for who she is, every part of her.” He closed another inch of space between them. “But you should know, that’s not why her Shadow Familiar chose a wolf form.”
Stolas knew the exact moment Archeron understood his meaning. The Sun Sovereign’s mangled face twisted in a rage-filled roar as he lifted the sword—
Stolas struck with lightning speed, wrenching the heavy weapon from Archeron’s grasp. “The big blades might make fools soil their pants, but in true combat, they move like shit.”
A flash of light formed in Archeron’s palm—
Stolas rammed the butt of Archeron’s sword into the soft part of his throat.
The king’s magick snuffed out. He clutched his neck, gasping, wide eyes watering. That was going to sting a bit.
“The big ones are good for blunt force, I suppose,” Stolas drawled as he examined the beautiful sword, famously gifted to Archeron’s mother from an Asgardian king. “But I find sometimes a good steel-toed boot works just as well.”
Stolas lifted his knee and slammed his foot into the center of Archeron’s wide chest. The impact punched the remaining air from Archeron’s lungs, and he tumbled backward over the edge and into the vaulted gallery below. A earth-rattling boom followed as his body smashed into a wall.
Now that was fun. Stolas took enormous pleasure in Archeron’s groan as he dove to finish him.
Ground bits of stone and rubble crunched beneath Stolas’s soles as he prowled toward Archeron, who was back on his feet. Pockets of fire still crackled in the alcoves. The Netherfire had burned away almost everything, although a few bits of frame or chunks of what had once been statues remained.
Stolas let the tip of that magnificent sword scrape against the ground as he approached. An insult for a weapon as exquisite as this one.
“You know,” Stolas purred, “your mother was cruel to a fault, but she at least deserved such a finely crafted blade. Then again, you have a habit of coveting things that don’t belong to you.”
The rubies inlaid inside the hilt caught the light of the dying fires as Stolas snapped the blade over his thigh and tossed both pieces onto the floor.
A small circle of magick formed over Archeron’s palm. “My mother lost her way. She would have ruined Effendier if I hadn’t . . .”
“Hadn’t what?”
Archeron’s throat dipped, and he lifted his hand.
Stolas arched a brow as he regarded the ball of light spinning between Archeron’s fingers. “I have to say, I am a bit disappointed. Where have your powers gone, Sun Lord? I could blow that sad little display out with a single breath.”
Archeron’s nostrils flared, and he retreated into an alcove littered with the burnt remains of what were probably once gorgeous tapestries. Such a shame.
“Tell me, Sun Lord.” Stolas stalked soundlessly after Archeron. “Did you rip the sword from your mother’s hands before or after you killed her?”
It was a hunch, but the way Archeron flinched, Stolas knew he was right.
Coward.
“Interesting,” Stolas continued as he circled Archeron, the heat from the flames warming the air. “That you would just happen to be here during Morgryth’s attack. Tell me. When did you sell your soul to the Shadeling, hmm?”
With a choking growl, Archeron released the golden sphere. Stolas ducked beneath the magick, plucked a melon sized chunk of rubble, and hurled it at Archeron’s head.
The movement was so quick Archeron didn’t see the projectile until it was upon him. He flung his hands up, the rock shattering into pebbles and dust against his forearm.
Stolas canted his head as he watched Archeron struggle to conjure his powers. “When you shattered your magickal enslavement to King Boteler, the ancient dark magick inside that ring entered your soul. But the unfortunate thing about dark magick, Sun Lord, is that it needs an energy source. That’s why your powers are a shadow of what they once were.” He tsked softly. “If anyone in your court knew how weak you really were, your reign would be over.”
Archeron’s face was unrecognizable as he sneered at Stolas. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I am a lot of things, but fool is not one of them.”
Stumbling, the king managed to right himself before sending a volley of desperate magick toward Stolas.
Stolas evaded the offensive light magick again and again. Each time slipping around the orbs of power with startling ease. It was disappointing to watch a lightcaster as powerful as Archeron once was use such pithy magick.
That would dull the pleasure of killing him, but not enough