the sorcerous inflections demonstrated. The power flowed into him like wine poured into a cup. It thrilled him and it pained him. His life and soul were in danger, for mortal forms were not intended to act as conduits for god-like power. He was filled with so much magical energy that any elf who was not a sorcerer would already have been fried to a crisp. He wondered at how much he could bear. He knew it was going to have to be a lot more if he was to have any chance of harming the daemon.
The voice was the same, N’Kari thought. He paused for a moment in something that was almost shock. The face was the same. It might have belonged to Aenarion himself although a younger, less stern, less time-ravaged Aenarion. The scent was the same, flesh for flesh. The spirit was almost the same. It did not blaze so bright. It did not burn with the Flame of Asuryan. It was not corrupted by the Sword of Khaine. It was not dimmed by the shadow of that all-devouring blade.
Astonishingly, it was not afraid. It had not yet learned the meaning of fear as Aenarion had, even when he had his fears most under control.
This was indeed a bright tender morsel to offer up to Slaanesh. The spirit burned bright but it was not the only one of the Blood that N’Kari detected. There was another nearby. No matter. This one would do. It would give N’Kari the greatest of pleasure to teach this foolish mortal the meaning of terror before he killed it.
He would torment it as a cat torments a mouse.
He sprang forward, aiming just in front of it. The elf was quick indeed. N’Kari had intended to do no more than scratch it but the elf was already gone. A pinprick in his left side, near where the heart would have been in an elf told him his opponent even had the temerity to strike back.
N’Kari smiled. This might prove even more amusing than he had hoped.
‘I will start with your fingers and toes,’ he said. ‘I will snip them off so delicately you will not even miss them at first.’
The blade flicked at his eye. It stung. It did not really hurt. It merely interfered with vision for a moment until it healed.
N’Kari struck again, faster this time, certain that this time he would connect. The elf was no longer where he had aimed. Once again it eluded with a speed much greater than N’Kari had anticipated.
‘I thought daemons were to be feared,’ said the elf with the sword. ‘You cannot even hit me.’
It was already backing away though, as if it sensed that on the third attempt N’Kari would unleash his full fury. Tempting as it was, N’Kari resisted. He struck again and thought at first he had connected but then realised his claw had only hit the elf’s blade. It was not exactly a parry. There was no way the elf had the strength to either hold or deflect N’Kari’s blow. He had simply managed to evade.
It was only a matter of time, the daemon thought. Nothing mortal could defeat him.
Tyrion moved away as fast as he could. N’Kari was fast, faster than anything Tyrion had ever faced and he sensed that the daemon was not even exerting itself. It was over-confident. It knew it was going to win and that it had time.
Up close the creature was fearsome. It bulked much larger than him. Its hide was armoured. Its massive claw looked too heavy even for its mightily muscled arm but somehow was not. The scent of the thing was odd, musky and spicy and oddly disturbing. Aromatic sweat or some other secretion glistened on its armour.
That was wrong. Flesh sweats. Armour does not.
He pushed aside the thought as a distraction and aimed a blow at where the skin and armour joined, at a point which on any living thing would have been vulnerable. He ducked a blindingly fast claw sweep and lashed out with his blade. It pinked the daemon where he had aimed but the flesh knit behind the blade almost as soon as it was pierced.
N’Kari struck again, aiming low, trying to hamstring Tyrion. He leapt forward, feeling the wind of the displaced air below him, careering off the daemon’s side. He hit the ground rolling, let his momentum carry him to his feet and turned to face his foe again. N’Kari was already reaching for him.