Blackwand gave out some sort black flash, and the Jenoine reeled for an instant and took a step backward. Aliera rose to her feet and pointed Pathfinder at its breast. Maybe Morrolan was alive after all. The dragon, for no reason that I could see, stopped as if it had struck a wall, rolled over—something that big does a lot of rolling over when it rolls—and then came to its feet once more, and shook its head in a very human gesture.
I took a step closer to Morrolan, so I could get a clear view of his face.
“He looks dead, Boss.”
“I think so, too. I hope it doesn’t discommode him.”
Then Teldra stood up and looked at me, and if there had been any doubt about Morrolan’s condition, Teldra’s expression would have removed it.
If you ever feel like torturing yourself, playing the “if only” game is a good way to go about it. If I had heard what Sethra had been yelling at me, or had managed to guess it. If I had known what they were doing. If I had moved a little quicker or a little slower. If, if, if. You can kill yourself with ifs.
Or you can kill someone else with them, I suppose.
I looked up at the Necromancer, hoping maybe she could do something, but she hadn’t even noticed Morrolan fall, and I dared not disturb whatever she was in the middle of.
One thing I know about revivification is that time is critical. I stood there, Spellbreaker spinning, and tried to think of something I could do that would get this over with fast, so Aliera or Verra or Sethra could start working on him. My arm twitched again in its sling, just to let me know that it would probably be useful again when it was too late. I would have liked to have at least dragged him away from the fight, but I couldn’t with one arm.
Then Aliera went flying backward, tumbling backward like a seed bag without the seed, landing next to the dragon. I thought she was dead, or at least injured, but she put her hand on the dragon’s head, and, using it like a handhold, rose to her feet at once, shook her head in a gesture terribly reminiscent of the dragon’s, then turned back toward the battle.
It was terrifying to think that one of those things was entertaining the Demon Goddess, Sethra Lavode, the Necromancer, a dragon, and Aliera e’Kieron—after having killed Morrolan e’Drien. Quite terrifying. And another one was holding its own against the Lords of Judgment, against the gods themselves. I just didn’t belong here at all.
Aliera didn’t seem too worried—she raised Pathfinder, gave a scream that was so loud I heard it over the roaring, and charged.
The Jenoine noticed her, flung the Demon Goddess away, and faced Aliera.
Pathfinder seemed about to take it in the neck, but it held up a hand and, just as before, Pathfinder was held motionless, as was Aliera.
Evidently, they had succeeded in re-establishing their link with the Sea. I wondered if that meant we could retreat now, call it a lost battle, and go home.
I guess not.
Verra jumped on its back, biting and scratching at it like a tag in a brothel who just discovered that someone has borrowed her favorite gown and gotten a wine stain on it.
The Jenoine spun quickly, striking Aliera with the Demon Goddess’s feet—the whole thing suddenly looked more like a tavern brawl or a scene in a farcical play than an apocalyptic battle between the forces of Good and Evil. Aliera was knocked backward again, while the Goddess fell from its back, landing at its feet, leaving its back to us. There was the perfect backshot I’d been looking for before, but I will confess to you that never for an instant did it occur to me to take it.
It did occur to someone else, however.
I felt a pluck at my side, as if a clumsy cutpurse were operating against me. I reached down to grab the wrist, forgetting that that hand didn’t work. Before I could do anything else, Teldra was past me, holding the Morganti dagger she had pulled from its sheath at my belt.
Before it could turn around, Lady Teldra struck it, hard and low in the back.
No matter how powerful the Jenoine, a Morganti dagger between the shoulder blades will seriously cramp its style.
I guess it was the surprise, the unexpectedness of the attack that did it, but, of all the sorceries and Great Weapons and gods and dragons and necromancies, it was that attack with that weapon that got through.
The Jenoine jerked and tensed, spun around, and its face, insofar as I could make out an expression on its alien features, seemed twisted into a grimace.
For a moment that, in my memory at least, stretches out forever, I felt hope; could it actually be that after Iceflame, Blackwand, and Pathfinder had failed, that thing had succeeded? Teldra had stuck it deep, that was for sure, and maybe, just maybe.
Time stretched out, and everything took a horribly long time.
The Jenoine reached behind itself, and when its hand came back into view, it was holding the Morganti dagger, which it neatly and smoothly buried in Lady Teldra’s breast. 16. Funereal Customs
The Jenoine, having destroyed Teldra, turned away; obviously still in pain, and, it seemed to me, maybe even a bit disoriented. Well, I suppose if you’ve just had a powerful Morganti dagger plunged into your vitals, you are permitted a little disorientation. Aliera shook herself and started to stand, the Demon Goddess rose to her knees, Sethra lowered Iceflame and turned toward Teldra. The Necromancer stood there, apparently oblivious. Morrolan remained dead, but not as dead as Teldra was or I felt.
I was close to her; I took a step and knelt down beside her, suddenly as oblivious as the Necromancer to both my friends and to the Jenoine. The expression on her face was one of mild astonishment. Her eyes were opened, but sightless, vacant; there was nothing there. It was all gone. Teldra was gone.
The Morganti dagger was deeply buried in her, and still leaking blood—with a blade that long, it must be nearly all the way through her.
I reached for the dagger to draw it out of her, though I knew it was already too late. Maybe I was thinking of saving her, maybe I was planning to attack the Jenoine with it; more likely I was just not thinking.
It was hard to get a grip on it with Spellbreaker still in my hand; I was unwilling to drop the chain, and I had no other hand to use. I managed to wedge the end of the chain between my palm and the hilt of the blade, and got a sort of weak grip.
A tingling began to run up my arm, mild but unmistakable. It was different from the tingling I was used to feeling when Spellbreaker intercepted some nasty that was aimed at me—it was sharper, for one thing, and it didn’t stop. I kept hold of the weapon and the chain, and the tingling increased, becoming almost painful.
“Boss, what is it?”
“I don’t know. There’s something—”
Spellbreaker stirred in my hand, twisting against the smooth hilt of the dagger. I watched, fascinated, as it twisted and curled up and around, doing its snake imitation. I’d seen it before, at odd moments, and never understood why. Nor did I now; I just watched.
The links, already small, were becoming even smaller—they shrunk as I watched, which was creepy. At the same time, the end of the chain touched the blade, and then ran up its length in what was almost a caress. The other end, the end I was holding, was almost moving, though at first I didn’t feel it through the tingling that was still running up my arm.
Spellbreaker’s links kept getting smaller, almost vanishing entirely as distinct links, and it seemed to be getting longer overall. Was it, somehow, trying to rescue Teldra? If it was trying, did it have a chance?