leather away with his swords. The necromancer struck again, drawing a black line across the flesh of Harruq’s left arm. He accepted the pain willingly. A few bits of bone flew from a pouch on Qurrah’s hip. Arms up to protect his eyes, Harruq barreled forward, closing the last bit of distance between them.
What should have been an easy kill, a stab into his unprotected brother’s stomach, turned horribly wrong. Qurrah stood his ground, eyes rolled back in his head as he cast a spell. Condemnation rammed against his robe and recoiled. Swirling darkness leapt from the robe, bleeding into the blade and up the hilt. When it touched his hand, every nerve went white. His hand clenched achingly tight, a death grip, so that his muscles bulged and his forearms shook.
When he pulled back the blade, the darkness retreated as if it never were. The contraction of his muscles loosened. With no other plan, no other ideas, Harruq shoved his other sword at a crease between his brother’s ribs. Again the numbing pain and the excruciating tear of every muscle stretching beyond its limits. It took all his strength to pull the swords back and break contact with the horrid spell. Harruq gasped, his arms exhausted from only two swings.
Qurrah finished his spell.
Invisible irons attached to every part of Harruq’s body. His armor felt thrice its normal weight. His swords felt thick and unwieldy. He swung, but the attack was like that of a dream, connecting with the force of a feather. It clacked against Qurrah’s side, and then came the damned darkness, pouring into his flesh. Salvation fell to the ground.
“As much as you have trained, you are still a child with knives,” the necromancer said. He lashed with his whip. Harruq’s reaction was half of its finely honed speed, his hands lagging behind each blow. Fire and leather scarred his face, his hands, and his throat. Blood seeped down his neck to his armor.
“Damn you,” Harruq said. The sounds of battle roared around them. Fire, wind, and ice crashed and exploded everywhere, but to their eyes, they saw no death. They saw no other battle. The two were in their world, and none but the gods could interfere. Harruq cut at his brother, each stroke hitting like a stick against the trunk of a tree. He held the sword with both hands, needing every bit of strength, but now the darkness leaked from the weapon to both arms. The pain alone finally caused the sword to fall limp from his hands. As Harruq knelt and reached for it, he felt fire wrap around his neck. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Qurrah said, yanking the whip tight. Harruq pulled at the fire, ignoring the horrid pain in his fingers and palms. What breath he could draw was clouded with smoke and the bitter taste of his own charred self. Colorful dots swirled before his eyes. Desperate, he let go of the stubborn end of the whip, instead grabbing the middle of the length. The fire roared greater, his bare hands nearly blackened, but his strength, no matter how reduced by curse it was, was still greater than his brother’s. One fierce yank and the handle flew from Qurrah’s hand. The fire died, the whip slackened, and Harruq gasped in air.
Qurrah did not give him time to recover. He whispered the words of a spell, and then glared at the stubborn remembrance of his past life that refused to die.
“ Hemorrhage, ” he hissed.
A feeling of blood and pressure filled Harruq’s chest. He slammed a fist against his breast, roaring in defiance to the magic. He felt blood slip from his flesh, and he knew somewhere beneath his armor a laceration had opened, but the eruption lacked power.
“Best you got?” Harruq said.
“Forgive my pity,” Qurrah said. “And my foolishness for trying to spare you pain.”
He began to cast as the warrior took up his weapons and staggered forward. Both swords rammed into Qurrah’s throat, ricocheting to either side of his neck. The brief contact prevented too much of the dark armor from slipping into his arms, but his muscles were already weakened. Harruq let out a cry, both swords falling back to the ground. He felt a hand close about his face. He saw his brother through the gaps of his fingers. Qurrah looked back, his eyes unforgiving. Merciless.
Two things happened then. First, the contact spread the dark of Qurrah’s enchantment from the flesh of his hand to the flesh of Harruq’s face. Second, the spell the necromancer cast filled all he touched with chilling cold, a river of it pouring from his palm into the beaten half-orc’s forehead. The pain of the darkness was a thousand biting wolves. His face twisted and contorted, contracting into a horrible visage of pain. The cold flooded his mind, numbing his entire being. Thoughts grew hazy. Images replaced conscious thought. He knew he had to move. He had to fight. Aullienna deserved no less.
He swung both arms like they were tree trunks. They knocked Qurrah’s hand aside, breaking both spells. Harruq gasped, feeling his mind returning, but not just his mind. His rage. He forced his fingers to close around the hilts of his swords. He wasn’t sure if he could feel them or not, but it didn’t matter. Staggering to his feet, he bellowed a mindless, strengthening roar.
“Pitiful,” Qurrah said, reaching for his bag of bones. “Just pitiful.”
W hen the twin spells of fire and lightning hit her shield, Tessanna flinched, feeling her energy draining away to protect her vulnerable flesh. She saw Harruq charge, a brief lashing of whip, but then she could watch no more. Another dual blast ripped through the air. She outstretched her fingers, the translucent shield appearing once more. Two fireballs detonated, flames licking the edges her curved barrier. As the smoke died, there came Brug, dressed in full platemail.
“Get away,” she said, moving her hand in a slapping motion. An invisible force slammed Brug to the side, his flight ending against the trunk of a tree. Someone shouted his name, she didn’t know who.
“Push me,” she cried, shattering a bolt of ice into shards with lightning, halting another fireball with a globe of black that swallowed it whole. “Higher! Higher!”
Her pulse quickened when she saw a familiar shape shoot out of the woods. Gray cloaks trailed behind, whipping in a chaotic pattern. Light glinted off drawn sabers. The watcher had come to play.
“Do you miss my fire?” she asked, another slapping motion deflecting the magically summoned boulders aside to crash into the cabin. She heard the splintering of logs and the destruction of her childhood home, but she felt no loss. It was just rotted wood. Darkness ringing the edges of her fingers, she greeted the assassin in her own special way.
Black chains reached up from the ground, writhing like snakes. They wrapped around Haern as he leapt. They pulled him down, cracking his chin as he landed with a thud. More black chains tore upward, wrapping around the assassin’s helpless body. A sickly rattle echoed from them as he struggled.
“I got you, Haern,” Tarlak said, casting one of his few spells designed to dispel magic from an area. The darkness wavered. The chains’ strength faded as they turned white and pale. Aurelia tore a chunk of earth into the air, blocking Tessanna’s path.
The earth exploded outward, forming a door for the girl to walk through. She approached Haern, who shook off the last of the chains and readied his blades.
“I asked a question,” she said as burning flames enveloped her flesh. “Did you miss my fire?”
“Sorry sweetie,” Haern said, his hand reaching into a pocket beneath his cloaks. “I’m tired of being your torch.”
His hand flipped forward, hurling a small blue sapphire. It hit with a thud against Tessanna’s forehead, an insignificant thing. The magic inside it, however, was massive. White light flared out in a sphere, washing over her. Every trace of her fire died. Her skin exposed, Haern charged, saber tips eager to claim an eye.
Furious at the banishment of her fire, she looked at Haern and snarled. The noise reached tremendous levels, and within it, power. The assassin flew back, sound and wind battering him senseless. A lightning bolt shot past his head, only to be deflected off Tessanna’s hand and sent careening wild. The girl clapped her hands together, the black of her eyes pushing away all traces of white within them. Her fingernails went dark. Her flesh lost what little trace of color it had.
Unsure of what spell she was casting, and not caring to see the results, Tarlak followed his gut. He tried a new tactic, using a similar spell Aurelia had used to control the earth. Instead of forming a protective wall, he ripped a few large chunks directly underneath Tessanna. The first and largest smashed her hands and chin on its ascent. The girl moaned, her teeth snapping down on her tongue. Another section of earth flew into the air, spinning her in a sideways cartwheel. She landed on her shoulder. Blood spewed from her mouth as she cried out in pain.
Blue light danced on Aurelia’s fingers, and then shards of ice flew from them, growing larger in rapid succession. Tessanna rolled, warding her body with her arms. Most pieces missed, but one jagged lance tore
