no longer part of the whole.

The changeling grew eyes on its back, whipping horns and talons through the air to fend off the assailants, but Ashia could see its lines of power, and knew its attention was fixed on Asome. It knocked him sprawling, then opened a jaw that grew rapidly to gigantic size.

Ashia didn’t know if it meant to bite him in half or swallow him whole, but didn’t give it the chance, accepting the lash of a tentacle to get in close and stab hard. The sharp horns tore her robe, ripping away armor plates and finding soft flesh beneath. She hit the ground spitting blood, praying to Everam that Asome had used the distraction to recover.

Indeed the demon had hesitated, but Asome did not use the opportunity to flee. As the creature roared in pain through its impossibly wide jaws, Asome coiled up and sprang right into its mouth.

The force of his leap took him past the rows of jaws and down the alagai’s throat. Ashia could see its lines of power shatter as it pulled in all its strength to heal the damage Asome’s warded skin was no doubt doing inside. Limbs melted back into the blob, save those the dama held trapped in warded silver.

The amorphous pile bucked and thrashed. Choked, the demon could not shriek. Ashia could see it losing cohesion, and knew its end was inevitable, but would it take her husband with it? He was still alive, still fighting, but even he could not go forever without breath.

Forcing herself to her feet, Ashia stumbled back in. The dama fighting around her were denied the blade, but her curved knife was long a foot long and sharp enough to shave the hairs from a spider’s leg. She stuck it to the hilt in the gelatinous mass, cutting a deep line.

The wound bucked from the inside, spattering her with ichor, but she did not relent, slashing deeper. At last, one of Asome’s warded fists punched out into the night air, bright with power. His other hand appeared, the two gripping the wound and tearing it apart from the inside.

Mouths broke across the surface of the demon, joining in one last cry before it collapsed, motionless.

Asome stood there, covered in ichor and glowing like the sun. Like her blessed uncle.

Like Kaji himself.

His dama brothers and the remaining Sharum, including Hoshkamin and Asukaji, fell to their knees before him. Ashia felt it, too. She understood what had happened, but the instinct to kneel was strong. It was only by an act of will that she kept her feet.

“Nie’s power grows again at Waning, brothers!” Asome called. “This is but the first of her kais to come. With my father chasing Alagai Ka to the edge of Nie’s abyss, it is not enough for the Sharum to hold the line against Her. Every man must fight, if Sharak Ka is to be won! My father made the weak khaffit into kha’Sharum ! The chin into chi’Sharum ! Even women, like my blessed Jiwah Ka, were called as Sharum’ting !”

He swept a hand over the assembled dama. “Of all in Krasia, it is only we, the clerics, who waited to be called! But the wait is over, brothers! As my father called others to the fight, so do I call upon those in white to join in alagai’sharak ! It is only fitting that it should be blood of the Deliverer to first step into the night. I name you shar’dama, warrior-clerics, and we will guide Krasia through its darkest hour!”

There was a stunned silence, and then all the assembled men broke out in cheers. Even Hoshkamin, the Sharum Ka and Jayan’s creature, could not help himself as he punched a fist in the air, joining the cry.

“Shar’dama! Shar’dama! Shar’dama!”

Kajivah was asleep in the nursery as Ashia and Asome crept into their palace chambers. Asukaji and the other dama went to see the dama’ting for their injuries, but Ashia and Asome, flush with stolen magic, had already healed every scrape and bruise.

There was no mistaking what Asome was about as he pushed into Ashia’s pillow chamber. She felt it, too, pulling him along with one hand as she pulled down her veil with the other to kiss him.