“Stop!” said a Cravenlock armsman. “Sir Mazael, you cannot draw steel...”
“Where is Mitor?” said Mazael.
“By Lord Mitor’s command,” said the armsman, reaching for his sword hilt, “no one may carry bared steel in the castle.”
“Where is Mitor?” said Mazael.
“I warned you!” said the armsman, drawing his blade, his two companions doing likewise. “Little wonder Lord Mitor ordered watch kept over you! Take him!”
Mazael drove Lion’s hilt at the armsman's face, knocking him to the floor. The other two armsmen spread out in the wide corridor leading to Mitor’s chambers. Yet they moved so slow, so terribly slow, and Mazael stepped around the first thrust and brought the flat of Lion’s blade down hard on the nearest armsman's head. The man’s eyes bulged, rolled up, and he crumpled to the floor.
The last man was more skilled than his fellows and managed to attack. Mazael parried, shoved, and slammed the man against the wall, his sword clattering against the floor. The armsman went rigid as Lion's razor edge came to rest against his throat.
“Where,” Mazael said, “is Mitor?”
“I don’t know!” said the armsman. “He went with the wizard!”
“Simonian,” said Mazael. He considered killing the guards, and rejected the idea. He wanted Mitor and Simonian, not these wretches, and let the guard fall.
Then he kicked open a side door and strode up the spiral steps. Another door opened into a broad balcony on the main keep’s side. The floor had been torn up and filled with dirt, and a rich garden grew here. A vibrant young oak tree rose in the center, surrounded by all manner of flowers and quite a few blood roses. Lord Adalon had made a gift of the garden to Lady Arissa for their wedding. She had never used it.
There was another door on the far side of the garden, one that led to the keep's upper levels. Mazael barred the door behind him. The Cravenlock armsmen would try to stop him from killing Mitor and Simonian, but they would come too late.
And if they did reach him...why, he would just have to kill them too.
He strode to the upper door and paused as voices came through the wood.
“You must come, my lady! He’s gone mad from grief, I swear it. I’ve seen such things before. The gods only know what he will do!” It was Timothy.
“I knew it.” Romaria’s voice shook. “I saw it in his face. I should have...the Seer warned me. Go and find Sir Gerald and Sir Nathan.”
“My lady,” said Timothy. “Sir Mazael’s lost his wits! He’ll kill...”
“Go!” said Romaria.
The door opened, and Romaria entered the garden, her blue eyes fixed on him.
“Move,” Mazael said. She was blocking the door.
“Why?” said Romaria.
“Mitor’s a wretch. Simonian killed Master Othar. Now, move!” roared Mazael.
“How do you know?” said Romaria.
Mazael growled. “How do I know?” he said. “What do you care? Out of my way!”
Romaria didn’t move. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why? They killed Master Othar!” screamed Mazael. “I’ll mount both their heads above the castle gates! If you don’t move, you can join them!”
A muscle in Romaria’s face ticked. “No. You’re doing this for revenge. If you do this now, in the...state you're in, you'll damn yourself forever.”
“Are you an Amathavian nun to prattle proverbs at me?” said Mazael. “Or are you with Simonian?” The possibility made perfect sense. “Yes, you’re scheming with him, you were part of this, weren’t you?”
Romaria shook her head. “No.”
“Prove it,” said Mazael. “Move.”
“No,” said Romaria. “Don’t do this, Mazael. Listen to me...”
He ran at her instead, Lion flashing.
Romaria moved almost as fast, her bastard sword blurring into her hand. Mazael plunged his sword’s tip at her head, reversed momentum, and brought it stabbing down for her belly. She parried, the swords meeting with a tremendous clang.
“Stop this!” said Romaria.
Mazael didn’t hear her. The volcanic fury in his mind had found an outlet, and it felt good. Mazael's only thought was to kill.
Romaria’s sword danced in time to Mazael’s, her stance shifting, her grip shifting from one-handed to two-handed and back again. Mazael could not follow her movements fast enough to find an opening. He locked their swords together on the next parry and shoved. Romaria was fast and agile, but he was stronger. Romaria stumbled, her back slapping against the keep's wall.
Romaria ducked his next thrust, and Lion sheared through her cloak and slid into a gap between two stones. He roared and tore the sword free, slashing for Romaria. But she slid free from her cloak, her blade stabbing towards his gut. Mazael parried, but the flat of her blade smacked into his thigh.
“Stop this!” said Romaria. “Mazael, the Seer, I didn’t tell you all...”
He ignored her and chopped towards her skull, their blades locking in a parry. Mazael shoved again, but this time she jumped back. He lost his balance for a moment, and Romaria counterattacked, her sword opening a shallow cut against his ribs.
“Mazael, please, stop this!” said Romaria. A drop of his blood slid down her sword. “You don’t know what this is doing to you...”
His next attack brought Lion high, low, and then arcing for her throat. Romaria pivoted, but she was too slow. Lion scraped along her collarbone, but blood flared crimson against her pale skin. Mazael laughed and went for the kill, but she spun out of his reach.
“Brother Silar was right!” she yelled.
Mazael spun and came at her, his sword slashing at her from every angle. Yet somehow she parried every one of his attacks. She turned one of his strikes, her sword point biting at his arm.
“You have magic!” said Romaria. “Don’t you see? Silar was right!”
He almost killed her. He whipped his sword at her face. Romaria jerked back, but she was almost too slow. For a moment Mazael thought he’d slain her, but she circled to his left, and he roared with frustration.
“It’s out of control,” said Romaria. “Your power’s devouring you. The rage... it's not natural. It will burn you out from the inside...”
Mazael worked Lion through a high slash and then a low thrust. Romaria blocked and batted aside his stabbing blade. She thrust at him, and her sword nicked his hip, drawing blood.
“Stop this!” said Romaria. “It will destroy you.”
“You can’t stop me,” said Mazael.
“I can’t,” said Romaria. “But you can. Please, just put down your sword...”
Mazael slashed at her, holding Lion in a two-handed grip, and she jumped out of reach.
Romaria’s eyes flashed. “Then fight!” She turned his next attack and spun around him. Mazael dropped Lion low to parry, but she whirled her hilt and stabbed at his chest. He managed to parry, but the edge of her blade gashed his arm. Her furious assault did not relent. The sparks in her eyes turned to fire, and her sword was everywhere. Despite his speed and strength, it was all Mazael could do to parry. She drove him across the balcony, over the tangled roots of the tree, through the flowers and the grasses.
Romaria’s attack drove him to the edge of the battlements. Her fury began to play out, her chest heaving with breath, sweat streaming down her face. Mazael felt filled with life and power.
Soon she would tire and make a mistake.
He parried another of her attacks, and this time she was too slow. He shoved at her, and she stumbled. Romaria tumbled backwards and went into a backwards fall. Mazael stalked after her, sword raised high, and she vanished.
He smiled. He had seen this trick before.
Romaria reappeared before him. Mazael stepped around her attack and rammed Lion into her throat. Her blue eyes bulged, and blood gushed from her torn neck. Crimson bubbles foamed in her mouth as she tried to scream, and she collapsed to the ground.
And Mazael's rage vanished.
&n
bsp; His head pounded, every heartbeat sending waves of pain through his skull. He felt old and weary. For a moment, he could not remember where he was.
Then he saw Romaria’s dying body lying at his feet, and he remembered.
Mazael fell to one knee. He saw the blood pooling beneath her. He saw it smeared along the length of his sword and dripping from his fingers. Lion fell from his grasp. All he could see was the blood. He tried to reach for her.
“Oh gods...” said Mazael. “Oh gods, no. No, no, no. What have I done...”
A lance of slithering pain spread through his gut. Mazael doubled over and vomited. He wheezed and coughed, drops of spittle hanging from his lips.
He looked up, dreading the sight.
Romaria was gone.
He stared at the empty stones, confused beyond the capacity for thought. What had he done? What had happened?
A warm hand fell on his shoulder. He looked and saw Romaria kneeling besides him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other holding her heavy sword. The skin of her throat was smooth and unbroken.
Mazael couldn’t believe it. He reached a trembling hand for her face and felt the smooth skin, felt the blood pulsing through the veins of her neck. “How...I....I killed...”
“It was an illusion,” said Romaria. Her smile was weak. “I didn’t show you all my tricks.”
“Tricks?” said Mazael. His tongue felt like lead. “But...I killed, gods, I killed...” His voice shook. He felt something wet in his eyes. “I killed...I tried to kill you. And Simonian. And Mitor...I tried so hard to kill you. Gods, gods, I’m going mad...what’s happening...”
The world lurched, and Mazael felt all the strength got out of him. His head struck the stone floor, and a wave of fire washed through his brain. He heard Romaria’s voice once more before the darkness closed over him.
3
Two Halves