was thinking more of fleeing than of attacking. So, as soon as the creature had steadied itself, ahead came Bryan, his magnificent sword, his father’s elven-crafted sword, flashing in the sunny, snowy brightness. The talon lumbered awkwardly, but somehow managed a parry with its heavy axe, and even tried to bring its weapon about for a fast counter.
Bryan let it complete the maneuver, let the axe turn about and come swishing in. He was down on one knee before it ever got close, though, and as it swished overhead, the half-elf poked his sword straight out, scoring a wicked hit on the talon’s breast.
The creature tried to recover, but the momentum of the wide-flying axe forced it off balance, and that, combined with the prodding sword, confused the talon. Trying to counter, trying to retreat, it got its feet all tangled up and went down on its back.
Bryan moved forward for the kill, but changed his mind and veered far out to the side when he heard a low growl behind him.
The cougar leaped atop the talon in a flash of white lightning, its powerful maw clamping firmly on the unfortunate creature’s skinny neck.
Bryan sheathed his sword and went to retrieve the bow, hoping the scar upon its beautiful wood would not be too evident. He was not surprised, whatever logic told him, to find that there was not a mark at all on the enchanted bow, to find that the heavy axe and its undeniably sharp blade had not even scratched the polished wood.
“Too easy,” Bryan lamented, and he gathered up his belongings and set off in search of the young witch.
He found her resting in a hollow, her back against a tree, her eyes closed. She hadn’t used much of her magic, certainly nowhere near the amount Bryan had previously witnessed, when Rhiannon had gathered the very strength of the earth itself and hurled it skyward to battle the gloom of Morgan Thalasi’s thunderclouds. But lately, Bryan noted, even the simplest of enchantments seemed to tire Rhiannon, and he shuddered to think of what might happen if the young witch was ever forced to utilize her powers to their greatest limit again. Rhiannon had nearly died on that occasion when she had battled Thalasi, and not from any attack from the Black Warlock, but rather from her own sheer exhaustion, as if she had thrown a substantial amount of her own life force into that magical response.
Bryan remembered that day vividly, remembered cradling beautiful, unconscious Rhiannon in his arms, remembered how pale and fragile she had seemed, a flower dying in the cold wind. He had feared that he would lose her then, and he had realized that if she did indeed go away, a huge part of his own heart would forever die beside her.
He let her sleep now, just sat facing her, watching her, admiring the soft curve of her, the way her lips slightly parted, the beauty of her lithe form, a dancer’s body with strong but smooth muscles. He was in love with her, only her, with all his heart and all his soul.
He couldn’t deny it; he didn’t want to deny it.
He wanted to shout it out to all the world.
Chapter 2
The Wraith
H E WAITED FOR the dark of a moonless night, his time, the time of lurking nightmares. His substance a shadow blacker than the darkest hole, the wraith of Hollis Mitchell glided along the riverbank. A creature half of this world, half of the realm of death, he made no weighted impression in the snow, but every so often he absently flicked his hollow-headed mace, his scepter, and loosed a small shower of black flakes that burned the white powder, that melted deeper, right through the watery stuff to stain the very ground beneath it.
All the while, the wraith’s red-glowing eyes held their focus across the river, to the hundreds of burning fires showing the campsites of Pallendara’s army. Only a few short months ago, those fires had been more than matched by the glorious blaze of Morgan Thalasi’s army, which Hollis Mitchell had commanded, but the talons were gone now, all fled
Bryan let it complete the maneuver, let the axe turn about and come swishing in. He was down on one knee before it ever got close, though, and as it swished overhead, the half-elf poked his sword straight out, scoring a wicked hit on the talon’s breast.
The creature tried to recover, but the momentum of the wide-flying axe forced it off balance, and that, combined with the prodding sword, confused the talon. Trying to counter, trying to retreat, it got its feet all tangled up and went down on its back.
Bryan moved forward for the kill, but changed his mind and veered far out to the side when he heard a low growl behind him.
The cougar leaped atop the talon in a flash of white lightning, its powerful maw clamping firmly on the unfortunate creature’s skinny neck.
Bryan sheathed his sword and went to retrieve the bow, hoping the scar upon its beautiful wood would not be too evident. He was not surprised, whatever logic told him, to find that there was not a mark at all on the enchanted bow, to find that the heavy axe and its undeniably sharp blade had not even scratched the polished wood.
“Too easy,” Bryan lamented, and he gathered up his belongings and set off in search of the young witch.
He found her resting in a hollow, her back against a tree, her eyes closed. She hadn’t used much of her magic, certainly nowhere near the amount Bryan had previously witnessed, when Rhiannon had gathered the very strength of the earth itself and hurled it skyward to battle the gloom of Morgan Thalasi’s thunderclouds. But lately, Bryan noted, even the simplest of enchantments seemed to tire Rhiannon, and he shuddered to think of what might happen if the young witch was ever forced to utilize her powers to their greatest limit again. Rhiannon had nearly died on that occasion when she had battled Thalasi, and not from any attack from the Black Warlock, but rather from her own sheer exhaustion, as if she had thrown a substantial amount of her own life force into that magical response.
Bryan remembered that day vividly, remembered cradling beautiful, unconscious Rhiannon in his arms, remembered how pale and fragile she had seemed, a flower dying in the cold wind. He had feared that he would lose her then, and he had realized that if she did indeed go away, a huge part of his own heart would forever die beside her.
He let her sleep now, just sat facing her, watching her, admiring the soft curve of her, the way her lips slightly parted, the beauty of her lithe form, a dancer’s body with strong but smooth muscles. He was in love with her, only her, with all his heart and all his soul.
He couldn’t deny it; he didn’t want to deny it.
He wanted to shout it out to all the world.
Chapter 2
The Wraith
H E WAITED FOR the dark of a moonless night, his time, the time of lurking nightmares. His substance a shadow blacker than the darkest hole, the wraith of Hollis Mitchell glided along the riverbank. A creature half of this world, half of the realm of death, he made no weighted impression in the snow, but every so often he absently flicked his hollow-headed mace, his scepter, and loosed a small shower of black flakes that burned the white powder, that melted deeper, right through the watery stuff to stain the very ground beneath it.
All the while, the wraith’s red-glowing eyes held their focus across the river, to the hundreds of burning fires showing the campsites of Pallendara’s army. Only a few short months ago, those fires had been more than matched by the glorious blaze of Morgan Thalasi’s army, which Hollis Mitchell had commanded, but the talons were gone now, all fled
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