Alaric smiled. He strode almost casually as Mothros shimmered bright blue. Its humming increased the closer it came to the wounded Reaver. The sword practically sang when it struck the Reaver's sword with a toll like a cathedral bell.
The Reaver's blade shattered. Mothros sliced through armor into its shoulder with a hissing noise. Alaric slammed his boot into the armored chest and wrenched his blade free. The Reaver toppled heavily to the earth. Its ember eyes still flashed with eternal hatred as Alaric stood over it.
"Do not be surprised. You are not the first of your kind to fall before me."
Alaric saw a blur of movement from the corner of his vision. He spun, catching the dagger that was hurled from the shadows. A flash of pain instantly blazed from fingers to shoulder, deadening his arm. The dagger fell from his unfeeling hand.
A crudely carved dagger of blue-speckled stone.
Alaric hissed sharply and leaped away from the Banestone. He almost missed the woman who sprang from the darkness and attacked with twin daggers. The blades hummed as she slashed at him with absolutely no regard for her safety.
Leilavin.
He almost didn't recognize his ancient enemy, though he was the one responsible for her current manifestation. Dressed in her flowing garments and with her hair and skin diminished of their ivory luster, she appeared so…mortal. But she was armed with the skill and knowledge of a master of deadly arts, and the gleam in her eyes spoke of her desire to demonstrate them to Alaric.
A wild slash cut away his belt, freeing him of the weight of his scabbard. He dropped Mothros to the ground and whirled, escaping her next thrust. The sword was a handicap in close quarter fighting, and Alaric had only one arm to work with. The other had just started to tingle with feeling again.
He focused Effluvium, the Craft of speed. Everything slowed around him as if moving through deep waters. Everything except himself. His arm blurred as he struck faster than the eye could follow. As Leilavin reeled, he seized her by the throat, hoisting her off her feet. The earth rippled from the impact when he slammed her into the ground. Her eyes rolled back as she went limp in his grip. Alaric lifted her again.
The Reaver struck with the force of a dozen battering rams. Leilavin was flung aside as Alaric struggled to free himself from the armored giant's crushing grasp. They staggered about, drunken dancers that toppled walls and shattered trees in the wake of their destructive tango.
Alaric pivoted, slamming the Reaver to the earth as he called Mothros to him at the same instant. The blade hummed as it whipped across the air to Alaric's open hand. He seized it and stabbed downward.
Lightning flashed along with a thunderous reverberation. When Alaric's vision cleared, Mothros trembled and hummed in his hands until he struggled to hold on to it.
A bar of light had blocked his swing. No. Not light. A staff. A staff made from the purest crystal, topped by a golden glowing orb.
The Staff Eymunder. This cannot be!
He recalled when Leilavin slashed away his belt. It was not an accident; she did so by design. So that the Shama could regain the Geod.
Nyori held Eymunder with both hands. Her hazel eyes flashed as she met his gaze. Flower blossoms were strewn in her golden brown hair.
"Step away from him!"
The staff and blade rattled as their energies clashed. Alaric could no longer feel his hands.
"Fool girl — you meddle with what you do not understand. Drop the staff before it destroys us!"
But the girl was either ignorant or insane. A bluish sphere of crackling light flashed between the weapons, expanding until it enveloped the courtyard. The remaining statues crumbled like sand, the trees cracked and splintered. Alaric's armor hissed as the energy flashed through them and exploded outward with a blinding flare.
The entire orchard tore apart from the eruption.
Alaric floated, weightless. Slabs of stone fragments and uprooted trees span slowly through the air for a second of eternity. He saw the Shama briefly hovering as well before rubble blocked the view.
Everything plummeted with earth-rending force.
Alaric's breath left his lungs when he slammed against the ground. Somehow he avoided being crushed as the heavy pieces struck all around him. He shakily erected a shield from Tropos to protect him from the rest of the debris. Tremors rippled from the wounded earth as falling rubble pounded it.
Soon nothing fell except flower petals, which showered down like soft rain.
He slowly rose. His armor was useless; his garments were ripped and torn. He felt blood stream down his face from a gash to his head. His hand still gripped Mothros. Its iridescent glow had vanished, the black orb silenced. It looked like an ordinary if somewhat ornate sword.
How can that be? He had always assumed he would lose his life before the sword would ever lose its power. Could the mad little woman have cancelled the blade's parasitic energies with the staff? He almost laughed at the thought as he searched for her body. Surely she would not have survived the blast.
Nyori was cradled in the arms of a man who appeared mortally wounded as well. They lay at the base of a pile of broken rubble. The man bled heavily from several wounds including deep gashes in his side and shoulder. He struggled to rise as he caught sight of Alaric.
It took a moment for Alaric to recognize Marcellus. The backlash of the blast seemed to have cancelled the elemental links that bonded the Reaver as well, leaving only the human host.
Marcellus pulled himself up slowly, drawing labored breaths. Nyori leaned limply against his chest. Eymunder lay at their feet, untarnished and glittering like frosted crystal.
"It's me you want," Marcellus said. "Spare Nyori. Her death is not necessary."
"Your powers have failed you." Alaric staggered before regaining his balance. He shook his head dizzily. "You are in no position to make demands." It took great effort to raise the sword above his head. "But worry not. I will make this quick."
Nyori's long braid flailed as she whirled, flinging her arm Alaric's direction. He felt the dull impact and looked down in surprise.
The Banestone dagger protruded from his exposed chest. Tentacles of icy agony sprouted from the wound. He tore open his ragged surcoat and saw the blue web-like pattern crawling from the dagger as the skin hardened and sealed with it.
Mothros dropped from his fingers.
He clutched feebly at the dagger but stopped with a faint smile. He knew what Banestone was, what it meant for him. He looked at the Shama.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Tears floated down her cheeks.
She wept for him. He smiled again.
How ironic.
He sighed heavily and sat down at the base of the mound of rubble. The knight and Shama looked at him as if uncertain, then hesitantly sat as well. Marcellus' face was haggard when he fell back against the broken stone.
The two men looked at each other through a downpour of flower petals.
Alaric gave him a weak nod. "It is fine to have company when dying, is it not?" Marcellus said nothing, but Alaric saw the agreement in his eyes. The Shama put her hands upon him and gasped.
"You cannot heal him, Shama. He has been stung by Mothros." He shrugged at her murderous glare. "As you have stung me with this."
He tapped the dagger protruding from his chest. His limbs stiffened as the poison spread beyond his skin, which had already begun to calcify. He sighed and gazed at the raining flowers. "It has been too long since I have observed the beauty of the Spring. There are far worse days to die."
His gaze focused on Marcellus. "We have been fools, knight of Kaerleon. I am slain, as you so desperately desired. But to what end? It was not I who slew your family or drove your king to madness. Your need for vengeance has blinded you. When our true enemy rises, he will not be as gracious as I, nor as discreet. The kingdoms of man are splintered and will fall like a wall of sand before the raging sea. Mark me well, Marcellus. This is just the beginning of woe for your people. The day will come when they will wish for the mercy of Alaric, King of the Co'nane."