The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [129]
And he fought for the preservation of all that Silvanus had entrusted him with. If Borran Kiosk escaped, Haarn had no doubt the mohrg would take Taraketh's Hive and summon the vangdumonders. Borran Kiosk had been right about that: if the bees died in a place, so did that place. A creature that any civilized person would take for granted was the basic ingredient of the chain of life Silvanus had taught his followers to so revere.
"Stand away, boy," Borran Kiosk said, even though his tongue never once stopped flicking. The barbed end tore into Haarn's left thigh. "I've no wish to fight you. You can live."
"And you can die," Haarn growled, swinging the scimitar again.
His arms felt like lead and his breath came hard, burning the back of his throat and deep into his lungs.
Pressing his advantage, Haarn took two quick steps forward, slamming blow after blow at the mohrg, almost reaching him. Druz remained back, unable to get any closer. Haarn had to move so fast and so broadly there was no room for her to join the battle.
Blood dripped from Haarn's wounded shoulder, running down the length of his arm in crimson threads that made their way down to his hands and dripped on the cobblestones. His foot hit a patch of his own blood and he slipped. It wasn't much of a slip, but it was enough for Borran Kiosk to try to seize the advantage.
Quick as a darting hummingbird, lethal as a striking viper, the mohrg's tongue leaped for Haarn's face. The druid knew he had no defense. He couldn't get the scimitar up at an angle to deflect the tongue, and he couldn't dodge, and sticking an arm in front of his face would only add one more layer of flesh and bone for the tongue to go through before it pierced his head.
Instead, Haarn lifted the scimitar and held it edge-out, concentrating on the tongue, making himself one with his weapon, keeping the balance between fear and hope as Sil-vanus's teachings instructed.
The tongue slammed into the scimitar, then split into halves. The horrendous wound spilled no blood, but Borran Kiosk shrilled in surprised pain. Grabbing the retreating tongue with one hand, Haarn let the dreadful appendage pull him toward his opponent. Borran Kiosk didn't see him coming until it was too late.
Putting his weight into the blow, Haarn drew the scimitar from under his wounded arm in a backhanded slash that caught Borran Kiosk beneath the chin. The scimitar sliced through the long, purple tongue and it flopped to the ground like a dying snake. The heavy blade caught halfway through the mohrg's spine at the base of the skull.
No mercy in him, Haarn gripped the back edge of the scimitar blade, stepped forward, and twisted the sword as hard as he could.
Borran Kiosk's head snapped free of the spine and sailed through the air. It bounced against the wall behind him then came to a rest at Haarn's feet.
Striding forward, Haarn shoved the rest of Borran Kiosk's body down. He knelt beside the skull, looking into the lighted eye hollows, knowing that the evil entity that was the mohrg still dwelt somewhere inside. Using his scimitar as a prying instrument, Haarn pulled one of the big cobblestones from the street. He lifted it in both hands then smashed it into Borran Kiosk's skull.
"Noooooo-"
The scream died midway through.
Bony splinters were all that remained of the skull.
That won't get rid of him, you know."
Breathing hard, still bleeding a copious amount from his wounded shoulder, Haarn glanced up at Druz Talimsir.
"I know," he said, "but there was a certain satisfaction in breaking his head." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "My father and the others will know what to do with Borran Kiosk's remains