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No matter how deep he pushed into the enemy’s ranks, he could not find the fight he really wanted. He spied a trio of wizards doing damage along the back lines, launching projectiles every few seconds. He forged a path to them and cast his null tattoo. It rippled outward, cutting away their magic. Some of his men swept in to finish them off. The fight felt like it went on without an end in sight.
Exhaustion was coming far faster to Dahvid’s already tired bones. He started to feel desperate to find Thugar. Where are you? Why aren’t you fighting with your men?
Dahvid tried not to use any of his combat tattoos but had to burn the elixir to heal a nasty cut along the back of his calf. He still had his golden rings, the rope spell, and Ware’s reaching hand tattoo. He retreated into a small pocket of calm. Near the tree. As he looked around, he saw his army had won the second round, though their numbers were significantly reduced. He counted fifty solid fighters still standing. A small group of Brood soldiers were making their retreat.
Finally, he saw Thugar’s plan.
Another battalion waited near the barracks. Thugar stood at the front. He had been waiting all this time. It was the same tactic he’d used the night he killed Ware. He would not risk entering battle against someone who was at full strength. Instead, he’d allowed his hired hands to strike the first blows, so that he could step in and finish the fight. Dahvid had no more healing spells. His scarlet traveler was useless. But the true fear came from the exhaustion spreading across his entire body. He felt just as weak as he had after four rounds in the gauntlet.
Still, he raised his voice. “Form up ranks again!”
His remaining soldiers circled back. Some plucked weapons from the fallen, trading nicked blades for something better. It smelled horrible—like the arena. Death was kind to no one. Dahvid watched as Thugar called out commands to the final group. The third wave began to march.
Halfway up the hill, their march became a run. Dahvid let out a war cry as the two sides collided. But this time, they lost ground. He could feel their lines being shoved back, worn down from too much fighting. Individual duels broke out everywhere.
Thugar Brood came for him now. “Hello there, image-bearer.”
His enemy had grown. Far bigger than Dahvid remembered. More polished looking than any version of Thugar he’d ever dreamed of. It was as if he’d spent all his days shaping himself into an instrument of pain and suffering. The man stalked forward wielding a massive broadsword.
“My name is Dahvid Tin’Vori. Brother of Ware Tin’Vori.”
Thugar nodded. “I know who you are. Came all this way to be buried beside him?”
Dahvid snaked forward. His only advantage now was speed. He feigned a side-sweeping blow that twisted into a crosshanded backswing. His blade slit Thugar’s exposed right shoulder. Blood trickled down as Dahvid pressed him, darting in and out of his steps, as quick as a man who’d fought a hundred battles in just a few days could be. He wounded Thugar once more before the bigger man adjusted. Switching into an entirely new stance.
“My turn,” Thugar grunted.
He cut away Dahvid’s quickness through pure strength. Sweeping blows that left no room for counters. All Dahvid could do was backpedal, parry, deflect. The two of them danced in and out of the surrounding duels until it was too much. His body was on the verge of collapse.
He raised his arms to parry a brutal downward cut and felt his sword rattle away. Thugar lashed forward with a brutal punch to the throat. Dahvid stumbled, on the verge of falling, and saw his end coming in a bright flash of silver. The cleaving blow swung from left to right. Dahvid activated his golden rings a breath before the sword reached him.
Golden light spilled outward. A circle inside a circle inside a circle. It entrenched him in a breath, whispering safety. He slumped down within its protection. His hands shook. At least he had time to calm his breathing. Thirty seconds to recover, though he was not sure what would change when the golden light fell away. He needed to make sure…
… a resounding crack filled the air. Thugar’s sword hit the side of his shield with impossible force. Dahvid watched the damage from that impact spread, splintering his most powerful protective magic into a million pieces. He rolled to his right just before the golden light winked out entirely. That is not possible. Thugar pressed him again, and Dahvid had no sword to answer with. He ducked and dodged and desperately activated a second tattoo.
His rope spell.
The invisible magic lashed out, coiling twice around Thugar’s right arm. Dahvid took the other end of the magical rope and drove it straight down into the ground. He felt the magic anchor there. When Thugar raised his sword again, the invisible rope went taut. His right hand jerked down to the ground. It was forceful enough that he nearly fumbled his sword.
Dahvid took advantage. Darting around the bigger man, rolling to collect his fallen sword. He spun back, hoping to turn the tides of the fight while Thugar was still trapped, but his opponent didn’t panic. He lifted his massive sword, set it against the spot where the invisible rope was, and cut through it with a single strike.
That’s a sever-sword. He can destroy magic. Shit.
That realization broke Dahvid. He did not have the physical strength. His magic could not turn the tides. Thugar Brood began to wear him down with merciless efficiency. A cut here. A slit there. An unexpected kick to the chest that sent Dahvid backward. He hit the ground so hard that it felt like he was still falling, like the earth itself was devouring him.
There was dust and the blue sky and his sworn enemy looming overhead. When Dahvid tried to jab upward with his sword, he realized it wasn’t there. He’d been disarmed again.
Thugar spat down in the sand beside him. The bigger man made a show of collecting Dahvid’s blade, abandoning his own. When he came back, he knelt down close.
“Do you want to know how Ware died?”
Thugar grabbed the back of his neck. With incredible strength, he wrenched Dahvid up into a sitting position. He held the summoned sword in his opposite hand.
“I held him like this,” Thugar said. “The same way he held my wife. Dancing with her. Flirting with her. In front of everyone. I held him so very close to me. And then I whispered the final words he heard in this life. The same ones you will hear.”
Thugar leaned forward. Dahvid thought his breath smelled like a graveyard.
“No one will remember you.”
