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The Wizardwar :: Каннингем Элейн
Страница: 77 из 208Blood welled, thick and dark, but the pulse of life was nearly gone. She could not even take her own life. It had already been taken from her.
"Not this," she croaked, her eyes imploring the strange green wizard. "Kill me, but do not make me a lich!"
A sharp gasp drew the half-elf’s eyes to the woman in the wizard's shadow. She was a wild elf, copper-skinned and crowned with lustrous green hair. Her golden eyes mirrored the horror that gripped the dying wizard.
The half-elf's gaze dropped to Bahari's discarded machete, then returned to the elf woman's face. "Es'-Caerta," she pleaded, an Elvish phrase that defied translation, used only at the end of formal prayers blessing and beseeching the gods.
Whether the green elf understood or not, it seemed fitting to the half-elven wizard that this should be her last spoken word.
Without hesitation, the elf woman stooped and seized the machete. She threw herself into a spin, circling once, twice, to gain power and momentum. In the instant before the blade hit, the half-elf's eyes sought her savior's grim face, and her silent lips shaped the elven blessing one final time.
Kiva staggered to a stop, the bloody machete clasped in both hands. For a moment she regarded her handiwork: a neatly decapitated head, elven eyes closed in peace and a faint, contented smile upon bloodless lips.
The next instant she was hurtling through the air. Her back struck a tree and she slid to the ground.
When her vision cleared, she saw Akhlaur standing over her, his pale green face twisted in fury.
"Have you any idea what you've just wasted? You have deprived me of a servant as obedient as any of these fools but with an undying wizard's power!"
Using the tree as a support, Kiva pushed herself to her feet. "It's impossible to change another wizard to a lich!"
He dismissed this obvious misperception with a wave of one webbed hand and continued to glare, clearly waiting for some word of explanation.
But Kiva could think of no justification for her impulsive act-at least, none that Akhlaur would accept. "She was half-elven," she said at last, "and therefore not a worthy servant."
The necromancer's wrath faltered, and a strange, lethal amusement dawned in his eyes like a dark sun. "What of your descendants, little Kiva? Did you so disdain their human blood? Did you slay them, as well?"
A flood of emotions-feelings Kiva had thought long dead-burst free from some locked corner of her heart. She dropped her eyes to hide her loathing and hatred and shame. Any one of these responses could prove fatal.
"Not this," she croaked, her eyes imploring the strange green wizard. "Kill me, but do not make me a lich!"
A sharp gasp drew the half-elf’s eyes to the woman in the wizard's shadow. She was a wild elf, copper-skinned and crowned with lustrous green hair. Her golden eyes mirrored the horror that gripped the dying wizard.
The half-elf's gaze dropped to Bahari's discarded machete, then returned to the elf woman's face. "Es'-Caerta," she pleaded, an Elvish phrase that defied translation, used only at the end of formal prayers blessing and beseeching the gods.
Whether the green elf understood or not, it seemed fitting to the half-elven wizard that this should be her last spoken word.
Without hesitation, the elf woman stooped and seized the machete. She threw herself into a spin, circling once, twice, to gain power and momentum. In the instant before the blade hit, the half-elf's eyes sought her savior's grim face, and her silent lips shaped the elven blessing one final time.
Kiva staggered to a stop, the bloody machete clasped in both hands. For a moment she regarded her handiwork: a neatly decapitated head, elven eyes closed in peace and a faint, contented smile upon bloodless lips.
The next instant she was hurtling through the air. Her back struck a tree and she slid to the ground.
When her vision cleared, she saw Akhlaur standing over her, his pale green face twisted in fury.
"Have you any idea what you've just wasted? You have deprived me of a servant as obedient as any of these fools but with an undying wizard's power!"
Using the tree as a support, Kiva pushed herself to her feet. "It's impossible to change another wizard to a lich!"
He dismissed this obvious misperception with a wave of one webbed hand and continued to glare, clearly waiting for some word of explanation.
But Kiva could think of no justification for her impulsive act-at least, none that Akhlaur would accept. "She was half-elven," she said at last, "and therefore not a worthy servant."
The necromancer's wrath faltered, and a strange, lethal amusement dawned in his eyes like a dark sun. "What of your descendants, little Kiva? Did you so disdain their human blood? Did you slay them, as well?"
A flood of emotions-feelings Kiva had thought long dead-burst free from some locked corner of her heart. She dropped her eyes to hide her loathing and hatred and shame. Any one of these responses could prove fatal.