Path of the Incubus by Andy Chambers

Author:Andy Chambers
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2013-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

The Living Sword

Morr turned his back on the collapsed harlequin and took a step towards the colossal statue of Arhra looming at the end of the hall. Drazhar responded instantly, racing forward and bounding over the intervening pits faster than a running Gyfrlion. An instant later he landed before Morr, physically barring his path with demi-klaives held ready to strike. The two incubi stood in frozen tableau like twin colosii with tension crackling in the air. Neither moved, staring rigidly at one another as they locked in a silent battle of wills. Moments seemed to draw into minutes and still neither twitched so much as a muscle.

The tableau shattered into sudden violence without warning. The swiftness and ferocity of the first exchange was too quick to follow with the naked eye, with no hint of who had been the first to strike. Only glittering after-images were left by the ballet of leaping blades: Morr’s klaive licking downward, one of Drazhar’s demi-klaives deflecting the blow even as he whirled to unleash a devastating riposte with the other. Drazhar’s twin blades hewing, mantis-like, Morr leaping aside to avoid being driven back into a pit.

Motley finally began to regain some control of his treacherous limbs after Morr’s paralysing nerve-jolt. He still felt sick to his stomach as he pulled his legs beneath him and shakily stood. The duelling incubi paid him no heed. They were caught in their own universe where there was only Morr and Drazhar, like twin neutron stars whirling around a common axis. Any attempt to interfere in their contest now would be instantly fatal. All hope was lost, Motley was forced to admit, and all he could do was watch the tragedy unfold while marvelling at the deadly skill of the combatants.

Both were masters, of that there could be no doubt. The difference in armaments made the contest one of speed against strength. Even mighty Drazhar, the living sword, could not block Morr’s heavier klaive as it swept through its lethal arcs. Neither could Morr match the darting speed of Drazhar’s demi-klaives. The battle was constantly shifting, always moving, always dodging among the irregular patchwork of open pits and solid slabs without so much as a downward glance. The footwork and agility alone was breathtaking, the scream of their blades tearing through the air was terrifying.

The fight raged back and forth through the hall, around and across the pits, up to the feet of Arhra and back again. Grotesque shadows cast by the duellists capered and leapt around the walls as if an army of daemons fought through the hall, all eerily silent except for the scuff of armoured sabatons against stone and the soughing clash of blades.

The two incubi broke apart after a particularly furious passage of arms, frozen once again in tableau. Drazhar crouched with demi-klaives held at the ready, one arced overhead like a scorpion’s sting, the other pointed unwaveringly at his opponent’s heart. Morr’s armour was mauled and he dripped crimson from a score of small wounds.

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