A single tear of blood streaked down her face like a drop of burning oil as a dull pain grew in the front of her brain, a swelling tumor of agony that she thought would make her head burst. Her limbs trembled and ached as with a flu. Chills ran beneath a sheen of sweat. And yet with her voice still strong and clear, Zyrella held herself together as the powers she summoned ravaged her body and soul.
Because she was winning.
For the first time in all these years, she held the advantage. She could feel Salahn’s presence, vague and yet almost overwhelming, battling back against her, but he was confused by her counter-spell. There was no way he could have anticipated the trick the White Tigress had concocted, using the newly awakened link between herself and Zyrella to channel the counter-spell over a distance of three hundred leagues. And Salahn’s binding spell was complex. He would have to be fatigued after months of sorcerous preparations, which Zyrella suspected was why, from time to time, the strength of his spell would lag.
Suddenly Zyrella convulsed. Her heart raced. A scream threatened to break her chants, but she held it in check, locking down her primal fear with all the willpower she could muster.
For the Slayer entered the shrine.
His spirit burned with the heat of a bonfire. And in the deepest part of her being, she wanted to throw herself into that flame. But she maintained focus on her ritual. To do otherwise would invite disaster and assure failure. Zyrella could only trust that Ohzikar—her poor, outmatched champion—would delay Bavadi long enough.
~~~~
Jaska stepped into the sanctuary. As he rolled his weight onto his lead foot, he sensed danger. He sprang back and a tulwar chopped through the space he had occupied.
A large templar captain barreled into the hallway. It said much for the man’s mental fortitude that Jaska hadn’t sensed his presence. Knowing mind control probably wouldn’t work on such an opponent, Jaska withdrew to the courtyard. There, he went on the offensive, using the open space to his advantage.
Jaska dropped beneath a sword slash and jabbed upward with his bagh nakh. The steel claws tore through the templar’s burnoose and raked across the chainmail protecting his chest. Jaska followed with a kick to the stomach and a downward slash that the templar barely blocked with his shield.
Another series of dazzling attacks resulted in a shallow cut across the templar’s sword hand, a rip in his leather greaves, and a crack in his shield. Forced back into the entranceway, the templar gathered himself and lunged. Jaska ducked under the warrior’s sword, caught him by the arm, and threw him over his shoulder.
~~~~
Ohzikar landed hard. He surged to his feet and found the assassin sprinting toward the shrine. He slipped his arm free of his shield, twisted, and flung the disc. The shield struck the ground at the Slayer’s heels and skidded under his feet.
Bavadi tripped, and his forehead struck the ground with a dull thud. He rose to face Ohzikar’s charge and dodged again, but with slower reflexes this time. Ohzikar hoped that would even the odds. Otherwise, he wasn’t going to last much longer.
Bavadi’s eyes narrowed as he backed into the shrine.
Not more than twenty feet away, Zyrella continued her ritual, seemingly undaunted. Ohzikar wished he knew how much time he needed to buy her. His comrades were fighting beyond the wall. He called for them to return and regroup, shouting as loud as he could.
~~~~
Jaska considered rushing the priestess but felt certain the templar, despite his lesser speed, would strike him down before he reached her. The templar kicked a toe under his shield, flipped it up, and caught it deftly.
“You will perish tonight,” Jaska said.
“Perhaps,” replied the templar as he lunged with his sword. “But not before our work is done.”
Too late Jaska saw the feint for what it was. The warrior’s shield crashed into his shoulder and knocked him back. He stumbled and parried two sword strikes. He recovered his balance, but the templar now stood between him and the priestess.
Still dazed, Jaska didn’t think his head would clear while breathing in the hallucinogenic smoke within the shrine. He would have to withdraw outside again. He was getting frustrated. This was taking too long and he sensed that something was amiss in the pulses of magic he had felt within the shrine.
~~~~
Minutes became like days for Zyrella, locked into the ritual, weaving shadows and half-lights, bending the forces of existence to her will. As she continued to battle Salahn, exhaustion set in and drained her internal energies. He was regaining strength and was no longer confused. But Zyrella still held the upper hand, except that she lacked the power to finish and only two sources remained: the last of her life force and the storm. Her life she must maintain to finish the ritual, so Zyrella called to the heart of the rumbling thunderclouds above.
Her hair fanned outward. Her skin tingled, her muscles numbed. She felt hollow inside, empty and waiting, her life force nearly spent. But the storm answered and filled the void.
“Get out, Ohzi!,” she yelled in her mind. “Run!”
~~~~
Ohzikar debated whether he should follow Bavadi. If the palymfar aided his comrades outside, he would kill the other templars and return with help. But that might give Zyrella time enough to finish. He looked to her, chanting and swaying, and somehow he knew that he must leave the shrine, that he must pursue Bavadi.
Lightning strikes increased as wind and rain pounded the mountain. In the dark and the elements, the Slayer held the advantage, but Ohzikar strolled into the courtyard as if on a casual walk. He would not go into death as a frightened man. Paradise belonged to the brave and true of heart. Though his comrades had failed to return, he could still hear them fighting beyond the wall. He hoped they were faring well, but he feared the worst.
Bavadi launched a series of rapid attacks in an Eastern fighting style Ohzikar had never seen before. He had never imagined anyone could move with such speed. His defense faltered and the Slayer landed a hard kick to his ribs. He doubled over, and Bavadi elbowed him across the jaw. Ohzikar fell to his hands and knees. He rolled to the side, and a saber slash meant to decapitate him struck his shoulder instead. The sword dented his chainmail, and broken links jabbed into his skin. As soon as he stood up, a kick slammed into his jaw and knocked him back down. Ohzikar’s head swam and his vision blurred as he fought to remain conscious.
As the Slayer started to pounce on him, a lightning bolt speared down from the clouds and struck the shrine with a cracking pop. A slight charge ran through Ohzikar as the blast illuminated the mountain and nearly blinded him.
While Jaska stood dumbstruck, Ohzikar staggered to his feet. He looked to the shrine, expecting ruins, but it looked no worse.
“Zyrella!” he called out. “Zyrella!”
He heard no response.
And then the palymfar attacked. Ohzikar noticed it too late. He deflected Bavadi’s saber, but not enough. The blade glanced from Ohzikar’s shield and dented his helmet. His ears rang, the ground swirled, and he collapsed.
~~~~
Lightning fired down into the shrine and shattered the statue of the White Tigress. Zyrella shielded her head as marble fragments pelted the sanctuary. As the dust settled, she wiped a trickle of blood from her nose and looked up.
Above the dais, shadows and light swirled and coalesced into the true form of the White Tigress, her sleek, feline body shimmering with the aura of divinity. The goddess again stood within her home shrine, whole and free. Her slitted pupils flared as she opened her fanged maw and roared with the voice of a hundred tigers.
Tears welling in her eyes, Zyrella stared dumbstruck at the goddess she had served but had never seen. The White Tigress dipped her majestic head then bounded toward the entrance. Zyrella bowed once and then raced after her. Dizzy and fatigued, her muscles spent, Zyrella nearly passed out, but adrenaline and awe kept her going. As well as a growing sense something had gone wrong.
As she caught up to the White Tigress, she knew what it was. Though the Tigress was free, a chain of binding yet linked her to Grandmaster Salahn. With another hour or two of casting, Salahn would yet prevail. Zyrella decided to finish what she had begun, even though she knew performing the ritual again would kill her. But maybe her sacrifice would be enough to—
“There is no point in trying, my brilliant child,” interrupted the White Tigress in a voice as strong and soft as spider silk. “You cannot stop Salahn’s magic, and your ritual has achieved all that I desired.”
Questions arose within Zyrella’s mind but faded when she spotted Ohzikar fallen with the Slayer standing over him.
The White Tigress roared. “Jaska Bavadi, I command you cease!”
~~~~
Jaska halted and stared at Zyrella and the scintillating white tiger beside her. Together they befuddled his mind. He made the crescent mudra of warding and spoke a spell of banishment. Neither had any effect. He wasn’t prepared for this. Never had he imagined the priestess could not only ruin Salahn’s ritual but also summon the White Tigress to freedom.
The Tigress stalked toward him. “Jaska, turn from the evil that binds you to Salahn. Open your eyes and see the world as it is. You are not the palymfar you believe yourself to be. Your mentor has corrupted you.”
Jaska lowered into a defensive stance. He was the Operations Master of the Haareez Palymfar. He fought for justice and peace. A witch and her demon-goddess would not defeat him. “I’ll not heed to your raving, demon.”
~~~~
Hesitantly, Zyrella stroked the smooth coat of her goddess, a familiarity allowed only to priestesses. The fur seemed impossibly soft and yet her fingers tingled with energy. The struggle of this day was almost worth this one experience long denied her by Salahn.
Zyrella didn’t understand what was happening between the Tigress and Jaska, but desperation and confusion burned in his eyes. Whatever the White Tigress intended, her tactic was working. Zyrella joined in, though she didn’t know if what her goddess said was true or merely a bluff.
“Listen to the White Tigress, Jaska Bavadi. Your ways are evil. You have brought suffering to Haareez, and Salahn brings doom to us all. Surrender to us and–”
“I am palymfar! I will never surrender!”
The White Tigress shook her head. “You call yourself a palymfar, but you are no such thing. You are a perversion of what that order once stood for. You are a twisted shadow of the real Jaska Bavadi.”
~~~~
Jaska backed away from them. What power did they use against him that his qavra and training provided no defense?
“The power of truth recoils you,” the White Tigress said, somehow having read his mind.
Jaska knew then that he couldn’t resist them. The White Tigress was bad enough, but Zyrella’s voice was like the sigh of a summer breeze. He backed up to the ledge. If he couldn’t win, he must retreat and gather new resources. Jaska intoned a spell and readied himself to vault backward and scale down the sheer mountain face.
But suddenly, a new power blossomed from within his qavra. Grandmaster Salahn had stored this magic there. Jaska recognized his mentor’s aura, and he was certain the energy uncoiling within him would protect him from the hypnotic ability of the White Tigress.
~~~~
Ohzikar, fighting off nausea and exhaustion, pulled himself up into a crouch. A score of bruises ached into his bones and a steady stream of blood rolled down his face from the wound on his scalp. But he would never give up while Zyrella faced danger, and he took heart from the appearance of his goddess, freed at last.
Ohzikar quietly gathered his tulwar and shield. And when Jaska’s qavra blazed to life with a dark energy that glowed through his eyes, Ohzikar was glad he had prepared himself.
As Jaska subtly shifted his weight into an attack stance, Ohzikar closed, unnoticed, to within a few steps of his side. On a blast of thunder, he surged forward.
~~~~
Responding to instinct alone, Jaska bent backward. The templar’s blade missed his skull and instead tore down his cheek and through the leather choker that bound his qavra to him, slicing a thin line down his neck. Then the tulwar ripped a deep wound across his chest.
Jaska staggered back toward the precipice. His saber fell from his right hand, then the bagh nakh from his left. The templar captain began his next attack. Jaska couldn’t stop him. He could hardly keep his balance and remain conscious. He prepared for death, but unexpectedly, the White Tigress pounced onto the templar and stopped him.
Jaska checked the wound to his neck. As his fingers neared the torn flesh, his choker and the attached qavra fell free and landed in a puddle of mud. In eighteen years as a palymfar, his qavra had never left him.
A horrid scream tore from his throat as he reeled backward. Lightning arced, splintered, and spread until a giant web illuminated the sky. Jaska looked about in utter confusion, trying to remember what was going on. The lightning trails broke apart and rained down as fire, hurting no one. In fact, it seemed he was the only one who saw them.
Jaska’s heels reached the edge. His balance wavered. A strange white tiger moved toward him. Jaska lifted his arms to defend himself but lost his balance. A paw swiped at him as he went over the precipice. It failed to catch him, and Jaska tumbled into darkness.
~~~~
The White Tigress snarled at Ohzikar then bounded down the trail with greater speed than any normal tiger could manage. Zyrella rushed over and grabbed Ohzikar’s arm.
“Come on! We’ve got to follow her.”
Ohzikar climbed to his feet but then collapsed. “Give me a moment.”
“She doesn’t have many moments left!”
Ohzikar grasped at his head. “What do you mean?”
Zyrella took a deep breath and thought about what she should do. What could she do? The White Tigress was already far away. And doing what? Rescuing the Slayer? Sighing with frustration, Zyrella decided that seeing to Ohzikar was more important at the moment, since the Tigress had not given her instructions.
She explained her failure to him as she removed his helmet and checked his wound. “You probably have a concussion. That’s the worst of it, though.”
Ohzikar tore a strip of cloth from his under-tunic and wrapped it around his head. Still naked, and shivering from cold and fatigue, Zyrella walked over to the precipice. Through the rain and dark, she couldn’t see the river below. She could only it hear it roaring and sloshing.
Something pricked her senses. She looked about and found Bavadi’s qavra lying in the mud near her feet. She made sure there were no active sorceries radiating from it then picked it up.
“Ohzi, do you think Bavadi really has been duped by Salahn?”
“I can’t imagine how. A man can be deceived into killing a good person, but he can’t be tricked into torturing children. The Tigress was just trying to confuse him.”
“Then why did she stop you from killing him?”
Ohzikar shrugged, and Zyrella frowned. She wanted to tell Ohzi how she felt when she looked at Bavadi, but he wouldn’t understand. He would think she had lost her mind, that the sorceries had affected her wits. And perhaps they had.
Footsteps crunched toward the gap in the wall. Ohzikar stood, suddenly alert again. “Our comrades—”
“Are dead,” said a large palymfar with a battle-axe as he thudded into the courtyard. “And now you will join them.”
Blood stained the man’s face, his hands and arms, his slashed burnoose. He spied the qavra in Zyrella’s hand, yelled a curse against her, and charged. Zyrella sprinted ahead of Ohzikar, dove, and rolled into the palymfar’s feet. The assassin tripped and fell into Ohzikar’s thrusting tulwar. Though pierced through the stomach, the palymfar swung his axe. Ohzikar ducked. The blade barely missed his head. As he rose, the palymfar head-butted him. Ohzikar fell back, twisting and dragging his tulwar downward. The sword sliced through the palymfar’s intestines. Despite his battle rage, the assassin collapsed then died.
Ohzikar cried out for his comrades. None answered. He lay back, gasped for air, and tried to staunch his nosebleed. Scanning for friends and enemies, Zyrella knelt and cast a simple spell that nevertheless shot pain into her mind.
All others on the mountain summit were dead. Beyond, she couldn’t tell. Zyrella hoped Jaska Bavadi had also perished if for no other reason than she couldn’t bear to see him again. However, she feared the White Tigress had gone to save him. She felt slighted that she had risked so much only to have the Tigress spend all her efforts on the Slayer. But she reminded herself the goddess was grateful to her, and wise.
“They’re gone?” Ohzikar asked.
“Our friends? Yes. The other palymfar, too, though I don’t know about Bavadi.”
“You’re going to have to go after the goddess without me.”
“No, we’ll get you inside and check those wounds. The goddess didn’t ask us to come along, and neither of us is in any shape to. We have done our part for now. If she needs us, she can call for us. Otherwise, we will go down when we can and search for the Slayer’s body or see if we can discover what the White Tigress did.”
Ohzikar spotted the qavra in her hands. “You should toss it into the river.”
“No. It may be of use to us later.”
Distant thunder rumbled. The wind had calmed to a steady breeze, but still the clouds poured rain. Zyrella helped Ohzikar into the shrine. She hoped she wouldn’t go to sleep tonight and never wake. That sometimes happened to sorcerers after wielding too much power. She had definitely drained a handful of years from her life this day.
A life she had thought would end tonight. But there was time for that yet. Their war was far from over.
“We’ll be all right here, Ella.”
Zyrella tenderly stroked his cheek. Ohzi was all the family she had left now. Twelve friends she’d known all her life had perished this night.
