Dawning Light [Solo]

[Selibas]

The wind swept over the plains of Sacae, through the camp of the Etrurian scouts that had ridden in search of the riding Sacaen force. There were fifty of them, enough to defend themselves from any stray tribes they happened upon, while also staying small enough to hopefully go unnoticed. Without a concrete number, someone had needed to get at least some idea on how many of the barbarians were coming for them. The men who had come were all volunteers, a few of them lower ranking officers, a few common soldiers. All of them seeking some form of glory in the eyes of the prophet.

There were eight sentries stationed on the outskirts of camp, another eight huddled around the fires in the center. The remaining thirty six men slept in their tents, three men to each with remainders. Their camp was small, and the fire was partially hidden by the the tents that circled it, but still allowed a glow of the light to be seen from a distance. Each sentry stationed around the perimeter was close enough to speak to the sentry on either side. If an attack came, they could be ready in fifteen seconds.

One private was stationed, facing south from the camp. He was shivering in his cloak when he saw it. From the darkness, far away, there erupted the shape of a blade in blinding gold light. Not a moment after seeing it, he heard it, and felt it. The rumble of the hooves of some large number of horses. As he turned his head to sound the alarm, a thin razor of light shot from the far off blade, and quickly shot past him, casting light on his own face as well as the sentry to his left. He called out, “To arms! We’re un-” An arrow pierced his throat, and two more flew into the chest of the guard by his side.

The other guard facing south ran back into camp, calling the same alarm as he went, rousing both those awake and in slumber to rise to the challenge. As he went he heard the whir of countless arrows sailing towards his back. Luckily he was unscathed, but he heard that a small number of the men in the tents by the perimeter took their last breaths screaming awake. Before he could even see any of the barbarians in the light of the fire, men began to come out of their tents, partially armored, but fully armed. Not seconds after the first man exited his tent, another volley fell, this time falling from the sky rather than sailing straight. A few men were hit, but the sentry only saw two go down to the missiles. Then he saw them.

---

There were only twenty-five Sacaens with Selibas. Blood riders all save three who he was testing. He himself rode Lightning, with Khasar to his right and Coke to his left. All the warriors who preferred to fight on their feet were close to him, while those who fought on the horse were off to the sides of their little contingent or behind him.

Once they were in view of the enemy, the bows were put away, and all had taken their sword or lance in hand. Selibas himself sheathed Curtana and drew Shahlizen, and along with the rest of the warriors on foot slid from his saddle and rushed forward into the camp. One of the other riders had slapped the rump of his horse, and when it fled to a safe distance, the others including Lightning had followed. The warriors in the saddle circled around to begin riding around and through the camp. The Etrurian bastards had wanted a look at him. Here he was.

The short Khan was in a new set of Lamellar Armor, as were a number of his blood riders with him. He wore a cuirass, a back piece, and a set of pauldrons of the material in addition to boiled leather greaves and his wolf head helmet. The set allowed a great deal of movement while also offering a modicum of protection. It was good, it felt like he was a part of his home. The scales of course, were dyed green.

An Etrurian made a run at him with a spear, and went to stab him in the gut with a fierce thrust. Selibas managed to weave to his right, and dodge the spear head by a hair. He bounded up onto the balls of his feet and rushed into the man’s face. He aimed a strike at the man’s throat, and almost drew Shahlizen’s razor edge across the man’s throat, but the Etrurian shoulder brought his chest back, and the Saber skidded off the tip of his breastplate.

As the man continued to back up, he rammed the shaft of his lance against Selibas’s sides. The pain rang against his ribs harder than it would in his plate, but he was still able to keep moving. He forced his way out of the man’s range, and narrowly dodged another strike from the man’s lance. He then sprinted back in, and sidestepped the lance, running Shahlizen up the soldiers arm on the exposed bits between the armor. The man cried out in pain and tried to back away, but he got caught up, and stopped short. Selibas rammed Shahlizen into a gap in the armor on the man’s side.

As the short Khan ripped the blood coated blade back out from the man’s flesh, a scream escaped the man’s throat. He dropped the lance from his hand, and grabbed Selibas by the collar of his Cuirass. As the short Khan tried to pull away from the man’s grip, the Etrurian drew a dagger from his waist, and swung it in a hard arc, and it cut Selibas along the right bicep, drawing a thick line of blood, a wound almost matching the one he’d given the man on his arm. The cut forced a cry from the Sacaen much the same as well.

Gritting his teeth, Selibas grabbed the other man with his left hand, and then used his right to ram his Saber through the scout’s exposed throat. With a dying scream, the man started to crumble, and his grip finally fell away from Selibas’ armor. The Etrurians were falling to the Chaos, this would be as quick as he’d planned.

Or so he thought. A few yards ahead of the Little Wolf, he saw Ketboge writhing covered in green flame. His blood rose as one of his men died before him, and he looked ahead, seeing a cloaked man in his forties, holding his palm up. Selibas tightened his grip on Shahlizen, the magic cutting blade he’d inherited from his mentor. Time to go to work.

[Selibas]

Selibas' vision was wrenched from the Magi who'd just burnt one of his men alive when a Javelin whirled past his ear. As he stepped back to avoid any other blow, he reminded himself that he was not fighting with a blade that complicated his traditional style, that he needed to be swift with his strokes and light on his feet. The Sacaen sword in his hands was the symbol of his position as Khan, and with it he would carve the border of Sacae into the mind of any that would invade the sea of grass, reminding them of what they would contend if they stepped into across with the intent to burn and to maim. As a tall man sprinted towards him with an Etrurian Bastard sword, Selibas slimmed himself, and held his sword forward. The man aimed a strike at Selibas' stomach, and the short swordsman spun away, and using the momentum from the foot he landed on, bounced back with an upward strike that would take the man across the chest.

---

As Dale rode through the camp of Etrurian scouts, he did not think about his sword as it fell. He did not think of the hooves of Uyeel as they thundered against the plain. He did not think of the faces of the invaders as they twisted in fear at their demise that rode like the wind through the night. All he thought on was how unnecessary this all was. His cousin was too obsessed with looking his enemy in the eye when he killed them, it was why he talked so much, he felt too much. The Black Web could have killed all fifty of these men in the span of a minute. All it would have taken was fire, enough arrows, and quiet. The Etrurians wouldn't have even known they were there.

Now they knew, and they were terrified. Atop his black horse, Dale rode as a great dread through the hearts of the men of Saint Elimine. One, a young man no older than twenty three or so dropped his weapon at the sight of Dale and the warriors riding behind him. Dale raised Torolt, the saber of his grandfather, and drove it into the man's shoulder as he rode past him. The blade did not wrench clean at first, and Dale almost lost his grip as Uyeel kept his gallop, but with a weak cry from the Etrurian, the sword came loose, dripping blood in a trail behind Dale's horse. Behind him, the Khan's cousin heard the man's final throws as another blow struck him down.

---

The sword of the tall scout narrowly missed Selibas' shoulder as the bearded youth twisted away from the blow. The Little Wolf tried to switch into the sliding viper, a move Khasar had shown him. It was a slight bend at the knees, where the swordsman slid with his weight on the right foot, and brought their Saber up as they went. Selibas made sure he did the swing with as much force as he could manage, and Shahlizen tore through the boiled leather on the man's chest, and drew a red streak of blood across his chest.

The other man grunted as the sword ripped across his skin, and the man swung a harsh strike at Selibas' speed. With the light blade in his hands, and the lighter armor across his shoulders, the short Khan parried the blow. Both swordsmen's arms recoiled at the contact, but both immediately started to pedal their feet.

---

Kaichun rode his horse, Chiigui around the perimeter of the camp, just close enough that his horse rode by light. He only rode to keep the Etrurians from fleeing. His bow was strung, his arrow nocked. He didn't have a sword. This was all he'd be doing. It was fine, it allowed him to keep an eye open for Khasar, and make sure that nothing happened to his little big brother.

However, he saw it, a scout in no armor, with only a sword running away. The sword was sheathed, the man was running without even attempting to rally his comrades. Kaichun raised his bow, aimed, and loosed. The arrow whizzed audibly as it flew away, and Kaichun watched the man drop to his knees. He pulled his horses reins and lifted his knees, and Chiigui stopped its run.

The quiet archer nocked yet another arrow, and pulled it back completely, the feather at the end of the arrow rubbing his cheek. The Etrurian on the ground lifted his head, and Kaichun let the arrow fly. The man didn't come off his knees. Kaichun pressed his legs back into Chiigui's sides, and the horse began to circle the camp once again.

---

The sword of the Etrurian rang hard against Selibas' lamellar pauldron. The short Khan gritted his teeth as the armor split on the outer guard, several of the small plates flying off and cascading to the ground. His left shoulder buckled, the weight of the other man's sword sending him reeling. Selibas sped his feet back to keep himself from getting killed by a quick strike, and set his feet once there was some distance between the two men.

Before his opponent could go on the offensive, Selibas sprinted towards him, and as he went, he let his rage flow through him like a raging stream, and felt all that anger well in his shoulder. There was no accompanying light, but he could feel the pain fade away, his arm becoming of use once more. [SELIBAS IMBUE USED] The man aimed a thrust for Selibas as he came on, but the short khan lowered his shoulder and skipped to his right, then rose, and stepped into the Swift Mountain, a slash designed to break an enemy's guard. However, it wasn't aimed at his opponent's hands or weapon, but at his throat. A fierce horizontal two handed strike brought the Blade of his teacher forged into the style of his tribe across the man's neck, followed by a red stream of blood. The short Khan looked at the man's eyes as he fell. Even in an Etrurian soldier, watching death take a man did not fill Selibas with any emotion he loved.

---

Khasar danced through the chaos of Etrurian Scouts and Sacaen bloodriders. It was a fast clean raid, the Etrurians hadn't seen it coming, and the Sacaens were making fast work of the enemy. Simple, easy. None of his usual anxiety bubbled up in Khasar as he forced his way through the duels that marked the camp. When the enemy was scared and ill prepared, you couldn't be taken by two or three at once. If he fought one Etrurian at a time, he'd already won. He was after all the best swordsman of the Sumis, even after the addition of the Aurumiaf.

Was being the operative word. With a Sacaen saber, he was very good, too good. Bekter or Delger good. It had started to bore him severely. And so, one day while in Bulgar, he had purchased a number of swords from a trader, a North Eastern Sacaen. The fringes of Sacae were filled with all manners of strange tribes, that for the long haired swordsman seemed to be as foreign as any man from Bern. The swords he'd purchased had been called 'Tachis' and Khasar had broken the first two he tried to use. By now however, he was serviceable, and still good enough to finish an Etrurian in three strokes. Well, maybe four.

A spear almost took him in the face. The blood rider barely weaved out of the way. The lance was pulled back, then came again, this time for his neck. Khasar had to step out of the way of that strike, and chose to keep moving. He worked his way around the lancer as the man tried to catch Khasar by turning his feet. The swordsman flashed his sword in a quick strike, drawing a line of blood up the man's arm, and before the man's lance could take Khasar, the Sacaen was back out of range. One.

The man across from Khasar grunted, and ran for him. With a spin, and a bit of a skip, Khasar was free of the spear's tip, and slashed a cut across the man's left arm before cutting the Etrurian in the side of his stomach. Two and three. The man roared, and turned, making three successive thrusts of his lance at Khasar. The swordsman dodged the first two with ease, but underestimated the man's range on the third. The spear tore through his new Lamellar armor, and produced a thick gash just below his armpit on his left side.

However, the man had come too close, and couldn't follow on his strike, and Khasar quickly closed the distance between the two, and plunged his Tachi into the man's stomach. As the man before him cried out, falling to the ground, Khasar hugged his arm close to his side. Well, four.

---

The Khan panted as he searched for one of his men in need of relief, tightening his grip on his blade. The wrong blade, at least for now. Shahlizen had done good work in his hand, but this was not a fight where he wanted to risk losing too many of his friends and closest allies. The short Khan sheathed his sword quickly, and drew out Curtana, and as he pulled the hilt of the magical sword free from the sheath, each inch that came was bathed in light. Soon the young Khan stood at the center of the camp, holding the golden white blade.

The little wolf threw his head back, and howled. His pack answered.

[Selibas]

The face of the first Etrurian Selibas saw twisted up in fear. A man of action, a man of the blade, being able to conquer the arcane was unheard of, unnatural for Elibe. Selibas had heard of blades like Curtana, but they were so scarce that their mention was rare, and in Etruria the Khan was certain it was more so. The light of the shattered sword, a burning golden light that shined in the form of the sword's ancient blade, lit the camp almost as fiercely as the fires at the center. It drew the ire of his enemy, as they all stared at the sudden flare. Good, let them fall on him like carrion, they would find the wolf alive. And hungry.

---

Bekter held both his short sabers tightly as he wove between the tents of his invaders. The b******s had killed his son, or their brothers had. He would take no prisoners, he would see that by his sword, one hundred men fell for his youngest boy. They knew not his name, but they heard the whirl of his blades as he cut his way through their ranks. They would know his face, the possessed look in his eye. They would not know it for long.

One fool came at Bekter with a spear. The Etrurian coward attempted to use his weapon's range to his advantage, to keep the old warrior at bay, but Bekter had killed men with longer lances than this boy now clumsily thrust before. He sidestepped the first thrust with ease. The second that followed had more confidence behind him, it likely could have hit most of the other Sacaens fighting in the ring of tents. It did not take Bekter. With the second thrust, the old man moved in.

The Etrurian made the right move, he backed up, trying to reproduce the distance he'd had only moments ago. Bekter was too fast for him, and with a feint at the man's right flank, the soldier stumbled for a moment, and found Bekter's blade in his throat. It had been one quick thrust, and with a motion just as quick, the blade was back out. In service of his Khan, that was the second Etrurian whose death Bekter marked in his mind. For you, Jikin.

---

An Etrurian with a massive axe swung for Selibas, but the short Khan blocked the blade with Curtana's light. The man was quick, and with his off hand he aimed a punch at Selibas' jaw, which sent the short Khan reeling back and filled his mouth with blood. Before Selibas could do anything, the man was coming for him once more, and the Khan had to block yet another blow.

Backpedaling, the Khan caught the axe of the man on Curtana's edge, and as both men's weapons were pushed back, Selibas made a lazy swipe that produced a razor so thin that when it hit the man, it barely drew blood through his undershirt. What the bit of magic did do was startle the man to the point that he almost dropped his axe, providing Selibas with the chance to go on the attack, he rushed in, swinging his blade with the ferocity of a man assured victory. His strike was aimed at the man's collarbone, and the blade of light would likely tear through to the man's heart with the force Selibas put behind it.

---

Coke was under duress. The Lamellar armor he wore was hot, and too small. The man who had made these sets had expected all the men and women who wore them to be of average size. The six foot two two hundred and twenty pound swordsman did not fit his Lamellar suit.

Still, duress fed into his rage fueled style. The saber used by the massive man formerly of the Aurumiaf was equally massive, and Chlane before his passing had called it a Falchion. His strength was something that always made Coke stand out, he towered above the other Sacaens, and he could tear through his enemies with half the strikes of his fellows. The man in front of him was tall, but still shorter than Coke.

The Etrurian swung his sword at Coke from the left, but Coke bashed it aside, both hands on the hilt of his falchion. The other sword flew back, and Coke stepped up, swinging his sword on the backhand, and aiming a horizontal strike at his enemy's shoulder. The sword crashed through the chainmail lazily thrown on the sentry, and the man cried out. Coke pulled his sword out, then began another strike.

A similar strike came from his enemy. It bit through Coke's Lamellar armor, and through the layers beneath into his arm. Coke roared, but didn't stop his assault. Aiming at his shoulder, he bashed the edge of sword at the man's collar three times, the second strike clearing the armor, and the third strike cutting the arteries and veins loose in the man. Before his enemy died, blood spattered Coke's chest and neck, and the man screamed for his saint. Coke's nose twisted, both at the pain and at the man's plea. Their Saint could have helped them to live by stopping their burning the plains in her name.

---

The Etrurian managed to step back and bend away from Selibas' blow, and came back with an onslaught of his own. Selibas sidestepped a swing from the mighty axe, but took a rough shove from the haft of his opponent's axe. The little wolf stumbled as he went backwards, and the man knew it. He kept coming on, making cautious strikes, all aimed for Selibas' arms or head, none that would be Easy for Selibas to counter and go straight into an attack.

The Khan finally rid his mouth of blood, by spitting it into the eyes of the Etrurian. Even mixed with spit, it was enough to sting and block the man's gaze. Ducking a lazy swing of the axe, Selibas bolted into close quarters, and dug his blade into the man's stomach. The man dropped his axe, and clawed at Selibas' throat weakly, as the stench of death filled the Khan's nostrils. Twisting the blade, the short Sacaen pulled it free, and turned back to the battle at hand as the man died behind him.

---

Tugtom rode on his shaggy horse hard, following the nimbler horses of the other Sacaens. His thick lance was gripped tightly in his left hand, and the thick rider was prepared to thrust it deep into the heart of any that weren't finished by his brothers and sisters ahead of him.

One such Etrurian had his back turned to Tugtom, but had narrowly escaped death at the hands of Chambui. As Tugtom's heavy spearhead pierced his heart through the back, the man had no escape. However, at the moment his lance was free of the man, a bolt of lightning struck Tugtom in his saddle, and the pain mixed with the fear of his mount threw Tugtom off, but not without twisting his left ankle as he left the stirrup.

The thick Sacaen was able to rise to his knees, panting, the bolt had taken much out of him. He did not see the Etrurian rushing forward with a sword drawn.

---

A man sprinted at Selibas, both hands on his halberd. As he gripped Curtana, his previous exchange put Selibas in mind of a strategy that could prove effective. He swung his blade in a horizontal arc, and willed the razor of light to appear. It flung off the blade, a thick one hurtling for the man's chest. As soon as it was off, Selibas sprinted after it. The light hit the man's chest and stopped him dead in his tracks, but the blow was followed not seconds later by Selibas, who drove his blade into the man's open throat. It was a clean maneuver.

'You make them pay for every inch with blood, that is excellent!' What? Was Selibas hearing voices in the middle of battle? 'Who is this?' 'I am Huringren, that blade which rests in thine hand and fells thine foes was once an age ago mine own.'

---

"Tugtom!" Degasi roared the man's name as she rode back towards where he lay on the ground. Her saber cut the man attacking him down, the curve aiding its motion as she split his neck. Quickly sheathing her bloodied sword, she extended her hand to the fallen Sacaen, who grabbed her by the forearm. Grabbing him back, Degasi pulled with all her might to bring him to rest behind her.

As Sunset began her gallop, Degasi spoke loud enough for the man behind her to hear, "Your weight and all that armor are going to be a real problem if someone weaker than me ever has to lift your fat a** off the ground." As Tugtom wrapped his arms around her waist, he laughed and said with his husky voice, "When I meet someone weaker than you Degasi, I will be worried."

A smile curled Degasi's lips as she pulled her sword back from the scabbard, preparing for a pass at a man holding a Javelin staring her down. "Careful now, say something as hurtful as that again, and I just might ask that Etrurian to shock you off my horse for me." They were closing in on the man, as he lifted his Javelin. Tugtom tightened his arms around her waist. "Wouldn't dream of it."

---

The short Khan kept his head moving as a thousand thoughts and a foreign voice danced across his mind. 'Huringren. I know you, your sword was held in a collection in the land of... my father.' 'Yes, and I know you, Selibas. Centuries have passed since this blade was held, centuries since I have been awake. Not since mine own great grandson has a man weilded me with such strength that I could speak within his mind.' Well, this was strange. As strange as strange got. 'You fought in the Scouring, you faced down dragons.' 'Aye, but I feel through the touch of your hand that thine own destiny lies within the realm of the unknown, you shall face dangers unimaginable young Selibas, and by your side should always be the blade of light, the noble dawn.'

At that moment, Selibas became aware that he was standing face to face with the Magi who had killed his bloodrider before his eyes only minutes ago. The man looked to be focusing to cast a spell, and Selibas would not be caught unprepared.

---

Chambui rode her horse light in the saddle. A javelin sailed past her, and made her flinch, but rather than avoid it all together, she saught the hand which had thrown it. She saw the man, and kicked Sunrise towards him. The stallion beneath her rode like the wind, and the man was set running.

He dodged between two tents, and forced Chambui to ride around. She growled at being forced to actually follow the man. He could not outrun Chambui and Sunrise. The white stallion was one of the fastest horses in Sacae surely, Chambui had bested most riders who claimed otherwise. However, as she came around the corner of one of the tents, a javelin almost hit her in the face. Her growled only deepened. As she kicked her horse forward, the man tripped over on of a tents supports, and the tent fell over him. Lowering her lance, Chambui rode Sunrise over him beneath the tent. No ma hurled a lance at her and expected to get away with it.

---

As soon as Selibas sent a razor at the Magi, the man's spell appeared to be done. When the Etrurians eyes opened, the little wolf instinctively darted to his right. From the other man's hand came a ball of darkness as broad as a bull, shaped like a hurtling flame. It enveloped the razor of Light Selibas had sent for the man, and kept going, blazing through where Selibas had just stood. The grass beneath the hovering mass that soon dissipated died as the chunk of nether flew over it.

'In my time I could not stand the men of black magic! He is an invader in your home grandson! You must strike down a man who resists nature.' Though Selibas was tempted to tell him that a lot of his best friends were elder mages, he didn't. It would only complicate things. What struck the swordsman as odd was that the words of the spirit seemed to exist outside of his mind. The more Huringren spoke the more his presence was felt, and Selibas grew to understand that the man was not a voice in his head but truly a spirit that existed within the sword. His words took no time out of Selibas' thoughts or reactions, they simply were.

The Khan had to keep his legs moving, as the Magi now sent small bolts of flame at him, far weaker than the spell of black magic, but they took almost no time to cast. One of them succesfully took Selibas in his chest, and though his armor stayed true and his clothes beneath did not go up in flame, Selibas felt the skin beneath it redden with a burn. It was a pain that distracted him as he kept running to avoid the destructive power of this man who had not moved since setting his eyes on Selibas.

---

Delger's dah was swift, his motions a blur as he fought of a pair of the Etrurians. Though his blade was thin, his smile was broad, and he relished the fight at hand. He was like a swan, dancing between a pair of rabid badgers. The bloodrider's heart was filled with adrenaline as it always was in battle, there was nothing like a fight to make one feel alive.

The man to his left was good, the man to his right was not. Both sported thin long swords, only passingly thicker than Delger's own Dah. With each parry, Delger staved off one for the instant, but he was forced to flash his blade back, and block the other. It was as if the three were in a rhythm together, and neither Etrurian seemed willing to break it. Delger was, risk had been his bedmate since he could speak.

With a block of the man on his left's blade, Delger twisted, and caught the sword of the other, the clumsy Etrurian. Instead of dashing back to stave off the other, the lithe killer twisted his Dah, and slid it down the man's stomach, twisting the blade as he went and churning the man's bowls. As his friend died beside him, the better swordsman dug his sword point into Delger's shoulder, adding a new scar to the filled canvas. The former Khan twisted again, his smile shuttering at the pain, but in almost the same instant, he dug his dah into the man's neck. Pulling his enemy's sword from his skin, Delger cursed. He'd have to actually ask for help once the battle was over.

---

Selibas sent three quick strikes that produced razors at the magi, but to no avail, they were all swallowed by a paper thin wall of darkness, the Selibas had to dive and roll to avoid. As he sprung to his feet, a bolt of lightning struck his chest, but luckily for the Sacaen, the man hadn't had time to make it a killing blow.

As the Khan ran again, he panted. 'Now would be an opportune moment to strike.' Selibas smiled around his gritted teeth. 'I think you're right.'

[Selibas]

A ball of flame nearly took Selibas in the shoulder as he rushed towards the Magi, but the heat passed him, and the Khan still sprinted forward. With his blade of light in hand, the little wolf readied a thrust that would have taken the man through the stomach. It would kill him, the man was muttering some spell, his lips moving a mile a minute, seemingly unaware that the Khan was just before him gripping dawn. However, the man opened his mouth, and a great pain overtook Selibas as a thick cloud of black smoke overtook him, and he couldn't move.

The magi pedaled himself backwards, and as he went he called over the din of battle, "You are standing in the eye of the storm Sacaen." Selibas gritted his teethed and growled as the nether smoke choked at every drop of blood in his veins. 'Thy opponent would appear to think of himself in the highest of regards.' Selibas poured his remaining will into the sword, and from every inch of it's white gold blade burst forth a globe of light that dispelled the smoke, and left the Khan standing for a moment with only the rusty broken blade he'd taken from a museum as a boy. As the Magi's face flickered in shock, the blade of his ancestor shot from the hilt in a beam of light, and rested once more as a full sword.

"I, AM THE STORM!

Filled with anger, the short Khan roared and sprinted forward. He wrapped his left hand around the hilt of Curtana just below the right. Stopping short of the magi, he set his right foot before his left, and leveled his sword at the man's chest. As a tendril of black nether sported from the air before the Etrurian and flew towards Selibas, the voice of Huringren echoed in his mind, 'In thy hands rests a sword which once slew drakes. A babe killer is nothing to Selibas Sacae.'

From Curtana's tip came a beam as thick as the blade of the same golden white light, that flew straight for the Magi, and overcame the cord of black, and shot past it, taking the magi in the chest. It dropped the Etrurian to his knee, and Selibas approached him at a jog.

After only a few moments, a bolt of lighting struck Selibas in the shoulder, and thought it stopped Selibas short for a moment, the Sage had not had time to prepare the spell to the point that it could do more than burn him. Next there was a flame sailing towards his face, but Selibas quickly pedaled his left foot behind his right and then bent away, and the spell flew over him. And then he stood before the magi.

As the Etrurian looked around himself, he saw the Sacaens gathering. His men were dead, and by the looks of things, only four of his enemy had fallen in the raid. When his head snapped back to look up at the Khan, the White Gold point of the blade was an inch from his face. "Puh-please! Spare me, and I'll tell you everything you need to know! Don't kill me!"

'No."

The same beam burst from Curtana's tip.

End Thread.