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I twisted, lunging up, fingers like daggers as I went for his eyes. He reared back, and I changed the blow, chopping down on a pressure point instead, trying to break his grip on my leg.
He swore, and swung, throwing me across the room a second time. I hit the wall with a smack that knocked the air from my lungs and left me gasping. Or maybe it wasn't the blow. Maybe there wasn't any air to begin with, because my lungs burned and I couldn't seem to breathe, no matter how much I gasped.
And he was coming at me again.
Somehow, I got up. Somehow, I forced myself to move. I felt rather than saw the sweep of the blade, and threw myself out of the way. Felt the silver point slash my calves as it whooshed past, leaving a trail burning fire in my flesh.
I rolled to my feet, scrambled around the table, putting its bulk between us. There I stood, watching him as I gasped for breath, my body shaking, aching, and bloody. It didn't matter. I was still standing, still fighting. The great Gautier hadn't beaten me yet, and he fucking well wouldn't. No matter what he did. No matter how bad it got.
He came at me again, and this time the knife was a deadly silver blur, leaving me with little option other than to back away. I didn't expect him to lunge forward, and the move took me by surprise. I jumped backward, but my foot caught against something solid - Jin's body, I realized with despair - and suddenly I was falling, sprawling, across the floor. Right next to the curved sacrifice blade - which was at Gautier's feet.
He laughed, a sound of pleasure and victory combined, and raised the knife, the bloody blade glittering as the torchlight caressed it.
I had one hope left and I tried it.
"Rhoan," I gasped, looking past Gautier. "Blow the bastard's brains out."
Against all the odds, against all reason, Gautier turned. I grabbed the curved knife, bucked upright, and swept the bright blade from left to right, removing Gautier's head from his shoulders.
I saw incredulity bloom in his eyes before his body crumpled and his head rolled away into the shadows. Which was good, because I didn't want to look at his ugly mug any more than I had to.
I dropped to my knees beside his body and took a deep, sobbing breath. Rhoan had once told me that old tricks would never save my life. How wrong he'd been.
I'd won the battle I never thought I could win. I'd beaten the great Gautier, and had done it with a trick as old as time itself.
And yet, the danger wasn't over for me. Two dragon heads might now be dead, but there was one left, as well as the dark lord. I had to get out of here, while the going was good.
But it seemed that fate had helped me as much as she intended to. Because as I stumbled to my feet, John Kingsley walked back into the room.
His gaze swept from the altar to the bodies of the two men and then to me. If he was at all annoyed at the death of his dragons, it didn't show. He appeared amused, if anything. Though I guess a dark god could probably bring back the souls of his dragons easily enough.
"It seems Gautier was right. I did underestimate your strength."
I clenched my fist around the ceremonial knife. "People tend to do that."
His gaze slid down to the knife I held so firmly, and a smile teased the corners of his thin lips. "So who, precisely, are you?"
"So Gautier really didn't tell you?"
"Gautier was distressingly closedmouthed when it came to details about you. A point he paid the ultimate price for."
"I'm a guardian," I said. "And I'm here to stop you."
He laughed, and it was a sound so warm and enticing fear skidded down my spine.
I thought I was free of the dark god's influence.
I was very, very wrong.
Kingsley raised his hands and began to chant. His rich voice seemed to evoke a power from the hieroglyphics on the wall, because they began to glow with a muted purple light. Energy swirled around us, pungent and acidic, caressing my skin with a warmth that felt like water, and yet stung sharply as salt in a cut.
My skin began to tingle, my toes and fingers jump. As I breathed the suddenly thick, aromatic air, the aches and pains rolling through my body began to ease, until it was all but a muted ache.
I remembered the smile his other victims had died with. Remembered the feeling they'd died wanting the death and agony Kingsley had given them.
Realized that this power, whatever it was, was the reason. It didn't only ease the pain, but eased will, as well. I couldn't afford anything to affect clear thought - not if I wanted to stay alive.
I raised the ceremonial blade. Under the odd, purplish fire coming from the hieroglyphics, the blade gleamed with a deep red glow. As if it had a life and blood of its own.
