Elbows pressed to the floor, arms quivering with strain, he held the axe crosswise, inches above his chest, and with every breath it-and the sword pressed against it-crept nearer. He had no leverage to throw the baron off him, no angle from which to kick, not even sufficient room to bend his neck back for an awkward headbutt.
So Corvis, instead, craned his neck upward and bit down with all his strength on Jassion's nose.
He felt cartilage give under the pressure; heard it snap even over the baron's agonized cry; gagged as he tasted blood and mucus sluicing between his teeth. Jassion jerked away, leaving shreds of skin and flesh behind, and Corvis gasped in relief as the pressure against his arms and chest eased. Daring to take one hand from Sunder, he drove the heel of his palm into Jassion's chin, and then, as the baron fell back farther, planted both feet in his chest and shoved. The younger warrior hurtled back through the hole in the wall to sprawl in the street. Corvis spit the vile gobbet from his mouth before rising and following his enemy.
Jassion, with a determination that Corvis could not help but envy, was already standing. Blood formed a mask across his features, dripped down the sides of his neck, and his heaving breaths whistled obscenely through the wreck of his face.
Yet Corvis, though lacking in any such fearsome wound, was gasping no less harshly. His entire body felt bruised and battered, his ribs as though they'd been hammered flat upon Verelian's anvil, his ankles stuffed with ground glass. He had many years on his opponent, and they clung to him now, a weighty chain about his waist.
Both men slowed, now drawing upon the magics of the demon-forged blades just to keep themselves steady.
And Jassion smiled, a stomach-churning sight. 'You cannot hurt me, Rebaine, not any more than you did when I was a child. And I can keep this up longer than you.'
'You probably can,' Corvis admitted between gulps of air, allowing Sunder to sink just a bit. 'But Jassion? I cheat.'
At his best, Jassion would have sensed her coming, been able to dodge or at least lessen the blow. As it was, when Irrial's sword slammed into his hauberk, severing links and splitting skin, it was all he could do to scream and twist aside, preventing her from delivering an immediate second thrust through the rent in the armor.
Rather than follow and risk stepping into range of that monstrous flamberge, the baroness dropped into a defensive stance, the tip of her blade leveled, waiting for him to come to her-and to present his back to Corvis. Jassion, Talon drifting back and forth before him, declined. He stepped slowly backward, trying to gain enough distance to focus on both.
'What took you so long?' Corvis asked breathlessly.
Behind Jassion, the roots and stalks he'd earlier escaped reared like striking serpents, grown to a dozen times their former size. Several whipped outward, drawing bloody welts across his exposed skin, while others curled tight around arms and legs, lifting him bodily from the earth.
From around the restaurant's shattered corner, a mangy hound slunk into the street, crouching at Irrial's feet and scratching idly behind one ear with a back foot.
Corvis allowed himself just a moment to worry for his friend-he'd known the salamander was swiftly dehydrating once they'd left the caves, but he'd not expected her to need a new form so soon-and then focused once again on Jassion. The baron hung helplessly, limbs thrashing, literally spitting as he screamed what sounded like sheer gibberish.
Hesitantly, Corvis opened his mouth, then shut it with an audible click. No. No more words, no more taunts, no more time. Not for Jassion. He advanced on the helpless nobleman, no longer a warrior but a headsman. He again felt Sunder quiver in his fist, and for the first time in years he shared the unholy weapon's anticipation.
But the blow would never fall.
The air grew suddenly thick, heavy against their skin, clogging their ears. A horrible shriek split the night as the sky itself screamed, and then the wrath of the heavens, all unseen, struck the earth.
Corvis had little memory of the seconds following the impact, save that entire buildings had crumbled, and that the chunks of wood and stone somehow hurtled inward, further battering at his flesh, rather than outward from the center of the blast. He found himself sprawled atop a pyramid of broken rock, with no notion of how he'd gotten there. His ears were filled with an angry buzz. Through bleary eyes, he spotted Irrial lying in a crumpled heap, blood flowing from an ugly gash across her scalp, and his stomach clenched until he saw her pulse flutter in her throat. Of Seilloah-or Jassion, for that matter-he saw no sign.
But there was someone else, a thin-faced, brown-haired man standing over him, lips curled in an almost friendly grin. 'I've waited,' he said, leaning in apparently to ensure that Corvis could see him. 'Oh, I've waited for so long.'
'Kaleb, I presume?' Corvis offered, then paused to cough up a lungful of dust.
'I'm crushed, old boy. You don't remember me?'
Corvis frowned. He'd never seen this man, of that he was certain, but there was something about that voice…
'Well, it's to be expected, I suppose,' Kaleb continued, kneeling so his face hovered but a few feet from Corvis's own. 'You probably just don't recognize me in this outfit. Here.'
Like melting wax, the sorcerer's features began to shift-but the fallen warlord turned away, unwilling to watch. For in that moment, Corvis knew-without question, without doubt-and that knowledge was a blade, slicing holes into his soul that he was certain would never heal. He understood how the murderer had known so much about him and his methods, understood how Jassion had tracked him down across a kingdom, understood how a sorcerer could have so much power.
Understood what it was he faced, and why he could never have won.
'Look at me, Corvis. Look at me.'
His sight blurred by bitter tears, Corvis looked-looked into a new face, features even more gaunt than before, hair the color of dead straw, and eyes…
'Say it just once, Corvis. For old times' sake.'
… eyes that each boasted a pair of pupils side by side, uneven pools of infinite darkness. And beneath their stare, Corvis could scarcely whisper, or even breathe.
'Khanda…'
Chapter Twenty
HE COULDN'T THINK, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His mind was swaddled in a rotting shroud, muffling the sights, the sounds, the scents of the world. It took long moments to recognize that the pain in his side was caused by the broken rock on which he lay, that the peculiarly harsh rain drizzling down across his face actually consisted of the splinters of shattered buildings.
But it was, all of it, unreal, diaphanous, a waking dream. Only the flesh-wrapped nightmare gazing gleefully down upon him was real.
'I can't…' He had trouble forcing the words to come, his lips and his tongue made numb as the blood drained from his face. 'It's not possible. You can't be…'
'Astonishing.' Kaleb-Khanda-shook his head sadly. 'I knew you'd counted on me for a lot, old boy, but I'd never realized that included forming coherent sentences. How have you gotten by all these years?'
'I banished you!' Corvis actually sounded accusing, as though Khanda's reappearance was a personal betrayal. He struggled to sit up, groaning at the aches and bruises that flared anew across his battered body.
'What can I say, Corvis? Hell's not what it used to be. Security's really gone to-well, you know.'
But the old soldier's brain was finally catching up with his senses. 'Someone had to call you… Call you back by name. That's what they got from Ellowaine, isn't it? Your godsdamn name!'
He rolled aside, as rapidly as the rocks and his own wounds would allow, lifting Sunder in one hand, but it was a pathetic blow, a feeble spit of defiance. Khanda casually backhanded Corvis's forearm and the limb went numb, the Kholben Shiar falling from limp fingers. Corvis curled around himself, clutching his throbbing arm…
And from where he lay, he saw a bit of rubble behind the demon, an uneven heap of wooden detritus, begin
