Sir Devon's Arc

Chapter 6 of 7

Devon rode alone through the frozen pass. The undead stood behind him, still as fence posts, held by the lich's word. He passed dark rocks capped with snow and a lone pine bent over the stone. The witch waited ahead, and his promise to the lich hung on her death. He loosened his sword and climbed the last rise. The black temple rose from the mountainside. Its dark stone caught no light. Snow dusted the carved steps and the shadowed ground before them. Devon dismounted and walked up. Drusilla Vex stood in the doorway. Her black eyes burned like coals. The ruby at her throat glowed against her pale skin. She showed her sharp teeth. "You made a deal with my slave," she said. "He forgets who holds his leash." "You lied to him," Devon said. "That ends today." "It ends," she said. "For you." She threw out her hand. The ground buckled. Black roots of frost cracked toward Devon's boots. He rolled aside as the stone split where he had stood. He came up swinging. She caught his blade on a wall of cold air. The blow rang and threw him back into the snow. Devon rose and charged again. She flung ice shards that tore his cape. One cut his cheek beside the old scar. He hacked at her, but every strike met frozen air. Her ruby flared brighter with each block. He felt himself tiring. His arms burned. She smiled wider, feeding on his fear. "You cannot cut me," she said. "No steel bites the wilds." She drove him to his knees. Frost climbed his legs and locked them. He could not rise. The witch stepped close, her hand raised for the last blow. Devon looked up past her at the grey sky. He had no plan left. He only gripped his sword and refused to drop it. Then the clouds broke. A shaft of white light fell straight down and struck his blade. The steel blazed hot in his hands. The ice on his legs cracked and fell away. Drusilla stepped back, her black eyes wide for the first time. She threw ice at the light. It burned to nothing before it reached him. Devon stood. The sword pulled him forward, bright as a torch. She raised both hands to stop him. He struck through her guard. The blade passed her ruby and cut deep. Drusilla gasped. Her sharp teeth parted. The glow in her eyes went out like snuffed candles. She fell across the temple steps, and her blood ran black on the snow. The light faded. Devon stood over her body, breathing hard. The witch was dead. Her hold on the frozen ground was gone. Far below, the frozen army would fall to bone. And the lich, freed of her blood, would now choose. Devon had killed Drusilla. He had also given his word to a thing that raised his friends. Now that thing would come to collect it.