Bladesinger and Spellsinger advanced on me, mirror images of the pair who attacked Erirag. The Spellsinger raised her hands for the first time in Stars only remembered, raising dusky voice to the heavens to call upon the powers that fuelled her. ”Aaye Megillion,” she started, calling on the Silver-Star to strengthen her companion’s arms and swiften his feet so he could slay the enemy who had encroached upon Belegwain i Beleg and purify it from her breath.

Racist bastards. You’re out of touch with the world and definitely not calling upon the Stars right now. My sword seemed to agree. The starlight that lingered in it from the earlier fight in the Dur’Taigen mansion tinged an angry red and rippled up and down its length.

I had little time to worry about the mage. The Bladesinger stepped toward me, a wall of mythril plate and military training. Though just awakened from centuries of slumber, his steps were sure and straight, his sabatons stamped upon the ground, driving me back before he ever leveled his longsword at me.

We stared at each other over our blades, watching for the slightest flinch or weakness. His golden eyes flashed contempt for the mangy halfbreed who dared challenge him, with her flimsy armor, her half-trained stance, and the rage in her face. I stared at him, noting the winged helm, the fact that every aspect of him still gleamed after gods knew how long asleep, the confidence in his posture and the stern set of his face.

”How fitting you should meet your death at the hands of one of my eminently worthy brothers-in-arms,” Siegfried’s voice spat into my ear. ”I never could tolerate you enough to put you out of your misery myself. And how I tried.”

“Shut up.” I wasn’t sure if I was speaking at the Bladesinger’s judgmental glare or my brother’s words.

”You don’t think I protected you from Father for your benefit, do you?”

“Shut up.”

”And don’t think I didn’t see you shadowing me, trying to be me. How could a wicked, weak little worm like you ever think you could rise above the ground?

“SHUT UP!” I raised my sword, slashing at the armored figure who stood before me. Each of my blows struck with vicious speed, seeking vital organs. I didn’t care of this armored son of a whore was my brother, or one of his esteemed ancestors, or someone completely lost to history. He would fall before me like a birch before the lumberjack.

Except he didn’t. He brushed off each of my enraged attacks with stoic indifference, sweeping me aside again and again. He barely shifted his stance, matching my swiftness as though he was outmaneuvering a slug. He didn’t attack, merely defended. Behind us, lost in the staccatto of violence, the Spellsinger kept droning on.

Suddenly, her voice fell silent. The world rushed and warped around me, as though I was under water. The orange and blue that gleamed from the Bladesinger’s armor in an intricate dance sped up to angry, blinding blades of light. My feet and arms fought through the air like it was molasses, and a thought slowly dawned on me.

She wasn’t invoking speed for him. She was taking it from me. That seemed to be the Bladesinger’s cue; he batted my sword aside as if it were a bee, then brought his sword around.

His fist and pommel smashed against the side of my head, sending bright lights exploding across my vision. My equilibrium failed and I fell, crashing and tumbling with all the coordinated grace of a wheel of cheese through the musty dead leaves and twigs that scraped and scratched my face. I ended up with a root stabbing into my spine, dizzily gazing at the branches overhead.

“Mousie forgot promise,” a sad rumble murmured into my ear. “Mousie die here. Not come back to Mutt. Not come back home.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces at my mate’s lament. Where Siegfried’s taunting had only enraged me, I had no armor against Mutt, so his words cut right into my core. I laid in the leaf litter, dazed and deserted, bleeding and broken. Distantly, I could hear heavy boots crunching ever closer.

You were supposed to come with me. You promised.

“Cannot come so far as you. Mousie should have stayed in Corone. Mousie does not deserve all that Mutt gave her.”

“No,” I whispered, watching a stern silver soldier slowly fill my vision. “Mousie deserved nothing.”

I waited for the stab that would end me. Be careful, brother? Did you mean that I should take care to die?