XXIX

Valaris screamed. Sarevok waved his stump, dispassionately waiting for the potion to run its course. His mentor had cast a particularly painful variation of a life-leeching spell on the one-eyed elf in front of him. Already, the elf's fair skin was bloodied, torn and broken. The scars from where the moonblade and Sword of Chaos met in a storm of shards marked both their flesh.

Tamoko stood beside Sarevok, her brown eyes furious. She chanted under her breath, providing healing for both of them. Her master waved her to still; nearby, Cythandria stood, clad in emerald green, darker than Davaeron's. The blonde and the black-haired women exchanged cool glances, each ignoring the other. One a warrior, one a mage, one exotic, the other beautiful. Olive skinned, porcelain. Night and day. In this one instance, they shared a common goal: punishing the one who dared attack their lord. Their methods differed; Sarevok grunted, not caring. His patience used up, he broke the silence.

"And now you die," His good hand slowly started to crush the elf's throat. No one dared challenge him. "You were a fool to come here." Sarevok bore down, his eyes now a steady golden glow, "I will be the last, and you will join the rest."

The elf broke into golden dust.