113: THE LAST DANCE

(Kihrin’s story)

I was getting my ass kicked.

Janel had once described how fast Thaena was in combat, but I’d never reconciled the old woman I’d first met at the auction block in Kishna-Farriga with the graceful avatar of death. Experience proved an unforgiving teacher. Often, Thaena wasn’t much more than a blur. If I could no longer thank Taja for my survival, I’ll just point out I had a fantastic sword teacher.

But I wasn’t holding my own. Thaena didn’t even need to use magic to kill me. She was doing it the old-fashioned way, slice by painful slice.

I tried my damnedest to fight her off, but it wasn’t going to be enough. I didn’t have a reach on her, she had two swords to my one, and she was better.

I managed to land a cut along her arm, but that hardly compared to the razor marks crisscrossed over me. I started to hear Urthaenriel’s song, but I had no idea where Xivan was or if she’d reach me in time. I might well bleed out before the fight was over.

I studied Thaena as much as I could, looking for any opening, any weakness. It wasn’t just my life on the line. I pushed one sword up high, dodged around the second, and came down hard on her hand. Thaena dropped a sword, looking shocked.

“Did you forget who trained me?”

“I tire of these games,” she growled, “and now we’ve reached the end of the performance.”

I glanced toward Teraeth, behind her, as she lunged forward. Weird as it seemed, I felt like he’d actually taken too long. As if he’d started over at least once.

I barely parried her sword strike. It slid against my upper arm instead of causing a much more fatal wound. But then she did something too fast to follow. I fell to the ground; my sword landed to my left.

I scrambled over toward it while Thaena followed slowly. She was in no rush.

Urthaenriel’s pommel slid across the stone ground until the sword stopped right next to me.

“You dropped that,” Xivan said.

I rolled, picking up the sword as I stood to my feet. Urthaenriel turned into a gleaming silver bar, singing harmonies in my mind, a soaring choir.

Thaena frowned at me, then looked around. She was trying to figure out where the sword had come from.

And Xivan stood right there. Right out in the open. Thaena couldn’t see her.

I immediately knew what that had to mean. Valathea was here somewhere, wearing a Cornerstone capable of fooling an Immortal—Chainbreaker. I hadn’t seen her at all during the battle, but she’d been in the parliament hall when Relos Var had created his gate. Then a rush of tenyé poured into me, giving me energy, healing my wounds.

My parents had made it to the platform. If anyone knew how to heal from a distance, it was those two.

I didn’t want to give Thaena too much time to contemplate who else might be up on the platform with us. I attacked, coming in fast, shifting Urthaenriel through various lengths as I still tried with all my might not to end up impaled on her sword.

But this was a whole new dance. Now I held Urthaenriel, which meant Thaena faced a genuine threat. One that she took seriously. Now I was landing my own strikes, using Godslayer’s shifting nature to work past her defenses.

Maybe it would have mattered, if I’d remembered being S’arric. But I didn’t. She was thousands of years old. I was twenty.

She feinted and shoved my hand aside. Thaena summoned a new sword in her off hand and sliced down across my wrist. She severed the tendons I needed to hold anything, let alone a weapon. Urthaenriel dropped with agonizing slowness from my twitching fingers.

Thaena caught it before it hit the ground.

“It’s time to be done with this.” Thaena examined the sword in her hand with distaste, then threw it to the ground behind her. She grabbed my throat and lifted, squeezing. “We’ll try again. We’ll re-imprison Vol Karoth and buy ourselves the centuries we need to find heroes who will do what they’re told—”

A blast of energy struck her. Thaena dropped me as she staggered backward.

“You talk too much,” Valathea said.

“There you are,” Thaena said. “I wondered. Thank you for saving me the effort of chasing you down.”

I clutched at my hand, trying to at least stop the bleeding. Valathea had bought me a few seconds. I intended to use them wisely.

“Listen to yourself, Khaemezra,” Valathea said. “How far have you fallen from the woman I knew. But I wanted you to know I’m going to find my husband, and I’m going to bring him back.”

Thaena sneered and started to say something. Started. She blinked and looked surprised instead. A split second later, a silver sword’s gleaming point erupted from Thaena’s chest along with a spray of blood. Thaena looked down at herself as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Teraeth stood behind her, holding Urthaenriel.

Thaena’s control over him must have broken the moment she grabbed the sword. Then she’d thrown it behind herself. Toward him.

“There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” Valathea finished.

“Teraeth—” Thaena turned toward her son.

He moved his arm again, a single sharp, efficient motion. Thaena’s head came away from her shoulder. Both fell to the ground.

Teraeth stood there for a few seconds—each one a Shadrag Gor–worthy eternity—staring at his mother’s corpse. Then he fell to his knees.

We all started running. Me to Teraeth, my parents to me.

I threw my arms around Teraeth and held him to me.

“It’s over,” I whispered. “It’s over.”