In a single motion, Bramin dropped his staff, drew his sword and blocked. Six inches of air separated the swords when they stopped abruptly. The motion jarred both wielders. The half-breed riposted. Larson jerked his blade upward in instinctive defense. Bramin's sword shied awkwardly from Valvitnir, as if of its own accord.
Larson and Bramin recovered together. In the brief respite, Vidarr's presence imparted a panicked message. Helblindi and I are prisoners of the same spell. A touch will destroy us both!
Conditioned, Larson repeated the first maneuver Gaelinar had taught him. Valvitnir whistled reluctantly around him and lanced toward Bramin. Bramin sprang forward as he blocked. The swords quivered, desperate inches apart. Too close for an adequate sweep, the half-breed retreated.
Drop me, damn you! Vidarr's command pierced Larson's mind with painful force.
Larson responded with a desperate thought. Drop you and die! I can't face Bramin weaponless!
Bramin thrust. Larson waved Valvitnir before his body, and Helblindi sprang aside. Bramin swung low. Larson withdrew his front foot, but the Helblade scraped skin from his calf.
Larson swore, deaf to Vidarr's pleas. Again, he sprang at Bramin and skipped back as the half-breed returned his strike. Apology rolled through his mind in waves. Vidarr gathered mental strength, dragged Larson's consciousness with him in a short conspiracy with Helblindi.
Larson's breath came in wild sobs. He reposi-tioned his sword, just in time to block a sweep for his neck. Vidarr tore free of his grip and tumbled through the air like a wounded bird. To Larson's relief, Helblindi also pitched from its wielder's hand.
Bramin paused a moment in shock, then retreated across the plain. Larson noticed the sharp sting of ice pellets on the back of his neck, and only just realized how close Bramin had maneuvered him to a fatal plunge into the Helspring. Cautiously, he came forward to face the sorcerer in the dying grasses. Over Bramin's wide, black shoulders, he saw Silme watching with wide-eyed helplessness. She mouthed a silent message: I love you. Beyond her, Gaelinar stood motionless as a painting.
Bramin lashed, backhanded, at Larson's face. The elf blocked with his left arm. Before he could return the strike, Bramin closed. The half-breed's foot kicked painfully against the back of Larson's knee, and his elbow crashed against Larson's chin. Larson staggered, recovered. As Bramin realigned, Larson sprang and punched. Bramin blocked effortlessly. His dark fist smashed Larson's nose.
Larson lurched as sparks danced before his eyes. Dizzied with nausea, he tried to think. Bramin's maneuvers came with practiced speed and ma- chinelike efficiency. Larson knew he could never avoid the blows. He could only hope to endure.
Resolved, he jabbed at Bramin's face. Again, the half-breed blocked and returned the strike. This time, Larson took the punch. Pain exploded across his jaw, but he bore in on his enemy. His knee crashed into Bramin's groin. The half-breed gasped. Silme screamed. Larson's elbow thrust toward Bramin's head. The half-elf ducked, using Larson's own momentum to hurl him to the ground. Bramin's foot lashed out, passing over Larson's head as the elf rolled to his feet.
Several yards away, Silme rolled in the grass as if in pain. Bramin's features twisted in a savage smile. His hands rested peacefully at his sides as he raised his face to Larson. "Go ahead, hero." He spat the last word in contempt. "Hit me."
Larson did not need prompting. Bramin made no attempt at defense. Larson's fist smashed into his face, and Silme shrieked in agony. Stunned, Larson did not press his advantage.
Blood trickled from Bramin's nose, but his mouth parted in silent laughter. "Hit me again, elf coward." Malice danced in his feral eyes. "Hurt Silme!"
With a cry of anger, Larson struck. Cartilage snapped beneath his knuckles, jarring Bramin to his knees. Silme howled in torment. Her body writhed in the dirt.
Alarmed, Larson started toward her. "Silme?" As Bramin rose and advanced, Larson turned back to the fight. "What have you done to her?" he demanded. Hysteria raised his voice an octave.
Blood colored Bramin's mouth scarlet. "I did nothing," he replied triumphantly. He flicked blood from his cheek. "But every time you mar this pretty face, you injure hers as well."
Larson retreated defensively, afraid to strike. Bramin swept forward. His left foot drove into Larson's gut with a force which doubled him over. As Bramin completed his spin, his right foot jolted against Larson's head. Larson rolled clumsily, awaiting a death stroke which never fell. Confidence made Bramin patient as a cat. He explained while Larson struggled dizzily to his feet. "To save you from my sorceries, Silme linked her life aura to mine. She holds our magic inoperative, but our souls are fused. Her fate and mine have become one."
Bramin faked a foot strike. As Larson dodged, Bramin delivered a brazenly high kick. His heel slammed against Larson's forehead. Impact snapped Larson's neck rearward. The back side of his skull struck the ground first. Darkness swam down on him. Larson shook his throbbing head, watching Bramin's retreating back through a veil of colored mist.
Fury gave Larson renewed strength. He charged Bramin's back, just as the sorcerer bent for his Helsword. Larson punched. Bramin wheeled. His elbow caught Larson in the gut. The half-breed seized Larson's outstretched arm and hurled the elf over his shoulder.
Accustomed to wrestling, Larson struck the ground, unhurt. Bramin knelt beside him, pinning his right wrist to the ground. Larson rocked toward the half-breed, wrapped his left arm about one dark leg, and rolled. Bramin flipped to the ground. Even as he landed, Larson reversed direction. The force pitched Bramin to his stomach, hands trapped beneath his chest. Larson pressed his full weight against the half-breed. His one hand clutched a swarthy wrist. His forearm thrust Bramin's face in the dirt.
Silme screamed between panting gasps. "Kill him, Allerum! Forget me. Kill him!"
Larson jolted his fist against the back of Bramin's skull, cursing himself for Silme's pained whimper. He released Bramin and seized Helblindi's hilt before the half-breed could do anything more than roll to his back. Larson spun and pressed the blade to Bramin's throat. The sorcerer went still. His face drained of color; his chest heaved. "If you kill me, you kill Silme, too." Bramin warned in a reedy whine.
Larson's hand shook. Sick with worry, he called over his shoulder. " Is it true} "
Silme made no reply.
Larson twisted toward the sorceress. "Damn you, is it true?"
"Yes," she whispered. "It's true, but.
Bramin clawed to his feet and ran. Gaelinar's training resurfaced mechanically. Larson struck. Helblindi's blade carved through Bramin's hamstring. The muscle curled into a ball. Bramin collapsed. Larson finished the strike from habit gained from hours of practice. He thrust the blade through Bramin's chest. The half-breed quivered, then fell limp, and Silme's dying scream reverberated in accusation.
Anguish tore denial from Larson's throat. "No! No!" He ripped Helblindi free and cast it aside in wild sorrow. Blood splashed as the blade tumbled awkwardly to the ground, and Larson fell with it. Grief-mad, he howled like a wounded animal and crawled to Silme's prone form. She lay like a marble carving beside the blade which imprisoned her god. Larson dropped to her side. She was cold as ice and every bit as still. Tears burned his eyes like poison, cleaning tracks through the blood which stained his chin. His gaze fell upon the motionless Kensei, and he howled anguished curses at the swordmaster who had drilled him until the sword figure which killed Silme became reflex.
Larson's sanity crumbled to a muddle of thought.
His fist struck the ground with a force which jarred his arm to the shoulder. His second blow landed against Valvitnir's blade; its sharpened edge slit the side of his hand. Oblivious to physical pain, Larson caught the sword by its hilt. Vidarr filled his mind with warning. Allerum, behind you!