The blade that had been put in the elf lord’s hand was feather light, and Drien thought it just as well. He would not have had the strength to hold a heavy blade. The tendril that put the sword in his hand ran up his arm. He felt the chill of the void and wondered if he were frozen, but when the tendril withdrew, it took with it the physical and mental wounds he had suffered in the battle of the gods.
Before he had time to think of it, he was enveloped in the cloud again and they rose through the crack in the mountain. Below him, the world of Aebrynis receded until he was above the clouds. A few hundred feet away, a dark column of mist rose with them, and just visible within it, Drien could see the beast-man holding the other sword.
Even through the dark, roiling cloud that held Azrai, he could make out the features of his opponent, though not the color of the fur that covered most of its body.
A cat-man, less humanoid that most of the creatures Drien had seen at the shack town, it could still stand upright with elongated toes that gave it the foundation for balance. Its body was long in comparison with its arms and legs, and its shoulders were rounded like those of an animal used to walking on all fours. Instead of paws, it had large hands with long claws at the ends of the fingers.
The head was more feline than human, with ears laid back as it snarled across the empty air between the two rising gods. Long fangs extended from its upper jaw, and its eyes glowed a flaming orange as it glared at Drien.
The beast-man would have the strength of an animal, and probably the cunning. Added to that would be the intelligence of a humanoid. The elf lord would face a formidable foe.
“The time has come for you to do your part,” Vorynn said as they reached their destination. He released Drien onto the soft, yielding surface of a cloud. “The gathering will see that there is no interference in your battle.”
Drien spared a glance around and saw five misty columns forming part of a circle more than a hundred yards in diameter. Vorynn moved to take his place, and once Azrai had placed his warrior on the cloud, he too drifted back, closing the gap. Drien raised one hand to shade his eyes from the glare of the sunlight on the billowing white surface. The six tall, white columns added to the brightness. Azrai’s darkness, the tawny brownish-yellow of the beast-man’s fur, and Drien’s forest-hued clothing stood out in bold relief.
Drien’s mind was a turmoil of objections. He was angry at these strange gods and their intrusion into his life and his forest. He was terrified at being set on a cloud to do battle with a monster that was part humanoid and mostly beast.
But he had been given a choice, he reminded himself. He had agreed to fight for Sielwode and had not asked to choose the battleground.
He drove the anger out of his mind and took a tighter grip on the sword. As he turned it slightly, he became aware of a sparkle and looked down at the blade, marveling at the silvery-white runes that decorated one side. Then he understood why there had been two swords when the dwarf had forged only one. The power of the gods had split the sword as well as the mountain.
Vorynn had named the white sword Starfire, and that was the blade Drien held. Azrai had named the black one Deathirst, and the runes on one side of the beast-man’s blade stood out blackly, as if they ate the light of the clear air.
Drien stepped to the side of his position and back again, making no move toward the beast-man, who stood more than fifty yards away. Not in any immediate danger from his opponent, who also blinked against the glare, the elf took a moment to study the surface on which he would fight. A mist, rising nearly to his knees, hid his feet and the relative solidity beneath him. As he took a step, his foot seemed to sink, and then the resiliency of the surface sprang back, as if he were walking along a strong but supple tree limb. Drien ignored his opponent and continued to move about, trying to adjust to the spring the cloud gave to his step.
The beast-man did not give a thought to the surface, its advantages, or its dangers. It charged forward, overbalancing, just catching itself in time to keep from falling. It gave no real attention to his movements. It was too intent on killing its adversary.
Still cautious, Drien danced away from the creature’s first charge. He leapt sideways, brought both his feet down at once, and rebounded off the pliable surface.
Around him, the low thunder of the six gods seemed to hold disappointment, but the elf was more concerned with the overall victory than meeting the first charge. The huge cat-man had finally lost its footing. It fell flat on its face, disappearing into the mist that hid the surface.
Drien did not even try to take advantage of his enemy’s fall. He was too far away; the mist hid the creature, and he had troubles of his own. He had moved onto a section of the cloud where the mist at his feet was thinner. He could see his ankles clearly, but the surface seemed thin and unstable; it sank ominously as he stood on it. He hurriedly climbed out of the depression and back onto a more solid surface.
By the time the elf was on his feet again, the cat-man was up and racing toward him. Drien had learned all he had time to, and he stepped forward, meeting steel with steel.
Lightning flashed from the clash of the two swords, half blinding both the elf and the cat-man. Drien blinked away the spots that danced in front of him. He saw the irises of his enemy’s flame-colored eyes close to slits before they opened wide again. The rumble from the circle of gods held a satisfaction. The elf had felt the power of the huge beast-man’s swing and knew he could not meet many blows that were wielded with that much force.
The swords seemed an even match, but Drien could never equal the strength of his adversary. He would need to depend on skill. His hope that the cat-man would not balance as well on the springing surface was fast fading. At first, the beast-man had been working from the part of its mind that was humanoid, but even as the elf watched, the features became even more bestial; the animalistic side of its nature was controlling its balance.
Drien backed away, closing his eyes and opening them again as he used Starfire to parry Deathirst, blocking out the blinding fire each time the two blades came together.
The glare of their fight hung in the air like brilliant balls of swamp gas that rose from the bogs. Before one fire died, the blades struck again, adding more fireballs until the combatants were walled in with them.
Drien’s hope that his skill could overcome that of his wildly swinging foe came to nothing. Using sheer strength and an animalistic speed, the cat-man forced Drien’s retreat. All the elf could do was parry the blows. Just meeting them and fending them off was wearing him down.
From the circle of gods, the tall black column thundered victoriously, and the others rumbled more softly, as if voicing doubts.
Even if Drien had misread the tone of the gods’ thunder, the suggestion that the dark god could be doubted drove the elf to stronger action. He parried the next blow and slipped his own blade past the guard of the cat man, slashing at its left arm.
The beast-man howled and charged again, as if driven to madness by the pain. The flurry of blows drove Drien back until he stepped onto the thinner area. The surface sagged, and he fell backward. The mist swirled around his face, but he could still see the bestial grin of the cat-man and hear the triumphant rumble of Azrai.
Above him, the cat-man sprang into the air, intending to fall on the elf with the point of its sword aimed at Drien’s heart.
With only one desperate hope of saving himself, Drien clutched at the barely substantial surface with his left hand while he slashed at the yielding surface with his sword. He rolled to the side just as the beast-man descended, blade first, widening the tear. The cat-man howled in terror as it fell though the slit in the thin fabric of the cloud.