The half-elf had little time to dwell on this unfortunate occurrence as two arrows hissed by his head, cutting through the air toward the cleric. Just as it looked like they would strike the cleric, a purple flare of energy erupted, and the missiles jerked swiftly, batted away by some divine force.
Roberc charged forward, the force of his momentum blunted slightly by the shifting floor, and ducked beneath a wild swing of the cleric's mace. Swiftly, he stabbed forward with his blade, finding a hole in the juncture of his opponent's armor. The blade slid forward easily then stopped, as if striking stone. The wounded cleric shrieked in pain and fell back a step.
Though obviously not as hurt as she should have been from the ferocity of Roberc's attack, she gave the halfling a penetrating look, as if sizing up her opponent for the first time. The cleric slashed down with her claws swifter than a coiled asp. The metallic blades sent sparks flying from their contact with the halfling's armor. She reached out again, this time with her hand, and struck a blow across Roberc's face. Instantly, black power seeped out from her hands, dripping like dark acid across her enemy's face. Roberc let out a shriek and stumbled backward, madly clutching at his helm.
Taen moved forward, executing a series of swift attacks that forced the half-orc to move backward slowly. That gave Borovazk time to drop his bow and charge in with his axe. The weapon whistled sharply as it cut through the air. Twice the edge of the axe bit into the cleric's flesh, and both times divine power blunted the force of Borovazk's attack.
As the now-familiar strains of the Song began to rise within him, Taen noticed that the cleric chanted softly beneath her breath. Senses honed from decades of disciplined practice caught the edge of power in the air. Desperately, he launched himself forward, taking great swings with his sword in an effort to strike his opponent and disrupt the half-orc's spell before she completed it. As the chant rose to a hushed crescendo, he managed to complete a feint to his right then slip underneath the cleric's guard. His blade sliced open the thick flesh of the half-orc's arm. She gave a shriek of pain which turned into the final words of her spell.
A column of flame shot angrily down from the ceiling overhead. Taen saw the swirling conflagration and dived to his left, managing to avoid most of the roaring flame. Borovazk, however, was not so fortunate. Taen heard the ranger's roar of agony above his own cry of pain as the flames engulfed him. The Rashemi fell backward from the force of the spell, his cloak smoldering in the divine heat.
Taen stumbled as well, trying desperately to catch the breath so quickly sucked from his lungs by the unearthly blast of heat. The misstep cost him dearly. His opponent leaped forward, bringing her stone mace down hard upon his unprotected shoulder. The half-elf felt bones grind and snap beneath the force of the blow and nearly dropped his weapon from the pain. Even worse, the red runic inscriptions upon the mace flared into life, sending a series of crimson energy pulses into Taen's face. He screamed as the pain from a thousand needles lancing his eyes swept through him. For a moment, a curtain of darkness fell over the world, and he stumbled forward, blinded by the cleric's mystic mace. Thoughts of Marissa at the mercy of this vile tormentor filled Taen's mind, bringing with them a rising flash of anger. He shook his head twice, and the world resolved slowly back in to place.
Borovazk and Roberc had recovered as well, and both companions pressed the cleric with deadly attacks, offering Taen a chance to catch his breath. The rigors of the past several tendays had begun to take their toll. The half-elf felt it in the sluggishness of his own body and saw it in the stiff attacks of his friends. They would need to end this battle soon. The cleric had been right; vanquishing her would be far more difficult than he had surmised originally. With a deep inhalation, Taen gathered the remnants of his power and cast another spell. Instantly, he could feel the arcane energy coursing through him, speeding reflexes and allowing him to move faster than normally possible. He had a desperate plan in mind-if only he could survive long enough to execute it.
Empowered by the magic of his spell, the half-elf sped forward, easily moving between his companions and ducking a wild swing from the cleric's mace. Roberc stabbed upward with his sword, forcing the half-orc to block the attack with her claws. Taen spotted his opening and launched himself forward, concentrating solely on his attack. Quickened by his spell, and fueled by the power of the Song that rang in his heart, Taen leaped in the air and spun, allowing his momentum to add strength to the attack. His first blow struck the obdurate stone of the cleric's mace, forcing her arm away from her body. The attack left him open, however, and he felt the sting of the half-orc's claws as they ripped through his armor and bit deep into his chest. He ignored the pain, and with a single cry of rage, he sliced downward with all his might.
Taen's blade parted muscle, sinew, and bone as it separated the cleric's arm just above the elbow. The wounded cleric screeched in agony as her arm hit the floor with a meaty thump. Hot blood pumped from the open wound, spilling out in steaming pools upon the cold stone.
Unbalanced by the attack, the cleric was unable to fend off another strike from Borovazk's axe. Bone crunched and shattered as the force of the blow knocked the half-orc back several steps. Taen could see the desperation carved now upon her face. She took another step back and weakly chanted a single phrase. Immediately a glowing circle appeared around her, coruscating with silver energy. The glow intensified as arcane power surged around her.
Taen shouted a warning, sensing what was about to happen. If they didn't do something in the next several heartbeats, their enemy would escape them. He ran toward the heavily wounded cleric, hoping that his enhanced speed would allow him to reach her in time. He was surprised, then, when Cavan's furred form shot by him. The war-dog gave a deep growl as he launched himself toward the cleric. He struck the half-orc with the weight of his body, pushing her outside the confines of the circle.
The gleaming circle faded.
Taen reached the war-dog in time to see him savagely tear at the cleric's throat. His hapless opponent struck out wildly with her claws, but the wicked blades merely rebounded off of the war-dog's tough barding. With a single wet gurgle, the cleric's body convulsed once then stilled.
Taen fell to his knees and mouthed a prayer of thanksgiving to the gods.
Chapter 25
The Year of the Serpent
(1359 DR)
Exile.
Aelrindel sat in the darkness of his private chamber, letting that word echo ominously in his mind, as it had when spoken in the Hall of the Masters. The el'tael had deliberated carefully throughout the night, conscious of the delicacy of the matter before them. Although the facts as they had gleaned them from Andaerean and his cronies exonerated Taenaran as the antagonist behind the tragedy that occurred, the half-elf was still responsible for the death of another elf.
Those masters who had opposed Taenaran's entry into the ranks of the tael argued that such a horrifying event was a natural consequence of initiating an a Tel'Quessir into the art. Even those el'tael free from such prejudice had to acknowledge that Talaedra's death flowed from the half-elf's presence in the community.
They had pronounced their judgment: Taenaran must go into exile.