I look into his eyes as his life leaves him, satisfying myself with the fact he’ll soon be dead. His eyes are wide and scared, like the others, but the draining is taking longer. He has great fight in him, though it will do him no good.
Then his eyes change.
The blaze that burned in them-the reflection of his glowing sword-returns. But he no longer holds the sword, it lays on the floor at our feet. The flame flickers and brightens, like tinder catching in a brisk wind, until his eyes blaze and I feel heat on my face. I breathe deeper but the heat intensifies, searing my flesh until I have to pull away or risk being burned. His soul snakes out of my chest leaving an emptiness begging to be filled again.
I step back, angered at being thwarted and surprised at what I gaze upon. Flame engulfs his head, twisting and moving. It is the burning mask of a tyger he wears, its flaming lips pulled back, revealing blazing teeth. The tyger looks as though it would gladly kill me, but the wearer-his face visible through the flames-looks scared and confused.
The magician makes his way to his feet and moves to the man called Khirro’s side; even he doesn’t get too close to the fiery mask. I raise my sword, ready to defend or attack. I’ll see their lives drain out onto the floor, then. That’s how it will be.
Athryn pulls him away and the flames fade from Khirro’s head. He isn’t burned, his hair isn’t singed, no smoke smolders on him. Curious. What did the woman in black forget to tell me?
“Elyea.” His breath comes in pants, a result of the flames or my attempt on his life, perhaps both. “Why?”
“I’m not Elyea,” I say with a smile and a laugh. I thought I was only taking his life, I didn’t realize I’d get to crush his emotions first. “I am Shariel, the executioner. Your executioner.”
***
Yellow and orange swirled before Khirro’s eyes, coloring the room around him. Elyea stumbled away, hatred and surprise etched equally in her expression. He drew deep breaths, struggling to fill his deflated lungs as Athryn pulled him back, away from her raised sword. The flames dwindled before his eyes, leaving him momentarily blind in the darkness. Only his companion’s grip on his arm kept him from sagging to the floor.
“Elyea,” he gasped. “Why?”
“I’m not Elyea,” she said in a voice not entirely her own. It sounded like another mouth spoke in unison with hers. “I am Shariel, the executioner. Your executioner.”
Khirro shuddered and struggled to keep his knees from buckling. On the floor between them the Mourning Sword pulsed and glowed, the light of the red runes intensifying. Dread collected in the pit of Khirro’s stomach.
“Who sent you, Shariel?” Athryn demanded. “What do you want?”
The woman laughed and the second voice laughed along with her.
“I come to claim the life of the man called Khirro, as is my right.” She looked directly at Khirro. “You will pay for the things you did to me.”
“What I did to you?” Khirro’s mind raced. What does she mean? “I don’t know you, Shariel.”
The woman’s expression changed, softened for a second, but quickly turned back to anger.
“You will pay for what you did to Elyea.”
“But I loved Elyea.”
She stalked toward them and they circled away. Khirro glanced at the Mourning Sword, wondering if he dared make a grab for it. He didn’t want to fight this woman, whether she was Elyea or merely someone who looked like her.
Or maybe she’s something else.
“Your love for Elyea was another of your ways to torture her,” the voices said.
“No. I loved her. I’d never have hurt her.”
“It’s true,” Athryn added. “We all loved you. Khirro most of all.”
He turned his head and nodded almost imperceptibly. Khirro understood immediately.
“I loved you, like I’ve loved no other,” he said following the magician’s lead.
“You didn’t love me… her.” Each voice ended the sentence with a different word. The woman shook her head and corrected herself. “You didn’t love her.” The tip of her blade flickered and they jumped back.
“I loved you. I still do.”
The woman had heard enough. Her lips pulled into a scowl and she lunged. Athryn blocked her blow with a loud clang of steel on steel and Khirro took the opportunity. He somersaulted across the floor and grabbed the hilt of the Mourning Sword, coming to a halt on his feet as the woman swiped at his chest. The sword tip scraped across his leather.
“You will pay for the things you did to her,” she shouted, swinging her sword again, first at Khirro, then Athryn.
She moved with incredible speed, her blade flickering back and forth between them fast enough they barely had time to defend themselves and recover in time to parry or dodge again.
Sweat gathered on Khirro’s brow, but not from exertion. Inside, he felt fire burn as the tyger struggled to break free. He fought it. No matter what voice spoke through her mouth, this was Elyea. He saw it in her eyes, he tasted it on her lips. He didn’t want to kill her, there had to be another way. Blow after blow he kept her steel from finding his flesh. Her skill was incredible. If they were to survive, he’d have to find a way other than by the sword.
“Why do you want to kill us? What did we do to you, Elyea?”
“I am Shariel now,” she said catching Athryn with a kick to his knee as he dodged her sword. He stumbled away. “You are responsible for all the sins against her. Don’t deny it.”
“What sins? What have I done?”
She gritted her teeth and swung hard, the impact vibrating the Mourning Sword right down to Khirro’s wounded hands.
“You raped her,” she said, striking to emphasize her words. “You tortured her. You killed her.”
“No.” Khirro danced out of range of her attack. As good as she was, he held his own, a fact that left him surprised. “I love you, Elyea.”
“I am not Elyea,” she screamed and turned her attack on Athryn, driving him back. Fire raged in Khirro’s chest but he used all his will to suppress it.
There is another way.
He focused his thoughts on the Mourning Sword, taking his attention from the fire struggling to break free. A glow began to fill the room, dim at first but growing brighter. Panic blossomed in Khirro as he thought his inattention had allowed the flames free, but the light didn’t flicker like fire. He looked at the Mourning Sword, surprised and relieved he’d accomplished what he set out to do. The black blade and red runes disappeared, replaced by bright golden light. It attracted the woman’s attention and she forced Athryn back then turned to see the source at the same time the vision spread out in the room between them.
***
“I am not Elyea.”
I turn on the magician; he’s good with a sword, but not as good as me, or as the man called Khirro. If I dispose of Athryn first, I’ll be able to give my full attention to killing Khirro. Then he’ll shut up and stop telling me he loves me. He doesn’t love me, he never has. They are empty words he speaks in an attempt to make me spare his life. Only the woman in black loves me.
I hammer my sword against the magician’s again and again. He shuffles away, barely defending himself. I see a difference in him, but I’m unsure what it is. I don’t know this man, yet I have a sense his face is changed; it bore a scar once. It doesn’t matter, what matters is that he must die.
Another thrust, another blow and his sword falters, dips toward the floor. I raise my weapon to finish him when I notice the light. Has the man called Khirro burst into flames again? He’ll be more dangerous if he has, so I face him, leaving the magician’s death for now. Light fills the room, but it comes from his sword instead of his body. I don’t spend any time wondering about it. It’s the people in the room who garner my attention.