From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [135]
The gowzals began to squawk. Green fog billowed from Macoun’s palm, drifting toward Averella.
Averella, get out of here! Sir Eagan said to her mind.
She ran to the door and pulled at the handle. It did not open. She banged on it with her fists. “Noam! Open the door!”
The door rattled. “I can’t, my lady! Is it locked?”
A chill crept up Averella’s legs. She whirled around to see the green fog clouding her feet. The blood in her toes turned to ice, and the feeling crept up her legs and torso. She gasped at the cold, wondering why she had stopped trying to run.
“Pick up your father’s sword, my lady.”
Averella’s body moved, though she had not wanted it to. What madness was this? Her lips would not part to utter the question aloud.
Averella! Sir Eagan said. You must refuse his tricks. Call on Arman!
Yes, she must. But instead, she crouched at her father’s feet and took hold of Eagan’s Elk, the blade Achan had wielded when she had first seen him. The blade her father called Rhomphaia. The leather-wrapped grip felt odd, worn down by hands larger than hers.
“Averella, please!” Sir Eagan yelled over the screeching birds.
“Now, kill your father.”
No, she wanted to say. She stared at Eagan’s Elk’s copper and ivory crossguard, the carved ivory dagfish, the symbol of Tsaftown. Years ago, Sir Eagan had won this sword from her cousin Sir Eric. Now it would take his life.
What defeatist thoughts were these? She could not allow this evil man to manipulate her. She glanced at her father’s eyes, so blue and bright. Arman, help me!
Heat melted over the top of her head, dripped down her spine and legs until she burned. Not at all painful. And yet the overwhelming, fiery euphoria stole her breath.
THE ONE WHO WAS BORN OF GOD KEEPS HIS BELIEVERS SAFE, AND THE EVIL ONE CANNOT HARM THEM. GREATER IS HE THAT IS IN YOU THAN HE THAT IS IN THE LAND.
Averella trembled. Tears wended their way down her cheeks. Thank You, Arman. I love You!
AND I YOU, CHILD.
Vrell gripped the sword’s hilt in two hands. Macoun was still holding out his hands, expelling his misty magic, but it had no effect on her.
I am free, Sir Eagan, she said. Arman freed me.
Wonderful! He has not released my bonds, though. You must be the one to stop Macoun. Can you do it?
She stared into her father’s eyes. I can.
She stepped back, crouching into position and holding Eagan’s Elk at middle guard. Macoun’s laughter and the gowzals’ cries fueled her resolve. She recalled Achan’s lesson that this was a cutting blade. No use trying to stab Macoun, which would be harder, anyway. She raised Eagan’s Elk to side guard, stepped back a bit farther, and swung at Macoun’s head with all her strength and—by the fire still flowing in her veins—Arman’s strength, as well.
She barely heard a sound. She completed her swing and stared at him, ready to take another slice. Had she missed him?
She’d thought her aim was—
Like a toy toppling off a shelf, Macoun’s head tipped off his neck and fell to the floor. His body collapsed as well, leaving black ash drifting on the air where he had stood.
The gowzals shrieked all at once. Several flew out the window, raising a dust of feathers and ash. Two flew to Macoun’s body and began pecking.
Averella intended to look away, but movement caught her gaze. A near-naked man stood in Macoun’s place, though she could barely see him. His milky white skin was a coating of gossamer over hard muscles. He had black horns on his head and a mouth full of jagged teeth. The creature hissed at Averella like an angry cat, and leapt through the wall.
Averella turned to her father. “Did you see—?”
“I did.” His wide-eyed stare refocused on her face. He smiled and swept her up in a tight embrace.
She wilted there, never having felt so safe and secure in her life.
“Well done, Averella,” her father said. “Well done, indeed.” Achan’s elbow struck the side of Silvo’s blade.
23
Achan’s elbow struck the side of Silvo’s blade.
A gust of heat sizzled over Achan’s head, and Silvo vanished