The movement cost her, as the pain in her wounded shoulder sharpened. She didn't even feel her strike hit, but his body snapped backward, and he tumbled into the space beyond the arch.
For a long moment they both knelt there, panting, bleeding, and glaring at each other.
Magiere saw faint lines of age around the elf's large eyes. Beneath her pain and hunger, she wondered what had just happened.
He'd found an opening, and she couldn't stop him. He could have stabbed into her chest. Had he failed? Had his grip slipped in the last instant? Or had he tried only to disable her dominant arm wielding the dagger?
His eyes suddenly widened with fright as he looked beyond her.
"Groyt'ashia… no!" he cried out from beneath his face wrap. "Mortajh wearthasej-na Leshil!"
Magiere turned in panic to follow his gaze.
"Darmouth, stay back!" Leesil yelled again.
He raised his punching blade and pulled the second one as he rounded the coffin's far end. He still hoped the warlord would stay out of the fight. A foolish, stupid hope, like wishing a rabid dog wouldn't attack anything that moved.
The young elf switched one of his stilettos for a match of the bone knife Leesil still carried in his belt. His gaze traced Leesil's punching blades, studying them in a blink. Then his body became a blur of hands and feet as he charged, striking in short, controlled movements.
Leesil hadn't expected a straight-on attack. He scissored and slashed his blades to keep the elf at bay.
A flash of steel came at him from the side.
He ducked down against the coffin's end and heard metal grate on stone. To his side he saw heavy, thick legs. One booted foot lifted, about to crush down on him.
Darmouth had come at him as well. The man wanted him dead more than he wanted to preserve his own life. And still Leesil had to keep him alive.
From his crouch, Leesil lurched sharply sideways with his shoulder into the sole of Darmouth's boot. He then struck upward with the top of his arm into the back of Darmouth's knee and shoved against the man's foot with his whole body. Darmouth toppled back, his shoulders landing heavily on the stone floor.
The elf's bone knife came instantly for Leesil's face. He twisted his head, and the silvery blade passed through his hair near his ear.
Leesil braced both his blade points into the floor. He pivoted on his left knee away from the elf and whipped his right foot backward.
His heel sank into the elf's abdomen. Momentum spun Leesil the rest of the way around. The elf was bent over from the kick, and Leesil slashed out with his right winged blade.
The young elf leaned away, and the winged blade's tip tore through the side of his cowl, level with his throat.
Leesil rose up. He'd missed doing any serious injury, but the wrap across the man's face was cut through below his chin. A shallow line across the side of the elf's neck began to bleed. Leesil heard Darmouth struggling and glanced over at him.
The warlord rose on one knee, both war blades ready.
"True!" the elf shouted like a curse.
Leesil's eyes flicked back. The elf's hooked knife was gone, but there'd been no clatter of it dropping to the floor. Something glinted around his palm and between his narrow fingers.
"Groyt'ashia… no!" a lilting voice shouted out. "Mortajh wearthasejna Leshil!"
A name… and some command? These words had come from the other Anmaglahk, but Leesil heard no one coming up behind him. Magiere must have found a way to hold the elder elf at bay.
The young elf's gaze lifted, looking beyond Leesil toward the room's far side. He shook off whatever he'd been told, and his smooth tan brow wrinkled as he glared back at Leesil.
"True!" he spit again, and rushed in.
Leesil slashed an upward arc with his left blade. The elf dodged, one foot rising to step lightly upon the coffin's end. Then he was gone from sight.
A flash of thin silver passed before Leesil's eyes.
Panic filled his chest as the wire tightened suddenly around his throat. He was jerked upward, and his back slammed against the coffin's end. Dannouth came at Leesil with both blades raised.
Leesil released his punching blades, reaching back for the elf's hands behind his head. And he kicked up between Darmouth's legs.
The warlord hunched over with a grunt. Leesil was stunned when he saw the elf's foot shoot out to strike Darmouth's face. The warlord flopped away out of sight as the wire pulled tighter.
The toolbox on Leesil's back grated across the coffin's edge. Before his feet were pulled off the floor, Leesil kicked off, throwing his legs over his head. He rolled back over his opponent atop the stone slab and came up on top of the elf.
His knees pinned the elf's shoulders, and the man's amber eyes glared up with pure hatred from between Leesil's folded legs. The elf hadn't lost his grips and twisted the wire tighter.
Leesil couldn't breathe anymore, and he couldn't break free.
He fumbled for the bone knife tucked in his belt.
"Groyt'ashia, stop it!" the same voice shouted. "Leshil… do not kill one of your own!"
The room dimmed before Leesil's eyes. He slapped down between his knees, grabbing for the elf's face.
Only the bright spots of the braziers remained clear as he ground the elf's head to one side. He finally slipped the curved short knife from his belt and thrust downward to just beyond his other hand.
The blade sank into resistance, and he ripped it sideways.
The wire around his throat slackened instantly.
Leesil choked, not yet able to take in air through his bruised throat. The elf's body bucked beneath him. He heard a sound like someone drowning in water as he gasped in air. His hands felt wet and hot as if covered in warm oil. The room brightened bit by bit.
He sagged and his gaze dropped down. His hands and thighs were splattered in blood still gushing from the elf's slashed throat.
Leesil fell back, heaving air in gulps, and rolled off the stone coffin.
His legs buckled and his vision spun from too quick a movement. He dropped to his knees on the crypt floor.
Magiere knelt across the room before an archway. Blood soaked through the left shoulder and sleeve of her wool shirt. Another dark stain spread down her right sleeve from the armhole of her hauberk. Her face was covered in sweat, and her irises were full black. She simply stared at him, unmoving.
Beyond her and barely within Leesil's sightline was the elder Anmaglahk. His tunic below his cowl's collar was stained with blood. He held his side as he looked at Leesil and at the body of his companion sprawled across the stone coffin.
Darmouth crawled to the back wall of dark cubbies. Still grunting and hunched, he clawed up to his feet, clutching one of his war daggers. Leesil pulled himself up and stumbled toward the warlord, but his eyes remained on the elder Anmaglahk.
The elf lurched to his feet. When he skirted the far side of the archway to get around Magiere, she hurried to get up as well.
"Magiere, stay where you are," Leesil said.
The words came out as a hoarse rasp that hurt his throat. He sidestepped more toward the elf as he neared Darmouth at the back wall.
"Leshil!" the elf said, winded but harsh, and he turned his eyes briefly toward the warlord. "You spill the blood of your own for that?"
"How do you know me?" Leesil rasped. "Where did you learn my other name?"
Darmouth turned around to face them. War dagger held out, he appeared confused. "Get out of my way… both of you!"
The Anmaglahk cast his gaze toward the back wall. He took a stumbling step forward and was silent for a moment. Then he turned to Leesil once more.