Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 79

The severed head of the High Sorcerer of the academy landed on the sidewalk, rolling across the cobbles to settle in a narrow trench of the gutter. The feeble flow of rainwater rushing through it was not enough to bear it awash, and so it remained, lopsided, lips shrivelled back in a grin of death. In his unseeing eyes were reflected two dark figures facing each other in the pouring rain.

She smiled. Linder pulled his claymore out of its scabbard.

"I find it strange that you went for a poor old scholar first, rather than Draedona's Chosen One, if that is indeed what I am," he said.

"Poor old scholar, you say." The woman stretched out her hand, watching the rain clearing the blood off her long fingers. "Why, of course. You folk, of whom sword and valour is the greatest pride, would gladly label kings and generals and necromancers as the evillest of things. And why not? They conquer your lands and raise the dead."

Her deep-set, dark eyes glinted. "But you don't have to burn down a city to be evil. There are those who go unnoticed-- unpunished by heroes such as you. This man, the High Sorcerer, murdered countless of his own pupils, and claimed their work as his own. I just happened to return from the dead to teach him a lesson, because the law of this corrupt city never would."

Did one death matter when the whole land was on the brink of another Apocalypse?

"And so you would condemn all Midaelia for the crime of one man?" Linder asked with a wry smile.

She shrugged. "I'm simply fighting for the good king who put a roof over my head when I had none to turn to. Nothing against you Midaelians." A smile crept on her face as she spoke. "I am still one of you, aren't I?"

Like ghosts out of the mist of rain, figures emerged behind her, their steps slow, pale faces blank and eyes unfocused. One was a commoner, a peasant by the looks of him. The others, Linder realised with a jolt of his heart, were of the city watch. Those in charge of guarding the gates.

They bore wounds which should have been lethal. Slit throats, bashed in skulls, broken necks and stabs in the chest. Yet they walked to stand by their...Mistress with a cold determination, movements like puppets tugged by chains rather than strings.

Necromancy.

Linder's mind's eyes were back again on the yellowed pages of Ryffin's book, the macabre illustrations and the one supposedly dead sorceress whose extraordinary work the author referred most ardently in his notes.

He placed his sword down, resting his hands on its hilt with a nod of his head.

"Greetings... Avalyn Loneblight," he said. "It is a matter of great regret that we have met under such circumstances. In another reality, I could have been an admirer of your work in the field of sorcery."

Avalyn's eyes widened and the look of surprise that crossed her face now was genuine. "You have quite the nerve to mock me when I have you surrounded, I'll give you that."

"You misunderstand me. I have naught but respect for the hard work you did over all those years, but that's where it ends-- because the way you chose to apply that knowledge is despicable," he said, and raised his sword to hold it before him, the point aiming at her. "And I'll do all in my power to protect this city."

Avalyn stretched her arms wide, long-nailed hands clenched into fists as though to throttle the rain itself. The sudden rush of lethal magic as she gathered her powers hit him in the chest like a mace and all air was knocked out of his lungs.

He held on even though he swayed on his feet.

"You'll be the first kill that I'll ever regret, soldier," said Avalyn.