marble floor with a bone jarring thud that shot pain up his spine. The white light dissipated quickly and took all other light with it leaving the chamber in darkness. Khirro scrambled to his feet, feeling it would mean his life to remain on the floor. He drew the Mourning Sword and its blade glowed red as it thirsted for blood. The dark swallowed its light.
Khirro stared into the blackness waiting for his eyes to adjust. A leather sole whispered against stone, a dim blade came out of the dark toward him. He dodged and the sword tip caught his shoulder instead of the neck for which it was intended. It bit shallowly into his flesh, jarring his senses into action. He heard sounds all around him: Elyea’s breath, the scrape of cloth on Ghaul’s skin, three heartbeats plus his own. He heard more than he’d ever heard before, knew from where each tiny sound came.
Behind him, Athryn uttered a word and light filled the chamber. Khirro glanced about quickly. Athryn lay on the floor at the foot of the throne while Elyea crouched against the wall, blood dripping from her wound. He didn’t see the Necromancer.
Khirro’s distraction gave Ghaul the advantage.
He lunged and caught Khirro in the face with the pommel of his sword. His nose broke with a crunch and the blow sent Khirro to the floor, the Mourning Sword skittering from his grip. Before he recovered, Ghaul fell upon him, his foot on his chest, sword point at his throat. Khirro looked up half-expecting to see the face of an undead monster, but it was Ghaul. Hatred burned in his eyes.
Athryn moved, his sword rasping against its scabbard.
“Stay put, magician, and speak no words. If your lips so much as move, I’ll open his throat.”
Khirro stared at Ghaul, surprised at the detachment he felt. Fear didn’t freeze his limbs or steal his breath as before. Instead, a curious calm filled him. After facing death so many times, had he lost his fear of it?
“You can’t have what you came for,” Khirro said swallowing around the steel pressed to his windpipe. “Braymon will never serve Kanos.”
“You have the truth of it,” Ghaul said, a wry smile twisting his lips. “All I can do now is be sure he’ll serve no one.”
He drew his blade back for the final blow.
This is it: the end of the journey.
“No!”
Elyea grabbed Ghaul’s arm and spun him away from Khirro, throwing him off balance. Khirro jumped up to aid Elyea, but years of battles, of protecting his life, had honed Ghaul’s reflexes. He regained his balance, pushed away from her, and drew his blade across her from hip to shoulder.
Elyea’s eyes widened in surprise.
Khirro stared.
For a moment it looked like only her clothes were cut, but then the blood came, rushing from her body. She collapsed where she stood.
The peace and calm Khirro felt vanished, forced from him by rage like he’d never experienced. His muscles tensed and bunched, blood pounded at his temples and in his throat.
He burst into flames.
Khirro felt it, saw it enveloping him head to foot, but it didn’t burn. He lurched toward Ghaul as the warrior spun around and, for the first time in all the months of their journey, Khirro saw naked fear in the soldier’s eyes. He stepped back shaking his head. Khirro advanced, mouth open to voice his rage, but no cry of hatred issued from his throat. He roared instead. Khirro sprang at Ghaul, brushed aside his blade, and hit him hard in the chest, bearing him to the floor.
Khirro tore at his throat with his teeth and tasted warm, coppery blood. It splashed across his face and against whiskers not there before. Claws tore the flesh of Ghaul’s chest. The man screamed, the cry gurgling in his blood-filled throat. Khirro roared once more, raked Ghaul’s legs and groin with hind claws and the soldier writhed in agony, face streaked with sweat and blood and terror. Finally, Khirro’s fangs ripped into his chest, pulled free his still-pulsing heart. Ghaul’s screams and flailing ceased, his body went limp. Seconds later, Khirro found himself kneeling over the ruined body, flames flickering and dimming until they disappeared completely.
The blood in his mouth made him gag.
He rolled from Ghaul onto his hands and knees and his stomach emptied what little it held, strings of thick blood hanging from his lips. He spit, clearing the taste from his tongue. Head hung, panting, he knelt there until he heard Elyea