It was like coming home. The distractions that made moral judgments difficult burned away in the glorious certitude that pulsed from Angul. There was right and there was wrong-no extenuating circumstances, no means to an end, and no second chances. Not even for Angul's wielder. As always, the blade singed her hands and sent a thread of agony through her mind. The pain was her punishment for the alcohol blurring her brain and thinning her blood. If she were not the wielder and sole gateway through which Angul could affect the world, her punishment would have been harsher. But it was this pain, and the toxic effects of the whisky, that allowed Kiril to retain the least thread of herself when she had Angul in hand. Sometimes. Kiril raised the Blade Cerulean, and his white light doubled, then redoubled again, shedding light like the day in all directions. Her lips moved, but Angul's words formed in her mouth. Angul said, "We do not suffer abominations." In the light of the blade's radiance, the creature was undeterred and continued its advance. One of the intruder's free-floating glyphs flared purple and darted forward, striking Kiril.
It struck her with the force of an iron mallet, then shattered, used up. But Angul helped her bear the pain stoically and without flinching. The creature was wrong, and would be dealt with. Its sorcerous attacks couldn't be allowed to deter justice. The elf charged, bringing her blade around to slice the creature's head from its shoulders. One of the floating sigils interposed itself and flared on contact with Angul's steel. The sigil shattered, but in so doing, Kiril's blow was blocked. Kiril counted ten more floating sigils. Her strategy was simple. She would target each sigil individually, until she had destroyed every last one of the intruder's protective glyphs.
Then she would slay it, without hindrance. The elf set to work, hacking at the creature's floating glyphs even as it flowed forward to threaten the insensate dwarf. Each of Kiril's swings smashed another defending sigil, and the air was aglow with violet motes and crunching sounds akin to plates being shattered on the floor, one after another.
A remote voice clamored for Kiril's attention. It was a wisp, a filament, but she was able to discern its message: She would not be able to destroy all the sigils before the creature fell atop Thormud.
What of it? The creature was an abomination, and had to be destroyed.
To take any other action jeopardized doing what was right. Besides, the dwarf had much to answer for, and in other circumstances might face Angul's wrath. It did not concern anyone… The faint voice yelled, No! Listen, you motherless-son-of-steel! I am the wielder-you are the blade! Are you sure? Kiril felt like herself, only better, righteous, and perfect in her resolve… The portion of Kiril that was concerned with Thormud's welfare gathered into a knot, then launched itself against Angul's surety of purpose. If Thormud were attacked in his defenseless state-there would be consequences.
Consequences? What of it? Let us not worry. We do what is right, no matter. Too much thinking is an excuse to avoid doing what must be done! Damn it, consequences matter! Grunting with effort against her own misfiring muscles, she feinted with the blade at a sigil, but at the last moment deflected her thrust so that the shining length of steel sliced deeply into the creature. The Blade Cerulean found solid, yielding flesh in what had seemed a completely immaterial foe. The creature screeched. Angul had hurt it-the blade's blessed hunger found vulnerable flesh even in ghostly tissue. The intruder trained its fiery eyes on her, forgetting its goal of reaching the dwarf. All but one of the sigils shot at her, and flensed her skin like tiny knives.
Kiril knew pain, then pain redoubled. The shock jerked Kiril back to her right mind, even as smoke curled up from her skin in numerous spots where she'd been struck. Angul's unwavering holy conviction kept her on her feet, barely. The sword was only as effective as his wielder-he spent some of his hoarded power to send a healing current through her limbs. The intruding creature turned and flowed back toward the bluff top, where inviolate darkness remained. With only a single floating glyph, which looked more like a chunk of purple crystal than a glyph, it was defenseless and declawed. Kiril stormed up behind it and plunged Angul down upon the trailing edges of the creature's filmy flesh. The blade pierced ectoplasm and earth and pinned the creature in place. Before she could think any more about it, she pulled her hands away from the hilt, breaking contact. As always, the withdrawal was instant and retributive. When the spastic pain had eased, Kiril rolled into a sitting position. The intruder was gone. The darkness that had crowned the bluff's summit was gone, too.
The last undestroyed glyph that had orbited the creature lay in the earth, a dead piece of crystal. Angul was still stuck in the earth, tip down, a few yards from the dead crystal. Angul smoldered, sending a tendril of pure white smoke skyward-she could imagine his fury at being sheathed in unconsecrated soil, like any common blade. Kiril allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Thormud snored nearby.
His color had returned to his face. Xet, the coward, was curled up like a cat on the dwarf's chest. The destrier, without anyone to command it, had not moved. The plain before them was otherwise empty.
Kiril stood and dusted herself off. She moved to the dwarf's side and shook him. Thormud's eyes shuttered open immediately. His expression was a question. Kiril helped the dwarf to his feet. The geomancer pointed at Angul. "What is wrong with your sword? I've never seen it smoke like that." He paused, then asked, "What happened?" "That ghost-bastard you summoned…" "I didn't summon it! It followed me."
"It came because of you, right? It knocked you cold, but I nicked it with Angul. It turned on me and tried to do the same." Thormud said, his voice low, "It bested me as if I were nothing. Thank you for banishing it where I could not." "You know how it is when I have my sword drawn. Nothing that sheet-wearing bastard threw at me mattered."
"How exactly did you dispatch it?" Thormud picked up his selenite rod as he spoke. Kiril shrugged. "Once it expended all its little floating friends, I pinned it to the dirt with Angul." The elf pointed to the simmering sword. "After that, it faded, I guess." "You guess?" The elf turned without answering and withdrew a pair of black silk gloves she kept folded in her belt. She pulled on the gloves while studying Angul. With her hands covered, she grasped the sword's hilt and jerked him free of the earth. Kiril studied Angul's inlay-"Keeper of the Cerulean Sign" in star elf script-then jammed him into his white leather sheath. Kiril didn't like being questioned by Thormud-she didn't know the answers. When she was one with the righteous blade, she was not tormented or put upon. Why not pull him out again and tell Thormud what she thought of his stupid stunt of luring the creature out of the netherworld in the first place? Her hand reached, but instead of grasping Angul's hilt, she pulled out her flask, spun off the cap, and knocked one back. Better.
Sighing, the dwarf bent to study the ground where Kiril had pinned their attacker. He ran his fingers through the dirt, scooped up a palmful of grains, and let them fall, one at a time, his expression intent. Thormud shook his head. "The attack was too quick for the earth to recall." He ascended to the bluff top and repeated his actions, but they proved no more fruitful. Kiril watched, scowling at Xet, who flew intricate, probably meaningless patterns in the air above its master's head. Thormud paused, scratching his beard. A new thought struck him. "Xet! Bring me the big map!" "Find something?"