Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [20]
But the Crone neither crumpled nor turned. She strode toward the Nightshadow, a dry, half-strangled chuckle rasping out of the hole in her throat.
The male didn't move. He stood stock still, his arm not quite high enough to shield his eyes.
Paralyzed.
Cavatina blinked. What was this thing? Even something as powerful as a lich should have hesitated at the sight of her holy symbol.
Cavatina leaped forward, her weapon raised. The undead priestess turned toward her and sang a single, mournful note. Low as a shaum, it reverberated through Cavatina's mind.
Suddenly, Cavatina's mother was before her. Her long white hair whipped around her head as she spun with a dancer's grace. She flung up an arm to meet Cavatina's descending sword. Only at the last moment was Cavatina able to wrench the sword aside to avoid severing her mother's arm.
The singing sword shrilled a warning. The shrill, urgent note penetrated Cavatina's consciousness, shredding the veil that had clouded her mind. The illusion of her mother was replaced by the reality: a desiccated corpse that had been given a hideous semblance of life. White nubs of bone protruded through the tips of those grasping fingers. The cloak hung loose on bony shoulders.
One hand lashed out. Bony fingers brushed Cavatina's shoulder. A wound appeared there, as if a dagger had sliced it open. Not deep, but it stung.
"This is not… your affair," the Crone croaked. Its voice was stronger, and Cavatina could see that the wound the crossbow bolt had torn in its throat had already knitted together.
Cavatina blinked, surprised at the Crone's complete disdain. She raised her sword and swung-a powerful two-handed blow. The singing sword gave a peal of glee as it descended.
In that same instant, the Nightshadow moved. He lashed out with his own sword in an upward diagonal blow. Their two blades clanged together, throwing both Cavatina and the Nightshadow off balance. The Crone ducked aside, unwounded.
"Out of the way!" the Nightshadow shouted.
The Crone lunged, slapping at him with a bare, bony hand. Only by twisting violently aside was the Nightshadow able to avoid being disemboweled. He gasped as the fingers brushed across his hip and buttocks, opening a deep wound.
While the Crone's back was turned, Cavatina leaped and swung. This time, her sword connected. It bit deep into the Crone's neck, cutting through the tough, dry skin and severing the spine. The headless body folded, then fell.
The Nightshadow stared at it, his panting breaths fluttering his mask. One hand clutching his wound, he gasped out a prayer. Slowly, the bleeding stopped.
Cavatina waited, keeping an eye on the body of the Crone, making sure it wasn't going to rise again.
Instead of thanking her, the Nightshadow spat out a curse. "Next time, keep out of the way."
Cavatina stiffened. She couldn't believe what she'd heard. "And let her kill you?"
"She nearly did, thanks to you."
Cavatina's face grew hot. "You were paralyzed," she said. "Helpless."
"I faked it. To draw her in close."
He was lying, of course. It was only to be expected from a Nightshadow. Cavatina was already sorry she'd stepped in. But then she gave herself time to think about it, and realized the unlikelihood of the paralysis wearing off precisely at the moment the Crone came in close enough to kill with a sword blow. Maybe he wasn't lying.
"My apologies," she said at last. "If it happens again, I'll wait until I'm absolutely certain you really do need my help, before jumping in." She shrugged. "Of course, next time you might not be faking the paralysis."
The male met and held her eye in a flat, level stare. Then he turned his attention to the corpse. "It has to be burned," he said. "Before it knits itself back together again."
The head rocked back and forth, as if struggling to do just that. The Nightshadow rolled it away from the body with his sword. Without another word to Cavatina,