bone thumped against it, one after another.
“Cute,” Velixar said, “but pointless.”
An invisible blast of pure force shattered the wall. Aurelia crossed her arms before her face as chunks of earth smashed her slender form. She rolled with the blows, her mouth casting before she halted. Ice spread from house to house, walling Velixar off on the other side.
“From dirt to ice?” Velixar asked. “The end is just the same!”
The center of the wall exploded inward, but this time Aurelia was prepared. A rolling thunder of sound shoved all the broken shards forward, sending even the remaining chunks of the wall down the street in a chaotic assault. Velixar grinned. Clever girl.
The wave of sound and ice slammed his body. He flew backward, ice tearing his skin. No blood came forth from those wounds. The larger pieces smashed his body from side to side, which turned limply with each blow. Then the wave passed. Aurelia leaned on one knee, gasping for air as she stared at the man in black, now a crumpled mess of robes in the center of the street. The body suddenly convulsed, the chest going up and down in quick, jerky spasms. When the sound reached her, Aurelia knew her doom. Velixar was laughing.
He stood, brushed off pieces of ice clinging to his robes, and then glared at her from afar.
“Not good enough,” he said.
Wild anger took over his face. Black lightning thicker than a man’s arm tore down the street. Aurelia gasped as all her power flowed into her shield. The collision sent her flying, her magical barrier shattered into nothingness. The lightning continued, swirling about her body. Every nerve in her body shrieked with pain. She landed hard, unable to brace for the fall. The air blasted out of her lungs, and for one agonizing second they refused to draw in another breath. Slowly the black magic seeped out of her, the pain faded away, and then she felt dusty air pour into her lungs.
“You are a powerful sorceress,” Velixar said, his anger gone as quickly as it had arrived. “But I have fought the founders of the Council of Mages. I have killed men who thought themselves gods. I have died but once, to Ashhur himself. There is no shame in your defeat.”
Aurelia struggled to her feet. The well of magic inside her was dry. In time, her strength would return, but she doubted the necromancer would give her a day to rest. She used a bit of the magic she did have left to summon her staff. If she were to die, she would die fighting any way she knew how.
The man in black paused, outstretched his hands, and began to cast. He would give her no chance to strike.
A blade stabbed in at his side. Velixar whirled, his speed far beyond mortal. He stepped past Felewen’s slash and slammed a hand against her chest. Dark magic poured in. Her arms and legs arched backward, her sword fell from her hand, and her mouth opened in a single, aching shriek. Bits of darkness flared from her mouth, her eyes, and her nostrils.
Done, Velixar shoved her smoking body back into the alley and left her to die. When he turned, he snarled. Aurelia was gone.
“You have delayed me my kill,” he said to the alley. “Pray you are dead before I return.”
He placed his hood back over his head, pulled it far down to cover his features, and then began his search for the sorceress.
15
One after another the deft strokes came in, and one after another Antonil batted them away with the methodical style that had helped him rise to his place in the Neldaren army. His opponent, a young elf with swordplay raw compared to most of his brethren, tried to give him no reprieve. The guard captain didn’t falter in the slightest.
“You sacrifice planning and thought for sheer speed and reflexes,” he said, his breathing steady and practiced. He assumed the elf spoke the human tongue, and the sudden killing lunge proved him correct.
Antonil pulled his head back, the point stopping just shy of drawing blood. An upward cut took the blade from the elf’s hand. His sword looped around, thrust forward, and buried deep inside flesh. The elf fell, gasping for air from the fatal wound. Blood pooled below him. Antonil pulled his sword free and saluted him with the blade.
“Well fought,” he said. An arrow clanged against his sword and ricocheted off.
“A warning for your honor,” said a camouflaged elf as he stepped out from behind a door. A second arrow followed the first, thudding against Antonil’s shield. “A second out of respect.” He drew a third. The guard captain charged, his shield leading. While his upper body was covered, nothing stopped the arrow from flying underneath and piercing through the metal greaves protecting his shins. Antonil stumbled, pain flaring up his right leg. He forced himself to continue running. If he could close the gap, the bow would prove no match for his longsword.
Another arrow fired, striking an inch from his left foot. His leg was aflame, yet he continued, pulling back his shield so his sword could lash out. But the elf was not close enough, and was more skilled with a bow than in just firing arrows. He snapped the wood up, cracking Antonil across the bottom of his hand. He did not let go of his blade.
Undaunted, the elf stepped closer, ducked underneath the guard captain’s return swing, and then kicked at the arrow still lodged in his shin. Antonil dropped his blade.
The elf stood, drawing an arrow as he did. Antonil, now lying on the ground, struggled to bring his shield up before his chest. Part of it caught beneath his side and would not come. He would not be able to block in time.
A loud wooden crash stole away the elf’s focus. The door to the home behind him exploded into splinters as a huge projectile shot through it. The elf spun, his eyes widening as he saw what had shattered the door: a massacred elven body. He readied his bow and released an arrow at the next sign of movement.
Unfortunately, it was another elven body, curiously missing its left arm and leg. An enormous half-orc in black armor followed, soaked in blood and roaring in mindless fury. He spotted Antonil’s attacker, screamed an incomprehensible challenge, and then charged. The elf fired another arrow, but was horrified to see it lurch high. Behind him, Antonil kicked again, this time aiming for the elf’s knee instead of his bow.
The elf had to dodge the kick, and that dodge was all it took. The half-orc bore down on him with his glowing black blades, cutting his bow, and his body, in twain. As the blood poured free, he roared, looked about, and then ran off toward the sound of combat. A frail form in rags followed from inside the house, a mirror image in looks but for the paler skin and lack of muscle.
“You saw nothing,” this second half-orc said to him before following the warrior.
Antonil struggled to his feet, shaking his head all the while.
“It keeps getting stranger,” he muttered. He took a step and immediately regretted it. As pain flared up his leg, he yanked the arrow out. His armor had kept it from penetrating too deeply, the barbs unable to latch onto any soft flesh. Of course it still hurt like the abyss, but he could deal with that. What he could not deal with, however, was how few in number his soldiers had dwindled. More than four of his own men lay dead around him, joined by three dead elves, five if he counted the two the half-orc had thrown through the doorway. A good ratio considering the skill of the elves, but not good enough. Men he had trained were dying, and for what?
“I have honored your will, my lord,” he said. “But it is time I honor my men.”
From his belt, he took a white horn bearing the symbol of Neldar. He put this ancient horn to his lips and blew. All throughout Woodhaven rumbled the signal to retreat. He gave the signal two more times before clipping the horn back to his belt and hobbling north.
A urelia raced down the twisting back alleys of Celed. The dreaded chill of Velixar was far behind her, but still she hesitated to slow. Never before had she felt so vulnerable. As she stopped to catch her breath, a loud horn call echoed throughout the town. The elf sighed, clutching her staff to her chest as she slumped against the side of a house. The battle was over…but would the man in black obey the call?
She thought not.
Suddenly a hand closed about her mouth. The foul smell of sweat and dirt filled her nostrils. An arm reached around, pinning her staff and hands against her chest.
“We may have to leave,” a voice growled into her ear, “but I’m not leaving without something to remember.”
