Spinning around to face his remaining opponent, his spear raised, Restag flinched as his eyes met nothing but the sight of Witheric standing alone. He was sure….
“He’s a Sight-Bender!” shouted Witheric.
Restag quickly moved away from the hole in the tower floor, cursing under his breath. Although he could see through stone and into a man’s mind, even his Sight could not see through gifts of that kind. Moments later, vile oaths came from one of the gaps in the wall, followed by the first Oathless somehow pulling himself over the stone, his nose bleeding beneath his enraged eyes. He had kicked off his shoes, despite the cold, and he cursed again at the chilled stones as he drew a short sword. The thanesman held his spear ready, wishing he had the time to remove his shield, hackles raised as he tried to hear for his hidden enemy while keeping an eye on the one charging toward him, blade swinging. It was a clumsy move, and one that would have been easy to parry, but as he raised his spear to deflect the blow, a sharp stab struck his side. The chain mail beneath stopped the blow from digging deep, saving his life, but it off-balanced him enough to allow the sword to swing down at him unhindered. He dodged, the blade barely missing his exposed head.
He swung his spear in the direction from which the stab had come, but his enemy had moved. Restag disliked using his Sight in a fight. The mental energy required to activate the magic long enough to be useful, but short enough to keep track of his surroundings, and the speed of thought required to process the information made it more practical to simply use his ordinary eyes, instincts, and trained reflexes. Usually. Flaring his fairy blood, he managed with several quick reaches of his Sight to locate the direction of his invisible enemy’s mind. He did not know the distance and could not risk reading the man’s thoughts, but the knowledge did let him maneuver in another direction as he avoided and knocked aside the swinging sword. He managed to do the same for the next few strikes, but it was difficult. He could already feel the mental strain, and his enemies still managed a few glancing blows that bruised and drew blood.
From behind them, Witheric watched helplessly, cursing his lack of weapon and physical weakness, wondering if the best he could do was not get in his friend’s way. Then he saw a flicker in the air and the hints of movement on the floor, a scuff in the grime covering the wood, where there appeared to be nothing. Without further thought, he charged for it, slamming into the unseen man and sending them both to the ground. The Oathless cried out, his illusion breaking in his surprise, and Witheric wrapped his arms around him, clinging to the man’s waist from behind. Suddenly, he felt pain in his arm as the bandit stabbed him with a knife. Biting back a cry, the thane grabbed the wrist of the enemy’s striking arm, the knife still in his other arm. Clenching his teeth, Witheric flared his blood.
Restag heard the cry behind him right before blocking another attack. Seeing an opening, he kicked his opponent, knocking him away. When he turned around, Restag saw, to his horror, Witheric engaged with the second Oathless, a knife buried deep into his arm, clinging to the man’s waist and wrist and lightning crawling along his skin and up the knife into the other man. The Oathless screamed and spasmed and kicked, trying to get loose. Rushing to his master’s aid, he cried for Witheric to release him. Witheric obeyed, and the Oathless tried to stumble to his feet, his limbs jerking beyond his control, only to fall to a thrust from Restag’s spear. With one enemy subdued, Restag turned again to the first Oathless only to see him vault over the side of the tower. Crying out in anger, Restag ran to the edge, but when he looked over, he saw the Oathless running down the sheer side of the wall as if it were the earth below, the tips of the Blood Mark visible on his neck shimmering bright gold in the dimming light. Almost on instinct, Restag raised his spear and threw it, straight down at the enemy. However, his aim was off, and the weapon did not strike him beneath the glowing Mark but merely lodged itself into the retreating man’s shoulder. It was still enough, however, to knock him off the wall and send him plummeting down into the forest.
Though he wanted to immediately pursue the man and confirm his enemy’s death, when Restag turned around, his attention was immediately drawn to Witheric lying on the cold stone, the knife still in his arm. Fear gripped him, and he rushed to his friend’s side, calling to him. Even before he reached him, Witheric released a large breath and a grunt of pain. Feeling his legs grow weak with relief, Restag knelt beside Witheric, asking, “Are you all right?”
Witheric met his eyes and smiled weakly, saying, “Just… tired. And hurting, but mostly tired. Too much magic.”
Restag nodded. “Can you sit up?”
“I think so,” answered Witheric, wincing in pain as he tried to move. “With a bit of help.”
As Restag helped his friend up, they heard a miserable groan. It was the Sight-Bender. Restag immediately reached for his sword, but when he saw the dimness in the man’s eyes, he knew the Oathless would prove no danger and relaxed his grip. A thought then struck him, and he rose and approached the dying man.
