White fangs tore into dark, foul tasting meat, while heavy steel crashed against Mikahl’s magical blade, in a shower of sparks, and humming power. Each of the swordsmen pressed, but was met with a cunning misdirecting defense, or bone-jarring solidity. Blow after blow was thrown, sweeping arcs of radiant sapphire, and glimmering steel. Lunge, parry, and thrust, as sparks and spittle flew through the air.
In Mikahl’s head, Ironspike’s symphony was there, but it was barely audible. Even if it had been stronger, Mikahl wasn’t sure how to use the sword’s power. He didn’t have time to ponder the matter either, it was all he could do to use his natural skill to avoid Roark’s heavy handed blade.
He feigned a turn one way, and then spun the other. The shining silver of Roark’s blade followed the misdirection, but the undead man’s strength was enough to recover, and block Mikahl’s thrust. Twist and duck, Mikahl’s mind screamed as Roark brought his steel back around. Mikahl came up behind the stroke, and swung his sword wildly into the bigger man’s blade, adding to its momentum as it carried on around. It was then, that Mikahl finally saw an opening, and went for it.
As Roark went spinning around off his balance, Mikahl jabbed Ironspike into the unprotected area behind the bigger man’s knee. Mikahl was stunned when it didn’t drop the man. He had barely pulled the blade free of Roark’s rotting flesh, when the undead warrior’s sword finished its revolution, and came slashing across his rib cage. It sliced with ferocious force, splitting the little rings of Mikahl’s chain mail, and biting hotly into his flesh.
Not knowing what else to do, Mikahl reached up, and yanked at the stub of the arrow protruding from Roark’s chest. The lack of reaction from the assault sent waves of panic through him. He noticed too, that Ironspike’s symphony of power had faded completely from his ears. He brought his sword up just in time to deflect an overhead blow, which would have split him in two. As it was, the blow forced Ironspike down so hard, that its failing blue blade bit into his own forearm deeply enough to hit bone. He tried to spin free of the horn-helmed warrior, but Roark was too strong for him. Mikahl’s side burned, and he could feel the warm liquid life running down over his thigh, under his leather britches. For the first time, since he had drawn Ironspike against Duke Fairchild back in the Reyhall Forest, Mikahl’s confidence began to falter.
On the other side of the camp, Urp had managed to sink his teeth into the demon-beast’s foreleg, and was holding on for all he was worth. Like a terrier shaking a rat, the Choska kicked and whipped its clawed limb around, trying to sling the wolf free.
Hyden loosed at the demon’s head, hoping to get an arrow into one of those fist-sized, ember-colored eyes. He missed, but his shaft shot into the beast’s nostril, causing it to rear up and scream out that terrible shriek again. A deep, red pulse flared from the Choska’s eyes, and Hyden was hammered by a powerful concussive blast that sent him cart-wheeling into the trees. He came to an abrupt halt against the trunk of an unyielding oak. In the darkening haze that followed, Hyden’s only thought was that he no longer held the elven longbow Vaegon had gifted him. After that, there was only blackness.