A short sword lay on a nearby shelf. Haladan picked it up and drew it from its sheath. The steel gleamed in the torchlight, and Zaehr guessed it had never seen use in battle. She struggled to break the spell, but her will was no match for this magic. She could only stand helplessly as Haladan returned with the blade. He put the point to her throat, and Zaehr felt the cold sting of steel pressing through the skin. Then he paused.
“Of course, I suppose it would make a better story if you’d fought me first—the helpless servant showing just how deadly the beast can be.” He smiled, and as he did a long, bloody cut stretched down across his cheek. Teeth-marks appeared on his shoulder and right wrist, and bloodstained slits spread across his clothes. “That should do.”
“I think we can do better.”
Zaehr had been watching Haladan, and for all her remarkable senses she hadn’t seen Tolar move; she’d never have guessed the old man was capable of such stealth. But the surprise was far worse for Haladan. Zaehr saw a glint of dark steel in Tolar’s hand, and she heard the sound of a blade piercing flesh.
The servant’s scream drowned out all other sounds. The howl was deep, undulating, more beast than a man. Spinning around, he grabbed Tolar by the throat and lifted him into the air, displaying an inhuman strength that Zaehr would never have guessed was hidden beneath his flabby flesh. Dark fire flickered around Haladan’s fist. Tolar gasped and turned pale. The bloody wound on Haladan’s back was quickly healing, as if he was drawing the lifeforce from the old man and using it to rejuvenate himself. With a final curse, Haladan flung Tolar across the hall. The old man slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor.
Zaehr called on every ounce of strength she possessed. She felt her jaws distend as her fangs slid out, but she needed more than the strength of the beast. She reached back to her childhood, calling on the feral monster that had haunted the sewers of Sharn. Back then she’d been more animal than human, driven by pure, primal emotions—fear, hunger, anger. It was that rage that she drew on now, a terrible fury that burned away all thought. The mystical bonds that had held her paralyzed shattered, and she flew forward.
She was upon Haladan in a storm of tooth and steel. She felt a raw visceral thrill as one of her curved blades traced a red streak across her enemy’s back. Lunging, she sank her teeth into his neck.
Pain washed over her, a whitehhot flash of agony. It was as if she’d bitten a burning log. Haladan’s blood was fire, searing her lips and mouth. Pain blinded her, and in that instant Haladan struck.
“You worm!” he roared.
Zaehr ducked back, but she wasn’t quick enough. The tip of Haladan’s blade pierced her leather harness and dug a bloody furrow along her ribs. Blood and pain fogged Zaehr’s eyes, but her animal spirit was still with her. Beneath the streets of Sharn, she’d often had to fight her prey in utter darkness, and she let those instincts guide her now. Scent and sound painted a picture that was almost as clear as sight, and she could feel her enemy charging her, giving her just enough insight to block his blow. She lashed out with her twin blades, tearing into Haladan’s arm.
But something was wrong.
There wasn’t enough blood. Her sense of smell painted a picture, and for all the blows Zaehr had landed, Haladan wasn’t bleeding. Other smells filled the room—a powerful odor of smoke, of sulphur, threatening to overwhelm her keen senses.
Her vision cleared. She parried a blow from Haladan’s blade and lashed at his neck… and nearly dropped her blade in surprise.
Haladan was gone.
The portly servant had been replaced by a new figure—a lean, muscular male who held the shortsword with obvious confidence and skill. This stranger was anything but human. He had the head of a fierce jungle cat, and his fangs were larger and longer than Zaehr’s. Thick fur covered his body—glossy black fur streaked by bands of rippling fire. These same flames danced in his inhuman eyes. He was beautiful and terrible, a hunter from Zaehr’s deepest nightmares. Yet her nose told her that he was also Haladan. His scent was masked by fire and musk, and his old robes had vanished completely—but the traces were still there, ghostly wisps of scent clinging to him like mist.
“What are you?” she said, stumbling back and crossing her blades before her.
The stranger laughed, and his voice was like bubbling oil. “I am the darkness. I am fear and I am fire. My kind ruled this world in its infancy, and we—”
“Love the sound of your own voice?” Zaehr hurled both her knives, drawing new blades the instant they left her hands. One of the daggers struck between the monster’s eyes. The other sank into his gut.
Whatever this thing was, he didn’t have the weaknesses of a man. With a rumbling, oily laugh, he tore the blades from his flesh and flung them back at her. Zaehr spun to the side, but she wasn’t fast enough and one of the knives carved a deep gash along her forearm. The monster’s wounds began healing the instant he plucked out the knives.
“Fool!” he rumbled. “You cannot harm me with mortal steel. While I can end this with but a touch.” Black fire crackled around his fingers, and he strode toward her.
Fear filled Zaehr’s mind. But reason fought back. She was no longer the savage child. “She was faster than the fiend, and she used her speed, retreating as her mind raced. She remembered her lessons, as Tolar taught her the ways of logic and reason. Every problem has a solution. Every mystery has an answer.
Mortal steel.
The dagger Tolar had used—that had certainly caused the creature pain. Whether it was magical or forged of some unearthly metal, it was what she needed. She leaped to the side as the feline monstrosity charged at her, staying inches ahead of his touch. She scoured the room, searching as best as she could while staying in constant motion.
There!
Zaehr pounced, leaping past the fiend and snatching the dagger off the floor. It was made of a dark metal with a reddish sheen, and it felt warm to the touch. She caught sight of some sort of engraving on the blade, but there was no time to study the inscription. Haladan was upon her, and even as she turned she could feel a terrible chill as the dark aura around his hands grazed her shoulder.
“We’re all mortal,” she said, burying the blade in his heart.
Haladan howled, a cry of agony that echoed the one she’d heard before. Zaehr yanked the blade free, and a fountain of darkness flowed from the wound. The demon dropped to one knee, clutching at his chest with his left hand.
“No!” he cried, his voice losing strength with each second. “You… destroyed me, creature of dirt.”
Zaehr was astonished. One blow? She looked down at the knife.
She knew it was a mistake the instant she took her eyes off Haladan. He dived forward, his blade rising in a steel arc. Fool! She cursed herself—too late. She started to move back, but he struck with inhuman precision. His blade smashed into—
The crimson dagger.
Fire flashed and thunder rolled. When the smoke cleared both blades had shattered, leaving only blackened shards and twisted hilts. And Haladan’s hand was around Zaehr’s throat.
“You pathetic creature,” he said, lifting her off the ground. “You think to match wits with me?”