running water, Magiere cut the quiver's strap with her falchion and tossed the quarrels after the crossbow.

"Load it," she ordered Wynn, stepping forward to put herself between the sage and the undead nobleman.

She could feel a shift in Chane's presence. Before, at the inn and in the house, she'd sensed hunger and evasion. She saw a hint of determination.

"Stop it! Both of you," Wynn called. "Chane, she is unique—do not harm her. Magiere, none of this is his fault. Toret took him without permission."

Pointless words, but as Magiere glared over to silence her, Wynn was fitting one of the last two quarrels into the crossbow.

"When I tell you," Magiere said, "shoot him."

It was unlikely Wynn had any skill with the weapon, but the words would play upon Chane well enough. The undead circled, looking for an opening.

"She will not fire at me," he said with quiet certainty. "You are wasting your breath."

"At least I have breath to waste," she replied.

It had never occurred to her that Wynn was anything other than a hostage, but there was apparently something more between these two. But as Magiere matched Chane's maneuvers, she saw the sage point the crossbow at the undead.

He rolled his arm over and up and swung downward, trying Rashed's old trick of brute strength to crash through Magiere's guard. The force was immense, and Magiere dropped halfway to one knee as she blocked. He wasn't playing anymore.

But she never had been.

Magiere deflected and slashed low at his legs. When he retreated, she spun backward through the water for distance. He charged immediately, swinging the sword down as she rose to her feet. This time she dodged and slashed again for his leg. He tried to step away, but the falchion's tip cut across his left knee. He grunted, and as he buckled from the burn of her blade, he slashed upward.

The long sword's point cut partway through Magiere's hauberk below the collar and sliced her left shoulder. She staggered back, regaining her feet as the pain flared.

Chane favored his wounded leg, and Magiere felt blood seeping into her shirt at the shoulder. She needed him off guard for a moment.

"Wynn, shoot him!" she called.

Chane tried to circle but was now limping. At the sight of her blood, his irises dilated, turning crystalline. She felt hunger grow in him, and something else as well.

Desire.

Chane took pleasure in killing, in feeding, in the last moments of his victim's lives.

Why hadn't Wynn fired?

He rushed forward and, at the last second, swung low with his sword.

When Magiere dipped her falchion to block, his free hand snapped out around her wrist. On momentum, he thrust her back against the wall.

Magiere let the hunger rash through her flesh. She thrust her fist into his jaw.

His head snapped back so hard that his body arched away from her, and he lost his grip on her sword arm. His eyes widened as he reeled, and his teeth were stained with his own black fluids.

Magiere swung her freed blade down at his head.

Chane blocked, and the steel clang echoed sharply. He pressed on her throat, forcing Magiere into the wall again.

Blades locked between them, Magiere slapped her free hand around his throat, and her fingers squeezed into cold flesh. Her back came away from the wall.

Chane slowly lost ground, and then set himself, pushing harder, trying to lever the long sword around her falchion toward her face.

In a quick spasm, his eyes and seeping mouth widened as he cried out and pulled away.

The sudden release threw Magiere off balance, and she stumbled. When she regained her footing, Chane was trying desperately to reach a smoking quarrel protruding from his lower back. He looked overwhelmed with shock more than pain as the smoke rose up from his body.

"Wynn… ?" he whispered in confusion.

Magiere saw the young sage already reloading the last quarrel. In that moment of distraction, Chane slashed out wildly with his sword and sliced Magiere across the right thigh.

Her weight gave, and she splashed down to one knee. But Chane staggered as well, smoke still rising from the quarrel in his back. He moaned, clutching at the shaft.

Magiere braced with the falchion to get back up, but she couldn't keep weight on her wounded leg for too long. Chane was in no better shape. If she could get close enough for one swing…

"Aim for his head!" she yelled to Wynn.

But Wynn stood frozen in place. Tears ran down her cheeks.

The world slowed to a stop and all three