Sianim 01 - Masques

person, or I would have run into him long since.”
    Wolf curved his lips in the dim light of the ae’Magi’s staff. “If you are so sure that the old gods are real, why not a folktale as well?”
    The keener senses of the icelynx made the smell of the dungeon worse, and she curled her lips in a silent snarl of disgust as she stalked slowly toward the ae’Magi. She crouched behind him and twitched her stub of a tail, waiting for just the right moment before she sprang.
    Her front claws dug into his shoulders for purchase while her hind legs raked his back, scoring him deeply. But that was all that she had time for before the ae’Magi’s staff caught her in the side of the head with enough force to toss her against a wall. As she lay dazed, her eyes focused on Wolf.
    On his knees, Wolf carefully retraced the circle of power. Reaching out almost casually, he snagged his staff where it apparently had been waiting for him in the darkness.
    “Father,” he said, getting to his feet.
    The ae’Magi turned and, seeing Wolf, brought his staff up and took up a fighting stance. It was quiet for a moment, then Wolf struck. Some of the fighting was physical, some of it was magical, most of it was both—accompanied by a very impressive light show.
    Aralorn watched from her corner and got slowly to her feet. Anything that she could do as an icelynx was likely to do as much harm as good with so much magic flying around. She took back her human shape, from habit as much as anything else. She had started to lean against the wall to watch when she caught a glimpse of the sword, half-buried in the filthy rushes on the floor. On impulse she picked it up; the heat that had made her drop it was gone.
    Atryx Iblis the Old Man had called it in an archaic dialect. Atryx was easy, it meant “devourer.” Iblis took her a while longer, but when she understood it, she smiled and held it at ready, waiting for a chance to use it again.
    Healing himself had weakened Wolf, and he was showing it. His blocks were less sure, and he lashed out in fewer and fewer attacks. The ae’Magi was also tiring; the blood he was losing to the deep slashes that Aralorn had made on his back was bothering him, but it was Wolf who slipped in the muck on the floor and fell to one knee, losing his staff in the process.
    For a second time Aralorn attacked the ae’Magi’s back with the sword, but this time she stabbed him with it instead of cutting him, and released the grip. The sword Ambris hung grotesquely from his chest, though it was doing no apparent harm. Without taking his eyes off Wolf, the ae’Magi swung the tip of his staff at Aralorn and said a quiet phrase.
    Nothing happened, but the Smith’s sword was glowing brighter than either of the staves, bathing the dungeon with pink. Wolf got to his feet and retrieved his staff, but made no move to attack. Frantically, the ae’Magi grabbed the blade and pushed the sword out, cutting his fingers in the process, although the blade slid out easily enough and fell, shimmering, to the floor.
    Aralorn grabbed it, heedless of the heat, and sheathed it, as she said conversationally, “The Old Man says that it’s one of the Smith’s weapons. Atryx Iblis , he calls it—Magic Eater.”
    The ae’Magi’s staff was dark, just an elaborately carved stick to his touch. The ae’Magi’s hands formed the simple gestures to call forth light, and nothing happened. Turning to his son, he said, “Kill me, then.”
    Passionlessly, the predator the ae’Magi had created looked at him with glittering yellow eyes, then said in his macabre voice, “No.”
    Wolf turned to Aralorn and, gripping her arm tightly, transported them to the meadow where they’d faced the ae’Magi’s illusion, leaving the Archmage in the darkness, alone.
    Wolf stepped back from Aralorn almost immediately and stood looking at the magician’s castle. Aralorn looked at his brooding face and wondered what he was thinking.
    He spoke softly. “I am still what he made me, it seems.”
    “No,” said Aralorn in a positive voice.
    “Do you know what I just did? I left him bleeding, to face a castle full of Uriah that he no longer controls.”
    “A kinder fate than he had in mind for you,” Aralorn reminded him, examining the burns the sword had left on her hand. “He has as much chance of escaping from the Uriah as Astrid did. More of a chance than Talor or Kai did.” There was nothing wrong with her that wouldn’t heal up in a few