Musings From The Dragonlady
Mature Content Disclaimer:
This book contains some sex and
Books by Sandie Bergen
Table of Contents
Price of Desire
Knew It Was Coming
Legend of the Vale
The Jada Trilogy
The Angry Sword
Silver Cat Black Fox
In The Company of Elves
Dragon Fyre: Musings from the
Published by Marion
Margaret Press on Smashwords
This is a work of fiction. All
characters and events in this book are products of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously.
There is some mature content in this
Musings of the Dragonlady
Copyright2017 Sandie Bergen/Charlie
reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions
thereof in any form. This ebook is licenses for your personal
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Edited by Sandy Fetchko
Cover art, design and layout by The
Published March, 2017
Marion Margaret Press
PO Box 245
Hebron, NE 68370
A division of Cacy Enterprises LLC
I am not a writer, nor an author or
even a storyteller. I was however, lucky enough to be married to one.
As such, I get to do the dedication for this anthology of Sandie's
works. I was told I could dedicate to whomever I wanted, but there
was only one possibility to my mind. Therefore, this anthology is
dedicated it to my wife, the author of these stories, the mother of
my children, my best friend, my everything, Sandie Bergen, who I had
the immense privilege of spending 37 years with. Time may ease the
pain, but I miss you everyday and always will.
I would like to thank a number of
people for their help in putting this anthology together. Sandy
Fetchko, Sandie's editor, who went through Sandie's computer to
collect these stories and then edit them. Some Sandie never expected
to be published. Onyx she wrote as a gift to me, her husband, and
that was all. Olen is my Grandfather's name and she thought it would
be nice to put it into a story for me.
Steve Shumka, RMT, who taught Sandie
how to slowly kill, maim and torture people as well as disect her
many, many battle scenes to make sure they flowed through the action.
A huge thank you to Diana Cacy Hawkins
of Marion Margaret Press, who went over eight years of almost daily
conversations just to see what Sandie wanted to call an anthology if
she ever did one. Without Diana Cacy Hawkins, this book would never
have seen the light of day. I can't thank her enough.
And last, but definitely not least, to
her many fans worldwide. Whether it was connecting at a farmers'
market or from a comment on her webpage, she was always delighted to
hear from those who enjoyed her books. It gave her such joy to touch
others through her stories. These stories are for all of you. Enjoy.
After Sandie left this Earth we went
through her computer. Inside we found these hidden gems. Short
stories she had written, some because someone wanted a short story
for a publication, one as a gift for her husband, and some because
her characters wanted their stories told. Most of these stories have
never been published before, although a few have.
Her family wanted to share these
stories. We gathered up nine of her finished stories and put them
together in this anthology. Inside you see a side of Sandie you may
not have seen before, there are the Dragons that you would expect,
but also ghosts as Sandie spread her wings. She wrote what she knew
and was a fanatic about detail and this comes through in the stories.
filtered through the dark oak and sweet maples lining the road,
glinting off the black stone Olen held in front of him. It sat in a
thick band of gold flanked by two tiny diamonds, like a gaping shadow
between two stars—precious in its own right, more so if one knew
its secret. Olen winked at the onyx stone. It winked back.
“Not long now, my
sweet.” Olen placed the ring back on his finger and tugged the dark
brown leather glove over it. He kicked his horse into a canter and
rode down the hill towards the city of Rankar, still an hour away.
Sparrows, robins, blue birds, and thrushes trilled and twittered in
accompaniment to the clip clop of hooves.
wandered during the ride, to the games of Santet he would play
tonight. Not that he needed the money, he had more than enough to buy
an estate and settle down, but he couldn’t rest until he’d found
a way to free Onyx.
Rankar sprawled across
the central plain of the Empire of Tarnmat. A dozen villages the size
of his birthplace could be lost in there, houses and inhabitants.
This was a city of light, and a city of dark. The fading sun
spattered orange, red, and gold across the limestone buildings,
sparkled off copper spires and glassed in windows. The granite walls
enclosing the city, painted white, only added to the grandeur, as did
the golden gates. Not solid gold of course, not even the Emperor
would be so foolish. These were of thick solid iron merely coated
with a thin veneer of the precious metal—a symbol of wealth and
Once inside the gates,
the vision increased. Colourful striped awnings shaded merchants and
their wares from the heat of the day. Several called out to him,
holding up brilliant silks, fragrant perfumes, and spicy smelling
meat skewers. Gaily garbed men and women chatted and shopped, while
their children skipped alongside them, begging for treats or a gift.
Olen stood out here, in his drab brown leathers and grey cloak. Even
the metal on his horse’s tack seemed dull and lifeless compared to
the bright city and its vibrant inhabitants.
City of Light; that’s
what everyone called Rankar, but Olen knew quite well that every coin
had two sides. For every star in the sky, a larger gap of darkness
threatened to engulf it.
Olen rode through the
clean cobbled streets, past an array of multi-coloured shops and
people, to the darker side of the city, the Old Quarter. Here, tall,
rundown buildings sat too close together to allow much of the summer
sun to chase the shadows away. Very few people braved the show of
bright colours, for that could mean money hidden somewhere on their
person. Most of the denizens of the Old Quarter wore dirty ivory
linen, dark green, brown, and black trousers, tunics and dresses—the
better to slip and slide through the shade and gloom of the narrow
streets and narrower alleys.
No clamour of merchants
and corner musicians, no tantalizing smell of the ripe sweetness of
sliced fruit greeted him in the Old Quarter. The cloying odour
escaping the taqa parlours wafted on the stagnant air, making Olen
almost as light headed as those who indulged in the smoke of the
addictive drug. It almost drowned out the smell of open sewers and
It was here, amongst
the thieves, whores, bully boys, and vagrants, that Olen had
discovered the secret to the ring. Now he hoped this visit to Rankar
would reveal the one who sought its return, and see the release of
Onyx. Not far into the slums, he found the place he sought.
‘The Bugle and
Flute’, the sign above the inn read, one of the better
establishments in the Old Quarter. Though Olen wouldn’t find what
he wanted in the newer parts of Rankar, neither did he wish to end up
with livestock on his person, or mugged merely for the clothes he
After stabling his
horse, he ordered hot water and a meal. A small dirty mirror allowed
him to shave and comb his dark brown hair. After a quick wash, he
changed his clothes, then relaxed, stretched out on the bed, awaiting
Once darkness had
descended, Olen rubbed the black stone of his ring. “Full moon
starts tomorrow. We will have three days, my love. Tonight, however,
I have to set the bait and I need you for that. Awaken, my beloved
A mist, shaded the same
as the stone, wisped upwards, towards the window, forming a
tantalizing shape. Seconds only he had to wait while his love took
her true form.
Onyx…a good name for
her. Thick black hair cascaded down a body a goddess would murder
for. Eyes just as dark sparkled in the candle light. A gown of the
same colour draped her body. In the ancient style of the priestesses
of Asharat, it slanted from right shoulder, baring her left breast
and right leg; all black, except for her delicate, porcelain skin.
Olen closed the
distance between them in a heartbeat, his arms held out to her. She
moved into them, yet, he couldn’t feel her; he held air. Onyx put a
finger to his lips. He felt no soft touch.
“Tomorrow, my love, I
will be whole.”
Olen sighed. “For
three days only, then you’ll be a ghost again.”
“Maybe this time, we
will find him.”
Olen grabbed his worn, dusty grey cloak. “It’s time to play.”
He glanced at his sword and scabbard, lying on the bed. No gaming
room allowed anything other than an eating knife. His dagger rested
in its sheath on his belt, but he’d have preferred the sword.
Onyx’s sweet lips
made a moue of distaste as she perused his clothing. “This is not
your normal attire for the game. Do you not wish to impress your
“Not these ones.”
His plain, brown, long sleeved tunic with matching breeches tucked
into dusty knee high black boots would suffice for tonight. “We’re
in the Old Quarter. If I appear too prosperous, none will want to
play me and everyone will want to mug me.”
Onyx laughed, a sound
reminiscent of a cool, mountain stream. “You look so ordinary, not
the dashing man in black and silver I’m used to.” She pressed a
ghostly kiss on his cheek. “If that is the way you wish to present
yourself, then let us go, my sweet.”
downstairs, his hands in his pockets, just an average man looking to
gain at the tables. Onyx walked next to him, her arm in his. Once
again, he wished she was real.
Night had only just
fallen, yet the gaming parlour held at least twenty-five players. He
scanned the Santet tables for a likely group to join. The tables ran
about half and half—Santet and dice. Olen preferred Santet,
however. Onyx had no control over dice. No one spoke to Onyx as they
passed, or even looked at her, for only the one wearing the ring
could see her.
Olen found a group a
five players who needed a sixth. Two, who appeared to be brothers,
wore simple, light cotton shirts and dark trousers, a pair who
appeared to be trying to improve their fortune with the game. The
other three’s clothing consisted of dark greens and varying shades
of brown. At first glance they also looked like ordinary men, but
they couldn’t fool Olen. The material and cut of the clothes
declared them nobles, either out for an evening’s slumming or men
who’d been kicked out of the finer clubs.
placed five coppers on the table, the opening bid agreed upon; horse
droppings compared to most of the games he played.
A barmaid in a low cut
flimsy dress, one side hiked up to reveal a shapely leg, sidled close
to him. He ordered an ale, then waved his left hand, the one with the
ring. “Shall we begin, then?”
The man to Olen’s
right, a thin, young, blonde fellow with disturbing green eyes picked
up the pack of cards. “It’s my deal.” Those eyes slid to the
ring more than once as he dealt.
Could I be this
lucky? After four years and uncountable towns and cities, could I
have found him so soon? Olen nodded his approval and took his six
The barmaid returned
with his order. “If you’re lookin’ for company later, handsome,
I’m available.” She winked.
Only a few years past
her prime, she’d kept her trim figure and her cute face didn’t
show too many lines, but no one could come close to Onyx. “I’ll
keep that in mind.”
Onyx started with the
young blonde nobleman seated to Olen’s right, revealing the cards
he held in his hand. Good attacking cards, but with no defence he’d
be quickly wiped out. Around the table she went, telling him what
each of the players held. An older man with a greying beard to
Blondie’s right began the play. He added three coppers to the five
in front of him, laid a card in the discard pile, and asked for
Play moved around the
table, each of them placing their bets, discarding what they couldn’t
use, while Onyx let him know what was discarded and received. While
she reported, Olen listened, and watched the players.
When it came to his
turn, Olen deposited two more coins to his bet. He glanced at Onyx,
who crouched on the floor beside Blondie. The young man held out the
next card, face down, ready to flip to him.
Onyx stood. “A single
of heavy horse.”
Damn. Worse than
what he’d intended to toss. Olen shook his head and Blondie took
the card instead, his green eyes flashing disappointment. While
another round of discards started, Olen studied the man across from
him. Slender, with only a touch of grey at his temples, he would be
the one Olen would actually battle against this round.
The man had lazy eyes
and his expression never changed, making him difficult to read. Not
that it mattered. Olen had Onyx. Round after round passed. He bet
conservatively on every round, though he knew he had Grey Temples
When a full round of
declined cards passed, Blondie said, “Time for battle, gents. No
more bets.” He nodded to the player to his right.
The older man laid down
his first line of defence, placing the cards face up in front of him.
The other players followed suit until all defence cards had been
played. Now the attacking started.
almost, but not quite, overwhelmed the younger of the brothers. Grey
Temples began his attack with Olen, and Olen smiled to himself. He
had the man beat solid. As the round of attacking progressed, Blondie
fell first, his weak defences overwhelmed by his opponent. The man
across from him, the older of the brothers, grinned and scooped up
his winnings. Olen beat Grey Temples and Ironbeard beat the younger
brother. Seats changed so no one sat across from their previous
opponents and they began again.
Olen won the second
game, though not by much. Well into the third and final match,
Blondie finally commented on the item that had attracted him all
evening. “That’s an interesting ring you have. I don’t think
I’ve seen an onyx with the shine that one has.”
“Thank you. It’s a
remnant of my more…prosperous… days.” Olen hailed the barmaid
for a refill, only his second of the evening. He had to maintain a
“I don’t suppose
you’d be interested in selling it. You look like you could use the
money.” Blondie’s green eyes drove into Olen’s.
“Nope. Sorry. I’ve
grown attached to it. A reminder of a special lady.” Olen felt
another pair of eyes on him. Grey Temple now sat to his left, eyeing
up him and the ring.
“Too bad.” Blondie
turned back to his hand. If he paid attention he might actually win
this one. “She must be quite the woman.”
“She is.” Olen
checked with Onyx and passed on the next card intended for him. He
had trouble keeping his eyes off her. “Dark hair down to her waist
and darker eyes. Long in the body and long in leg, that lady can wrap
herself around a man and never let him go.”
Blondie and the two
“Surprised you let
her go,” the older brother said.
“I’ll find her
The younger brother
took the card offered him. “Aren’t you afraid someone else will
have taken her?”
Olen shook his head.
“Not a chance.”
Blondie sneered, his
curiosity run dry.
Olen deliberately lost
the third game, then moved to another table to see who might be
interested in the black stone ring. Twice more during the evening, he
played at the same table as Grey Temples and Blondie. The younger
man’s eyes shifted to the ring several times, though he said
nothing. The three nobles left together, over three hours past
A faint light gleamed
in the eastern sky when Olen finally returned to his room, several
coppers ahead of when he’d begun. Two other people had commented on
his ring, but he still felt Blondie was the main candidate.
Olen slept until past
noon, ate a large meal, then rode to a better part of town and
indulged in the public baths. He rested until the moon rose, bright
and full, sharing the evening sky with the sun.
“It’s time, my
love.” A grin of anticipation spread across Olen’s face as he
stroked the black gem. He remained on the bed, wearing only his
Once again black mist
curled seductively from the ring. In moments, Onyx stood before him,
her eyes glinting. A quick flick at her shoulder, and her gown pooled
at her feet. Wearing only a smile, she came to him.
you’re wearing that much,” she said, stretching out beside him.
Now that the moon was full, she lived, breathed, and made love as a
Olen chuckled. “I
like it when you undress me.”
Her sweet lips touched
his and a thrill ran down his spine. He breathed in the intoxicating
scent of lavender and honeysuckle. She always smelled like that, she
said they were Asharat’s favourite flowers, used in all her
ceremonies. Olen didn’t really care why she smelled so good, he
just drank in her scent and let her kiss and caress sweep the cares
of the world away.
The next few hours were
spent in passionate bliss, making up for a month of not touching one
another. Covered in sweat, they lay side by side, letting the evening
breeze cool their bodies, though it could never cool their ardour.
Onyx rolled onto her
side and stroked Olen’s chest. “Do you really think the blonde
man is the one? He is younger than Vandran has appeared in the past.
He thinks older men are more distinguished and respected.”
“Since I’ve never
met him, I can’t really comment on that. All I can say is, it feels
right.” Olen had never set eyes on Vandran, yet hated him to the
depths of his soul. “There’s something wrong about that young
man, and he showed far more interest in the ring than anyone else.”
responsible for placing Onyx’s shade in the stone three thousand
years ago. Born in a kingdom that no longer existed, the wizard had
terrorized the entire continent for more than two hundred years
before an intrepid hero and his companions did away with his body.
Onyx sighed. “I hope
you are right. I can feel nothing of his soul since Tailion killed
him, at least, not while I am a ghost. Perhaps I should come down
with you tonight…”
“No!” Olen sat up,
drawing her close. “I won’t risk you. He might decide to kill you
again, permanently this time. If we draw him here, and I can destroy
him forever, then you will be free.”
She hugged him tight.
“I hope so. I do not wish to belong to Vandran again.” Onyx
shuddered. “Of all the masters I have had, you are the only one who
showed even the slightest interest in freeing me.”
Olen kissed a tear
away. “I love you, Onyx. I want to be with you all the time, not
just three nights a month.” He smiled. “I’m greedy.”
Onyx’s golden laugh
thrilled him to his soul.
Olen kissed her, then
rolled off the bed. “Do you want to go back into the ring.?”
Fear flashed across her
fine features. “No! Please! I’d rather be here alone. The fresh
air is good, and just to touch things is wonderful.”
“Then stay here,”
he said, while dressing. “Keep the door bolted and only open it for
me. You’re sure Vandran’s powers are limited?”
Onyx nodded. “He has
to keep changing bodies as the one he occupies ages. Much of his
power is absorbed keeping control of his host. If you injure him,
even slightly, it will weaken him more than a normal person, since he
will be forced to use his power to keep control.” She sat up,
letting the sheet covering her fall to her waist.
Olen blew out a breath.
“I certainly hope you’re right. I’m only a flesh and blood man
with a sword. I’ve never fought an ancient wizard before.”
“Not many men have.
Much of Vandran’s art is lost to time, thank Asharat.” Onyx
called on the power of her goddess, one she’d given up her life to
protect…a goddess no longer worshipped by anyone, except one
Olen kissed her again.
“Wish me luck.”
Onyx’s long dark
lashes swept her cheeks as she nodded. “May the blessings of
Asharat protect and guide you, beloved of my heart.”
Not sure just how much
use the blessing of a defunct goddess would be, Olen adjusted his
tunic and left the room, waiting until he heard the click of the bolt
before heading downstairs.
Olen whistled under his
breath while perusing the room. Many of the players had been there
the night before, but he could see no sign of Blondie. The two
brothers he’d played against waved their arms and invited him over.
Seems as a good a
place to start as any. Olen ordered a light meal along with his
ale and the evening’s play began. Without Onyx, Olen had to think
about his cards, watch the other players faces, and take the odd
chance. He won some and lost some, gaining a little over the night’s
Two entire matches
later, Blondie walked in, Grey Temples just behind him; no sign of
Ironbeard. It took another three matches before Olen could squeeze
himself into a game with Blondie. Grey Temples joined them.
“I see you’re
wearing your ring,” the young man said, his eyes locked on Olen’s
finger. “Are you sure you won’t sell?”
“Nope.” Olen dealt
the cards. “Still just as attached to it.”
Blondie arranged his
hand. “Where did you buy it?”
“Didn’t. I found
it.” Olen took a sip of ale, keeping his eyes on the cards, not on
Disbelief deepened Blondie’s light tone of voice. “Might I ask
“I took it off a dead
man five years ago. Just south of here, on the old Jynban Road.”
Olen kept his tone conversational. “Your play.”
Blondie almost choked.
“A dead man? Did…did you kill him?”
“I killed a lot of
men in the six years I spent as a sell sword, but not that one. He’d
been dead quite a while.” Olen chewed on a slice of bread, spread
thick with butter, while he watched the rest of the round. When the
turn came to him he said, “He really didn’t look as if he’d
mind if I took the ring. Not sure why no one else hadn’t, the
fellow must have been there for a couple of years.”
Olen failed to mention
that the body had been buried in the bushes off the road. He’d
found it while looking for some privacy to take a piss. Blondie
seemed satisfied with that answer, or too scared to say anymore. He
motioned for a card.
Grey Temples took up
the conversation, startling Olen. Other than to request a card, or
complain about losing, the man hardly spoke. “You were a sell
sword?” He harrumphed. “I suppose that’s appropriate for a man
your size.” Sarcasm dripped from the words.
Olen expected him to
say ‘and your brains’, but the man returned his gaze to the cards
he held, his mouth firmly shut. Olen gave him a card.
A young man with light
brown curls framing his baby face, Olen’s opponent for this round,
stared at him, eyes wide. “You’re really a sell-sword? Don’t
get many of them around here. Nothing to fight.”
True words. The Empire
had grown so large, any contests for its borders occurred several
weeks travel away and the hiring took place just a few miles behind
the battle lines. Olen held up a finger. “Was a sell sword.
Gave it up a few years ago for the game.”
The young man refused
the card Olen offered him. “Why’d you quit? I hear there’s a
lot of money to be made in war. Spoils and all that.”
Olen grunted. “Santet
may not pay a consistent wage, but it’s a damn sight safer than
fighting another man’s war. Don’t let the stories fool you.
Spoils are few, and then only go to the commanding officers. For some
reason, when it come times to share with the soldiers and
mercenaries, there’s just not enough to go around.” He’d found
more treasure in that onyx ring than he’d ever gained selling his
At the end of the
match, Olen feigned a yawn and said goodnight to those at his table.
He felt at least one pair of eyes on him as he ascended the stairs to
his room. He knocked on the door.
“Onyx, it’s me.”
She opened the door for
him, waiting until he’d closed it before almost jumping into his
arms. “I was so worried Vandran would not wait and just kill you on
Olen chuckled. “If
he’s here. Even in this part of town, he might have had a bit of
trouble escaping justice. Gaming houses don’t like to pick up a
reputation as dangerous places. Keeps the people away.”
He lifted her chin,
losing himself in the night time of her eyes. Bending to touch his
lips to hers, Olen kissed her, at first tender and sweet, then with
more passion as he realized this could be the last time, that things
might go wrong. A soft step outside his door put an end to the kiss.
“Back in the ring.”
Onyx’s eyes flashed
and she opened her mouth to speak.
“I have to know
you’re safe. We don’t know what’s going to happen and I can’t
keep an eye on you and fight at the same time.”
She nodded, kissed him
one last time, and disappeared into the ring. Olen pulled on his
hardened leather jerkin and slid his sword from it’s sheath.
A creak and gentle
rattle…someone testing the door. He reviewed all the things Onyx
had told him about Vandran; how he’d woven his spells, binding her
while she fought to protect her mistress’s temple; the way the
spell prevented her from leaving this world once he’d killed her,
trapping her forever in the ring, subject to its wearer’s whims.
Her only path to freedom lay in the spell caster’s death. That, or
to break the stone, which would give her freedom of another kind. Her
soul would journey to the heavens, as it should have when she died.
Olen didn’t want that.
powers, bestowed upon him by an ancient evil god, he remained human.
He could be killed. Tailion proved that, and if his body could be
destroyed, so could his soul. At least, it could according to Onyx.
Olen believed in her, every word she said. He had to, otherwise he’d
die and that was not in Olen’s plans for this evening.
Scanning the room, he
memorized where each item of furniture sat, the pitcher, the basin,
anything that could be used as a weapon in the event he lost grip of
his sword. Yurian, grant me strength. And a little luck
wouldn’t hurt. Olen hoped the God of War had his ears open
He set himself in the
middle of room, just out of reach of the door, and just in time, as
it crashed open, revealing Blondie, a long sword held in front of him
in a two fisted grip. His wide green eyes looked stranger than usual,
haunted, almost vacant.
“Kill him.” The
calm, deep voice didn’t belong to Blondie, but Olen couldn’t take
the time to see who waited outside the door.
The young man flew at
Olen, forcing him to defend against a flurry of devastating blows.
Years of mercenary training kicked in and Olen deflected each of
them, wondering as he did just where in hell the skinny young man
found the strength to wield a sword almost as tall as himself. Olen
put it down to the sorcerer’s powers.
Blondie didn’t seem
to care much about defending himself. Olen parried and blocked,
waiting for his moment. It came soon. Blondie swung high in a move
that would have taken Olen’s head off if he hadn’t ducked. A
quick thrust up and he buried his sword in Blondie’s chest. The man
didn’t falter and raised his sword again in a series of attacks
only an experienced fighter could have executed.
Damn! It must be his
magic! Olen had expected Blondie to fall and he just managed to
pull his sword out of the man in time to block the first blow. To
hell with this! He waited until Blondie’s erratic swing took
him off balance, and, risking a hit, Olen swept sideways, taking
Blondie’s head off. It landed on the floor near the window and
rolled to a stop, the green eyes still open.
Pain shot through
Olen’s right arm, a glancing blow from the long sword as Blondie’s
body fell. Olen’s eyes moved to the door and the shadowy figure
That was too easy.
“Vandran I assume?”
The man Olen had spent
two evenings referring to as ‘Grey Temples’ stepped into the
room. “How unfortunate. I had hoped my lackey would finish you, but
I see I must do it myself. Good help is hard to find.” He closed
“Excuse me if I don’t
feel sorry for you.”
The wizard chuckled as
he removed his gloves. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But I do expect
you to die!” A flash of light erupted from Vandran’s fingers.
Olen ducked and rolled
toward the table with the basin. The light hit the wall, scorching
it. He grabbed the metal bowl barely in time to deflect another
spell. This one hit one of the tapestries, burning one side of it.
Basin in one hand, sword in the other, right arm throbbing, he jumped
to his feet and rushed the wizard.
Another flash of light
seared Olen’s left arm from elbow to shoulder. Barely keeping hold
of his unusual shield, he charged at Vandran, hoping to at least
wound him. The wizard side stepped in a blur and slammed his fist
into Olen’s back as he passed. Breath whooshed out as he hit the
floor. He rolled into a crouch, the basin and sword held before him.
“Give this up, puny
human. You cannot win.”
Vandran’s lazy smile
dug at Olen’s pride. He would win this, or die trying. Two
more flashes came at him in rapid succession, both deflected by the
now seriously warped basin. Where they went, Olen didn’t know, he
watched only his opponent. The wizard’s eyes, as light as Onyx’s
were dark, tightened. Lines showed at the corners where there had
been only a few before.
Twice more Olen
charged, gaining grazing wounds in his right leg and shoulder for his
effort. The third time Vandran didn’t dodge quickly enough and
blood poured from his right thigh. His eye colour wavered between the
silver of Vandran and the gold-flecked brown of his host.
Olen panted, gasping
for air, and charged again. A flash burst in front of him, catching
part of the basin. The rest slammed into his chest, hurtling him
backwards onto the bed. He rolled off and lay on his side, each
breath an exercise in pain. Weakened my ass! That injury only
pissed him off more!