As soon as the blade of Gith cut through the crystalline surface, cracks began to appear across the heart, and once Isaviel had forced it the sword to its hilt she could barely hold on to her mighty new weapon as the structure before her began to shake violently, almost knocking her to her knees. She saw the others running away down the spiral pathway, Casavir dragging Sand with him when the wizard paused to stare in horror at something behind the Moon Elf. Bishop paused longest, reaching behind himself for the arrows on his back, though that hand was visibly shaking. She could see that he was shouting to her, telling her to hurry even as his eyes grew hard, his mouth a grim line, and with just a final glare he threw himself after the others.
Isaviel could not hear Bishop's shouts over the ringing in her ears, nor move her hands from the precious hilt of the new blade she held. Instead she felt the souls of those ghosts trapped within the crystalline phylactery, how they were so hopeful, and so relieved. But most of all she felt their power, and then her own horror when she realised what was happening, and the burning pain in her scar. When the heart shattered, dropping her to her knees, the souls of those who had dwelled within poured through the sword, through her scar…and filled her body with fire.
The ringing in her ears stopped in time for her to hear her own screams as she felt Akachi's soul writhe within her, feeding on the essences of those ghosts of Illefarn. By the time the pain had subsided, and Akachi's wrathful power was beginning to pervade her being, tinging the world in shades of red, a mighty roar filled the chasm behind her, echoed by another cry from close by. As she dragged herself to her feet, with the Sword of Gith in her hand shimmering more brilliantly than the water below the balcony, the beating of mighty wings send air whipping in mighty gusts around her. She did not need to look around to know that a dragon approached her lofty position, and - in spite of all the rage of Akachi – in that moment Isaviel truly knew fear.
The Moon Elf span around in time to see a pair of enormous black taloned feet descending onto the balcony beyond, digging into the stone as if it were clay as the dragon before her flapped its wings just once and tore the large structure of marble and granite from the tower. Chunks of stone showered down around her as she threw herself back, leaping for the pathway down just as the dragon's next roar cut through the air, and again was answered by its more distant companion. Hearing that, there was no time for caution, and Isaviel took up a sprint down the steeply spiralling path, seeing the movement of her friends just a few turns below. Thus it was that when the next chunk of stone was torn free from the atrium and sent hurtling down upon the fleeing group, its impact with the pathway behind Isaviel knocked her down, shaking the tower enough to send her rolling helplessly over the edge, the Sword of Gith swaying precariously through one of her belt loops as she caught the stone rim.
"Isaviel!" she heard Sand's cry from below and winced as she saw the dark shapes of the two wheeling dragons bat their wings entirely too close to her.
Heart pounding, she let go, relying upon her own well-honed agility and skill as well as the new found power of Akachi's spirit-eating. Thus it was that the Moon Elf was able to land on her feet upon the next pathway down, and to spring back over the edge with barely a breath for pause to land on the turn below that. In such a manner it did not take long to catch up with Sand and Zhjaeve, with Casavir lumbering behind them almost as slowly as Grobnar and his golem. Bishop was further ahead though he had been the last to leave, just turning out of sight as Isaviel dropped down by Sand, sending the wizard skittering sideways in surprise. She might have laughed, had the air not borne the cacophony of the beating strokes of dragons' wings, an ominous rumble growing up above them. Indeed, the wizard's eyes widened in understanding sooner than the Moon Elf could sort all of these details to their logical conclusion, and grasped her arm in time to drag her back against the tower wall with him.
Zhjaeve's call to warn Casavir and Grobnar came too late, drowned out by the rush of air before a huge gout of flame tore through the group, melting a bubbling hole through the pathway ahead of Casavir, who barely had time to put out a hand to catch Grobnar's headlong course forwards. Another blast of fire was sent forth beyond them, and Isaviel winced. Bishop had just gone that way.
"There's no way ahead for them," Sand mumbled, seeing the broken ground between them and Casavir, still seething and red hot.
The paladin was just backing up, about to lift Grobnar to attempt a leap to join them, when the next chunk of stone was sent down. It broke through the pathway behind them, and then another joined it, until a dragon's roar accompanied the grinding of granite walls, and the whole side of the atrium above them was sent toppling down in a great avalanche of beautiful, glittering stone. Sand cried out and Isaviel's heart sank, for when the stones had stopped falling, Casavir, Grobnar and the golem were nowhere to be seen. Only a great gap remained, and they had no time to look down upon the fate of their friends before the whole tower began to shake, sending them stumbling further down the path.
Isaviel dragged Sand with her, calling for Zhjaeve to follow, and caught sight of Bishop, still running for flat ground, with his cloak in tatters and blood glistening on his arm. She did not have time to feel relief, however, for the tower shuddered once more, and in a torrent of stone and flame, the Moon Elf was thrown from her feet and over the edge of the pathway for good this time. She saw Zhjaeve pull Sand back before she fell from sight, and felt just a few moments of biting flame and freezing air before the paralysing cold of the water below engulfed her.
Sand did not remember the last time he had felt such fear. With dragons wheeling overhead, apparently enraged by the destruction of Nolaloth's spirit, he had seen someone he loved fall from the pathway edge. Isaviel had been blazing like a star, shining with the power of the newly reformed sword she controlled and…something else besides. Her eyes were shining red when they had met his, just as she had begun to fall back. There had been not a hint of her natural gold, and not a slight suggestion of fear. It was as if she knew something that he could not.
The wizard had been frozen by his horror, pressed back against the body of the tower to avoid more falling rubble, his ears ringing with the roars of the dragons, his entire being shaking with the thunderous pounding of their wings in the air. He had only been able to watch as two great gouts of flame followed Isaviel in her descent from the pathway, and he had not seen her landing. Water lay that way, and he could only hope that it would break her fall…and put out those fires.
"We must go!" Zhjaeve insisted, pulling on Sand's arm, and there was no way he could disagree.
Behind them lay the destroyed path through which Casavir and Grobnar had fallen, and ahead stood a short set of steep steps and a crossroads, one following the curve of the tower and the other, barely wide enough for one walker at a time, led in the opposite direction. As the Githzerai urged him down the steps, Sand caught a glimpse of Bishop's dark-clad form flitting across the last stretch of the wider path below them. When Zhjaeve moved to take that way as well, he caught her shoulder and shook his head, gesturing for the less obvious road to their left.
"We will help the others better if we do not group together. Surely if we must face these dragons it should not be at the same time?" he pointed out, relieved when she nodded her agreement.
For his part, Sand was not sure whether to believe how many of their group remained, and nor did he have great faith in his personal dragon-slaying abilities. All he knew in that moment was that he must run for his life…something which he had never been overly good at, not even in his youthful adventuring days. Even so, it was not long before he and Zhjaeve were inching their way along the narrow ledge, slowly making their way down to the rubble-smattered floor below. Ancient statues had been split in half and toppled by the destruction of the atrium at the top of the tower, and the water was flickering with the shadows cast by the two mighty dragons above. He did not dare look around further, to where Isaviel had fallen.
The moment their feet reached level ground, however, back amongst the towering architecture of the floor of the chasm, Sand knew things would not be as simple as he had implied to his Githzerai companion. There were distant shouts from the other side of the tower, and a great burst of blue light. He threw himself back only just in time when a great dark form swooped by, its wings buffeting the air so hard he was almost knocked to his knees.
"Gods! They are actually thinking of fighting these monsters!" the wizard gasped, and Zhjaeve gave him a level look.
"Then we cannot abandon them," she told him firmly.
Before Sand could stop her, Zhjaeve had darted away around the tower, back towards whichever of their battered friends remained. With a sigh, he realised he had better follow her lead, for he did not fancy his chances escaping through that skeletal city alone with two angry dragons looking to burn him to cinders. Still, he did pause a few moments to perform the numerous protective spells which he had at his disposal. Years of adventuring, a stint in the Hosttower and a prolonged period running from Luskan's wrath had taught him that no successful wizard survived long without such augmentation. Quickly checking that he still wore all his enchanted rings, he at last ran after Zhjaeve, pulling free one of his many wands of magical power from a loop on his belt. Maybe some action would be good for him. Or so he hoped.
There was no heat left in the world, and before Isaviel's eyes arced the great grey City of Judgement under its blank sky. Without her own volition she trod the rocky path around the twisted greenish wall, the wandering souls upon the Fugue Plain just a distant sea of shifting figures to her left, their ceaseless praying drowned out by the screams of the Faithless so close at hand. Her ears rang with their hopeless cries and she wanted nothing more than to turn away from them…but her feet would not obey her commands. Instead she kept walking ahead until she reached a particularly uneven section of the wall, where mould had grown so thickly over the twisted bodies there that it was almost impossible to see that they had once been humanoid.
Look, Akachi's voice cut through her thoughts, a harsh whisper that made her flinch even as she turned, See your true fate. And there, amongst the souls of the Faithless, she saw her own face staring back at her, eyes full of horror and terrible fear.
"No!" she growled, and with a surge of anger she turned away with all her strength…sending her consciousness wheeling back away from the City of Judgement, and for a moment an image of Akachi's masked face, his eyes blazing furious red, filled her vision before she once more felt icy water against her skin.
Rough hands had wrapped around her belt, pulling her up out of the pool into which she had fallen as she finally gasped for air, her eyes taking in the glittering sight of ancient, crumbling Arvahn, alight with the pale winter sun. It took only a moment for her to remember that the din she heard was the movement of vengeful dragons, and her thoughts turned to her friends who had fallen in the avalanche of stone. When she rolled onto her side, still gasping for air, and began scrambling to her feet, she saw Casavir standing by the tower with his hammer raised over his head, filling the area around him with a globe of brilliant blue light. His armour was dented and blood was running down one side of his face. His free hand was on Grobnar's shoulder, and Isaviel realised that he was keeping the miraculously unharmed Gnome by his side, within the protective power of the hammer he wielded. One of the dragons had landed on the ground ahead of them and was prowling towards them, huffing ominously towards Grobnar's fearless golem. Could that hammer protect them from dragonfire?
When she wheeled around to stare at the ranger who had just dragged her from the water, she saw that his expression was imploring, though his voice had been hard. The cold look he sent over her shoulder, at Casavir and Grobnar, sent a stab through her heart worse almost than the burn of Akachi's soul against hers. She had no choice, and Bishop would not forgive her. It was a choice she wished she did not have to take, and did not doubt that once she would have agreed with him.
"It's the perfect cover," he told her, straightening up with a dark frown when he recognised the doubt in her expression, "What better than a noble death for the great Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep? They won't ask questions. I don't think they'd expect you to survive a fight like that one," he nodded at the combat stirring behind her, leaned closer, pulling her with him behind a broken column of marble, out of sight of the others, "And you won't survive unless we leave now. If you have the stomach for it, of course."
"Bishop," she sighed, flinching when she head an crash of metal and a mighty roar, bringing a hand up to the ranger's rough cheek and pausing a moment before meeting his eyes steadily, "Every time you have asked me to run away with you I have told you I will not. I have the stomach for war, and for survival, for betrayal where it is needed. But now is not the time…and cowardice is the easy way out for you, but it will do none of us any good if I follow. So run all you like, but you'll be running alone."
Isaviel did not wait for Bishop's response, though she saw his dark eyes fill with horrible rage, pulling away from him far more easily than he had probably expected, and called upon the power she felt surging within her, that of the souls which Akachi had stolen from Nolaloth's heart. She heard Bishop's disgusted snarl, and for a moment her heart ached with the fear that he might call her bluff and run. But then her gaze settled upon the fight ahead, where two dragons now circled Casavir and Grobnar, one engaged in a metal-grinding encounter with the Gnome's golem. The construct's sword had become wedged in the scales of one of the serpent's front legs, thanks to its fearless approach towards the monster, which was now rearing back its head to best clamp its iron jaws around the golem's body.
A burst of brilliant white light and a great clap of thunder distracted the other dragon, and a hail of sizzling magical missiles pummelled the first wyrm long enough for the golem to pull free and take another swing at its leg. This time blood arced from a fresh wound and the dragon screamed, engulfing the construct in white-hot flame. In this time of reprieve, Casavir had urged Grobnar to run to some nearby rubble for shelter, and Isaviel was relieved to see the Gnome pulling free his bow as he jumped into position. If he aimed for the dragons' wings, or possibly their eyes, things might go better than expected.
The Moon Elf was almost in the closest dragon's shadow by the time she saw Sand and Zhjaeve crouched by the tower nearby, both deep in the concentration of spellcasting. Colourful sparks were beginning to form at the wizard's fast-moving fingertips, and the sight of him actually partaking in the battle made Isaviel's lips twitch into a smile as she drew forth the Sword of Gith in one hand, and the Sword of Never in the other.
Each mighty weapon shone with a bright light of its own, but such conspicuousness was no hindrance for Isaviel. The moment she reached the dragon's shadow, she called upon that fragile darkness and allowed it to carry her forward, sending the blade of Lord Halueth Never down in an arc to all but effortlessly cut off the end of the wyrm's spiny tail. As the monster reared, shrieking, the Sword of Gith tore a long slash through its membranous wing, and its attempts to fly upwards instead sent it stumbling to the side, spraying flame.
Seeing Grobnar get the idea from her actions, aiming for the wings of the second dragon with his bow, Isaviel almost laughed with the exhilaration of the power Akachi had so inadvertently given to her. All her grandfather's soul knew was the need to devour souls, and the forging of the Sword of Gith seemed to have given her that dubious power by extension. Thus she ignored the cries of Casavir and Grobnar that she stop, and threw herself up on to the back of the dragon, digging first one blade and then the next into is scaled back, keeping her footholds on the serrated spikes along its spine. When it turned its head around to spy her on its back with such baleful yellow eyes, opening its maw to burn her to ashes with its fiery breath, it was as if time stopped. A memory of Akachi's assailed her, of sending forth a column of silver to bring down some half-forgotten foe. Gritting her teeth against her fear, Isaviel threw herself forward, gripping the hilt of her weapon tightly as the sword extended, and broke apart, sending the shard spinning with murderous intent into the mouth and through the skull of her enemy.
A moment of stillness passed…and then the dragon's body went limp, toppling to the ground with a great crash, and Isaviel leapt free, the shard reforming as she moved to once more shine brightly in her grasp as the curved blade of the Sword of Gith. For a moment the other dragon lingered, thrashing its head and sending fire spraying back and forth, its roar of anguish echoing throughout the enormous marble hall. But the sight of its dead companion, and the stinging magics of Zhjaeve and Sand, as well as Grobnar's persistent arrows, proved too unfavourable, and with one last cry the monster flapped its wings and took off into the sky.
Panting, only just beginning to feel the effects of her exuberant acrobatics, Isaviel sheathed her blades and surveyed the scene of destruction as her friends rejoined her. She accepted Sand's embrace, both unsettled and amazed by the boundless relief she saw in his expression upon the realisation that she was well and safe. But she could not avoid looking over his shoulder at the ranger who stalked towards their group, his bow in his hand, and only menace in his dark eyes.
"Oh! It is good that you have returned!" Aldanon cried from his place by Kana's side as the returning group trudged into the main bailey of Crossroad Keep some nine days later, "Not a moment too soon…"
"Three days," Kana interrupted sharply, but her voice dwindled to a whisper when Isaviel's cloak fell back, revealing the shining silver sword upon her belt.
"We saw the signs on the road," Sand agreed, dodging past one of the many workers employed to shovel snow from the ground of the bailey. It was an endless and tiring task, especially on a morning like the one they faced, where the snow had fallen thickly through the night and continued even then from the alabaster sky.
"But we have the Sword of Gith now," Casavir added.
"And a true champion to wield it," Zhjaeve threw in, making Isaviel wince.
The vigour she had felt in those moments of combat against the dragon had waned on the walk back from Arvahn. They had not seen the sun for days, not since they had left the howling winds of the Sword Mountains. Snow and ice had been their world as they walked, watching their breath clouding in front of them with every heavy step.
Grobnar's golem had proven a useful snowplough, walking ahead of the group along the road, though it had been less of a boon when they came upon bands of refugees fleeing Neverwinter's lands. They would not stop to offer news once they saw the imposing construct, but the truth had eventually proven easy enough to deduce. Nothing had stopped the advance of the Guardian of Illefarn's undead army, and some of the townsfolk's goods had been stamped with the names of settlements worryingly close to Neverwinter and to Crossroad Keep.
"One sword and one dragon slayer won't do you much good against an army," Bishop grunted, and Isaviel bit back an angry retort. Instead, she turned to Kana.
"The men of Longsaddle and Mirabar have arrived, have they not?"
"They have, Knight-Captain. As have the army of the Ironfist Clan under Khelgar and a force from Waterdeep."
Bishop did at least pause at that news as he had begun to stalk past them, and for just a moment he glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting Isaviel's golden ones. At last he simply shrugged and headed away, probably straight for the ale they kept in the kitchens.
"Nothing like a bit of sunny optimism to raise morale, eh?" Sand sighed, and his sarcasm drew a laugh from Isaviel as they moved across the bailey, each with identical thoughts of cleaning up from the road before the battle-plans were to be finalised.
"Don't pretend you haven't had your doubts."
"Yes, but I voice my doubts with biting wit and well-placed sarcasm," Sand responded imperiously, nudging her playfully when she only laughed louder.
Her merriment did not last long, however, for as soon as the others had left for their chambers, Isaviel's duties were manifold. Kana gave her no time even to go and change, and instead she found herself discussing defence strategies with the generals of Mirabar, Longsaddle, Waterdeep and Neverwinter with barely time to send Khelgar a nod of greeting. Thus it was that when, by the evening, Aldanon's letter was brought to her, she did not read it and simply dropped it onto her bed, too intent upon a bath and a change of fresh clothes.
Bishop did not remember if he had ever felt such emotions as regret or pity. Most days were filled with anger and little else but lust, or maybe something stranger, like the cold feeling that had spread through his veins at the sight of Isaviel falling from the pathway in Arvahn. It had been strong enough, that alien feeling, to make him run to her limp form, through the icy water, and to drag her out, gasping her name the whole time.
There had been a knot in his stomach – maybe it had been horror – when she had not responded, and his hands had been shaking as he stared down at her pale face until she had taken that sharp, shuddering breath and her eyes had opened. Only those eyes had not been the pure gold he had expected, but rather tinged with red veins of light. She had barely looked at him, turning straight for the others who had so foolishly decided to fight the dragons.
He had tried to save her from her fate for…what was it now? The third time? How many other lovers of his could say that they had been offered such a thing by Bishop? Mercy…perhaps. But not the hope of being saved, not even the hope of a life after their misplaced love for him. They always seemed to end up needing him, and thinking that he needed them right back. He never did. And they always whined about his absences and wept too much…and tried to control him. They thought they owned him. They always learned better.
Bishop did not deny to himself that she was different from those others, whores or conveniences the lot of them. There had been a glimmer of her in Malin, but that ranger-girl had proven herself a coward, had blanched at the story of his hometown and turned her back on him. In Isaviel he saw determination and fire…once he had also seen a beautiful irreverence. Now she had been half-tamed by the men of Neverwinter, blackmailed into standing by their side lest she fall as well. That kind of mutual agreement Bishop might have understood, but he saw her affection for the others. The gibbering Gnome and the wining sorcereress, the righteous, world weary paladin and the grovelling wizard. Especially the wizard, who stared at her too long when she was not looking.
Of course there was the snivelling Tiefling as well. She had not been expecting him that night when he broke into her house. She had barely had time to turn a knife his way before he slammed her back against the table and bound her wrists behind her back. Wrapped in her cloak, with his dagger blade pressed to her side out of sight, it had hardly seemed as though anything were amiss as they strode through the keep, blending in easily with all the other hooded and cloaked guardsmen in the whirling snow. With the threat of all she would suffer should she attempt to escape, she had not dared to even consider doing so.
He had spirited them from the keep at the change of the guards, climbing through wooden spikes in the ditch beyond the walls. She had been begging him to let her go by the time they reached the snowy woods, her tears freezing on her cheeks in the presence of such evil as that which waited beyond. He had just stared and felt nothing, because there was nothing left to feel. He did not know pity, and there was no one he wanted to save…apart from Isaviel, who he had sworn to betray. So he had handed Neeshka over without a second thought to the grasping hands beyond the dark portal in the woods, and he had taken his instructions. Those orders had been the odious part, but they were just a means to an end. A way of freeing him from the constraints of his world once and for all, one way or another.
Once the portal was closed and the deathly chill was replaced by the usual cold of the winter night, the ranger had turned back and paused when Karnwyr whined at his heel. He had not expected the wolf to follow him, and looking into those faithful yellow eyes he knelt, his gloved hand sinking into the mangy grey fur of his only trusted companion. Perhaps there was someone else he wished to spare from the horrors of his betrayal after all.
"Go," Bishop growled to his wolf, nodding east, through the trees, "I get the feeling you'll not look at me like that once this is over."
When he let go of Karnwyr's fur, the animal seemed to understand his words – as it always had done. As he stood, the wolf looked up at him mournfully and whined again, but when he gestured more sharply to the woods, the animal began to trot in that direction. After a moment Karnwyr paused to shake the recently fallen snow from his fur and then bounded away into the darkness without looking back.
Just like that, Bishop was alone in the world. For a heartbeat he stared after his wolf companion, turning over in his hand the piece of metal he had pulled free from the portcullis as he left the keep earlier. His laugh was bitter as he flung it through the trees and turned back to finish what he had started. Soon all his debts would be paid.
Isaviel had not expected a knock on her door at such a late hour. The world was so dark and still that she could have imagined the entire keep slept, except for her. Though she was tired beyond anything she had felt before, and sick at heart with Akachi's memories as well as her own, the knowledge of what was to come would not allow her a moment of rest. So she had found herself transfixed by the flames crackling in the hearth of her sitting room, slumped in one of her armchairs with the Sword of Gith glittering across her lap and the blade of Halueth Never on the table beside her.
Once, she might have filled her time by sharpening her weapons, as she had with her kukris before the trial by combat those many moons past. She could have focused upon the comforting familiarity of the sharp metal…but now, with these weapons, such concentration would be obsolete. The blade of Gith did not function under such rules, and where it was smooth and almost blunt to her touch, it could cut in to the very souls of her enemies. As for the sword of Lord Halueth Never, its edge never seemed likely to dull. It had cut through dragon scales like butter, and would be more likely to cut through the whetstone with which one might intend to sharpen it.
She had gone to see Neeshka earlier but found the door locked and no sign of the Tiefling through the windows. Disappointed, the Moon Elf had trudged back to her room and finally found the time to bathe. She could not understand what had led to Neeshka changing so much – surely she did not blame Isaviel for Mae'rillar's departure? Had she been harbouring this change of heart for a long time?
As for Bishop, Isaviel was more certain. It was clear that he had been angry with her ever since his most recent offer for an escape. She understood that he resented her connections with the others, and that he could not understand why she might want to linger in this keep when war loomed so close. All his life he had fled from conflicts he might not win because for all of his life he had only ever served himself. She had felt the same for just as long…but now she had no choice. No matter how many times she reminded him of that, he did not seem able to believe her. Perhaps it was the part of him who cared for her that would not listen, and she had to wonder why he had not left without her. Instead he lingered with them on their walk back from Arvahn, silent and glowering. Every night she had gone to sleep fully expecting him to have vanished by morning.
Thus it was that when a knock came on Isaviel's door, making her start from her reverie, she knew her visitor would neither be her ranger lover nor her Tiefling friend. The former would never have bothered to knock…and the latter had never much liked these overly stately rooms. Instead, once she opened the door it was Sand she found waiting patiently outside, dressed in his notably freshly washed white shirt, green velvet doublet and black trousers. Even his boots were free of mud, and shone in the candlelight, his hair tied back with a chain and the gems that sparkled in his ears had been swapped for ones with a broader array of colours. His expression was unexpectedly pleased, his grey eyes sparkling with something like excitement, and he held a large book in his arms.
"You look different," Isaviel noted dryly, and Sand raised an eyebrow at her tone, stepping over the threshold.
"I find that order helps me to come to important conclusions."
When she deliberately moved aside only just enough, forcing him to brush past her, an amused smile flickered over his face and he held her gaze knowingly. So used to his easily flustered demeanour around her, Isaviel was taken aback, her heart beginning to pound when he leaned forward and took the door from her grasp, closing it behind them, watching her response. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his lips, could feel the tantalising distance between them on her skin. It took all of her control to look back into his eyes, to ignore the stab of excitement that shot through her heart when his free hand settled on her waist, curving slowly over her skin and all too distracting through the thin fabric of her grey tunic.
"You bring a book between us," she noted a little too breathlessly, arching an eyebrow and forcing herself to smile coyly, "Is it business that can wait?"
"You will want to hear this," he told her softly, stepping back with apparent unconcern and moving to the table to open the book.
Watching him with some frustration, Isaviel carefully slipped the bolt through the door behind her. This kind of teasing behaviour was only going to lead one way, they both knew it. And she was determined that he would not prove his control the greater. She would make sure he was not 'too restrained' this time.
"Quite the collection of weaponry you have on show there," Sand nodded towards the swords lying across the table, slowly inching the Sword of Never away from his book. The writing within was a script Isaviel had never seen before, but the way the wizards eyes darted over the pages she realised he could read it effortlessly.
"Please tell me you aren't expecting me to be able to understand that," the Moon Elf sighed, leaning back against the table by his side, watching his expression. His lips twitched and he shook his head, reading off the page.
"It says here that there have been instances of a body sharing two souls. Neither is entirely present at any one time, and instead both inhabit the body and another space of existence, a half-way house. A land of greyness, where the truth of the two souls may meet. It is a place of potential salvation…or eternal loss."
"I saw that place," Isaviel gasped, leaning forward and placing an unthinking hand on Sand's arm, forcing him to look at her, "I have seen Akachi there. He tried to attack me."
"I had guessed as much," the wizard nodded perceptively, watching her as she sat back onto the rim of the table, his voice only faltering a little when she hooked her foot behind his leg and pulled him towards her. His eyes were on her lips as he continued, letting her slowly slip the first few buttons of his doublet free, "You have always retained your sense of self even after such encounters, and have successfully fought off his influence with your strength of will. To free yourself of him entirely, I believe you will have to face him in this grey land and defeat him in battle."
"And I will," Isaviel told him fiercely, shivering when Sand's fingers brushed over her shoulder and her neck.
"You will," Sand agreed, taking a step forward and pulling her towards him in one movement.
"What made you change your mind?" she asked, "What happened to your restraint?"
"With war on its way, I find that my trepidation is gone, ironically," Sand told her, hardly even pausing to smile at the irony before he pressed his lips to hers.