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With its purpose fulfilled, the group mind dispersed like a cluster of balloons released in the wind. The sigils faded to their former quiescence, except for Ashava’s.
And Mzatal’s.
Ashava’s had eased to a mellow warmth, but Mzatal’s sigil felt like a sun-scorched rock scraping the flesh from my sternum.
His appearance did nothing to reassure me. The skin of his face stretched taut over the bones, and his hands gripped Xhan and Khatur so tightly it was a wonder they hadn’t shattered. His aura retreated, but as if it was being sucked away rather than by his own will.
Horror filled me. It was Siberia all over again, but supercharged. The blades had been hard enough to control after Mzatal bladed Big Turd, and this time they’d defeated—possibly even consumed—a demahnk. With a portion of his mental energies devoted to resisting manipulation, Mzatal lacked the razor-sharp focus needed to withstand the blades’ influence. Now they sought to consume him. His sigil continued to blaze upon my chest because it was his lifeline.
Still holding the blades at arm’s length, Mzatal dropped heavily to his knees, as if unable to spare the resources to remain upright. He was like a man struggling to stay on his feet while hurricane winds lashed at him. Rakkuhr sparked between Khatur and Xhan, setting the air crackling with an ancient and inscrutable potency. Mzatal bared his teeth as he fought the will of the blades, every muscle straining. Yet despite his efforts, his right fist rotated to angle Xhan toward his heart.
Frantic, I sought to resurrect the gestalt. Rhyzkahl, Seretis, and Ashava answered, with Szerain a faint whisper, and through them exuded the presence of Jill, Bryce, and Elinor. I didn’t expect a response from the others—not without a world-destroying threat to act as a beacon. But surely our local crew would be enough to help Mzatal subdue the blades.
The gestalt hurled its full force at Xhan and Khatur, but the ferocity of the unified blade energy drove it back and sent me staggering. We might as well have been trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol filled with gasoline. Mzatal shook with effort, skin translucent, while Xhan’s point edged closer to his chest.
I slapped my hand over his sigil, and the howls of triumph of both blades screeched through my essence. They knew Mzatal couldn’t withstand their combined attack.
“Rhyzkahl!” I swung around, surprised to find him standing only a few feet away. Over by the rift, Bryce-Seretis struggled to control the seal potency Rhyzkahl had passed to him. “Take Xhan back. Please. Mzatal can’t hold out against both.”
“No,” he said, voice uncompromising though regret shone in his eyes. “I will not accept that burden again.”
Though my heart plummeted, I couldn’t blame him. He was finally free of his blade. “Can you distract it or something?” I asked. Begged.
Rhyzkahl remained silent for a terrifyingly long moment, gaze on the struggling Mzatal. His eyes dropped to the thick scar on his right hand, then he gave a soft snort of not-quite amusement and strode toward Mzatal.
Cold dread speared through my heart. That scar came from Mzatal’s attack via Xhan, when he rescued me from the Rowan torture ritual. Even worse, Mzatal wasn’t reacting to Rhyzkahl’s approach. His entire focus was on preventing Xhan from skewering his heart—which meant he was utterly defenseless against an outside attack. If Rhyzkahl chose to seek vengeance for the injury or his nexus imprisonment, Mzatal couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. If he tried to defend himself, he’d fall to the blades.
If I intervened to stop Rhyzkahl, he’d fall to the blades.
I have to trust Rhyzkahl. Fuck.
Rhyzkahl stopped a foot from Mzatal, eyes locked on his former essence blade. Xhan. Spikes thrust from its hilt, curling around Mzatal’s fingers to lock the knife in his grip. The dark blue jewel in the pommel sparkled and flashed as if it contained a thousand manic fireflies, while the oily sheen of the blade captured and warped the light, and sent it crawling along the wicked edge.
Rhyzkahl’s lips pressed thin. Through the gestalt, he sent a single concept. Be ready.
Like a striking cobra, he shot his scarred hand out, clamped it tight around the foul blade, then jerked it along the razor-sharp edge and away.
Even with his warning, I flinched in shock. Droplets of blood arced through the air and sizzled on the blade. Xhan shrieked with terrible delight as it lunged for Rhyzkahl.
Which meant, for this instant, it wasn’t fixated on Mzatal.
I hurled a focused blast at Xhan and coupled it with a shout, both mental and out loud: “Send it away, zharkat! Now!”
Mzatal gave a mutinous cry and yanked Xhan up above his head. The rakkuhr connection between the two blades flickered.
The thorns withdrew. Xhan vanished.
Mzatal dragged in a labored breath, then a deeper, more controlled one. The balance had shifted back to him, but it was too soon for me to feel relief.
“Now the other,” I urged him. “Send it away as well.”
Still on his knees, he lowered his hands and bowed his head, gazing down at Khatur.
“Mzatal, send it away.” I wanted to run
and throw my arms around him, but I didn’t trust that fucking blade. Would suck to get this far and end up with a gut full of Khatur.
Seconds ticked by while my nerves wound tight. Mzatal finally exhaled a long breath, lifted his head, and straightened his spine. But to my dismay, he slid his blade into the sheath at his side.
