Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [30]
She flung her dagger. It flew with deadly accuracy, transfixing the creature between the eyes.
Or it would have, if the creature's flesh hadn't parted like mist and completely ignored the blade of elven steel. The dagger clattered on the rocks somewhere on the other side of the bluff.
"Blood!" spat Kiril.
The dwarf staggered to his feet, one white, bloodless hand still tightly gripping his selenite rod. Thormud pointed the rod at the earth where the creature stood. The ground trembled, but one of the free-floating glyphs surrounding the creature flashed like a shooting star. Thormud screamed, dropped his rod, and clutched his head. The temblor faded.
"My earth sense!" wailed the dwarf. "I can't hear the earth! Where is it?"
The half-material newcomer advanced down the slope in streaming folds of translucent flesh and unfixed symbols. The dwarf fell upon the ground he'd just vacated. Thormud's crystal familiar turned wing and flapped straight away across the plain, pealing a random series of plaintive notes.
It was up to Kiril Duskmourn to quell the threat.
The elf squared her shoulders and pulled Angul free of his sheath.
Clarity flashed over Kiril like a sunrise, its brilliance rolling in all directions, chasing away every shadow, every shade of gray, every doubt, and every worry. Warmth, peace, and freedom from uncertainty and skepticism suffused her. The Blade Cerulean burned triumphantly in her welcoming grip, its color tinged the brilliant blue that only stars could achieve. She wondered anew why she didn't draw the blade more often. It was like coming home.
The distractions that made moral judgments difficult burned away in the glorious certitude that pulsed from Angul. There was right and there was wrong-no extenuating circumstances, no means to an end, and no second chances.
Not even for Angul's wielder.
As always, the blade singed her hands and sent a thread of agony through her mind. The pain was her punishment for the alcohol blurring her brain and thinning her blood. If she were not the wielder and sole gateway through which Angul could affect the world, her punishment would have been harsher. But it was this pain, and the toxic effects of the whisky, that allowed Kiril to retain the least thread of herself when she had Angul in hand.
Sometimes.
Kiril raised the Blade Cerulean, and his white light doubled, then redoubled again, shedding light like the day in all directions. Her lips moved, but Angul's words formed in her mouth. Angul said, "We do not suffer abominations."
In the light of the blade's radiance, the creature was undeterred and continued its advance. One of the intruder's free-floating glyphs flared purple and darted forward, striking Kiril.
It struck her with the force of an iron mallet, then shattered, used up. But Angul helped her bear the pain stoically and without flinching. The creature was wrong, and would be dealt with. Its sorcerous attacks couldn't be allowed to deter justice.
The elf charged, bringing her blade around to slice the creature's head from its shoulders. One of the floating sigils interposed itself and flared on contact with Angul's steel. The sigil shattered, but in so doing, Kiril's blow was blocked.
Kiril counted ten more floating sigils. Her strategy was simple. She would target each sigil individually, until she had destroyed every last one of the intruder's protective glyphs. Then she would slay it, without hindrance.
The elf set to work, hacking at the creature's floating glyphs even as it flowed forward to threaten the insensate dwarf. Each of Kiril's swings smashed another defending sigil, and the air was aglow with violet motes and crunching sounds akin to plates being shattered on the floor, one after another.
A remote voice clamored for Kiril's attention. It was a wisp, a filament, but she was able to discern its message: She would not be able to destroy all the sigils before the creature fell atop Thormud. What of it? The creature was an abomination, and had to be destroyed. To take any other action