Excerpt from Ryshan
A tale of star-crossed lovers and high adventure.
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With a snarl, Dylwin leapt for his sword and Markos came to his feet, their blades meeting in an instant and shrieking their displeasure. Turquoise sparks erupted from their joining, but each man held his ground and fought within the sight of the Father of Peace.
“Technically perfect, brother,” Markos said. Dylwin flicked Markos’ blade aside and lunged.
“Technically flawed, brother,” he sneered. The blade locked between Markos’ bones, caught in his shoulder, but Markos only laughed hollowly.
“Better a gem with a flaw than a pebble without,” he said. Dylwin’s eyes widened and he twisted the blade viciously, crystal shrieking against the touch of his brother’s blood. Markos’ sword, too, began to sing, a high, keening noise, ultramarine fire dripping from its length.
Behind them both, Ryshan climbed unsteadily to her feet. An errant shaft of sunlight set her midnight hair aflame as she raised her face to the sky, immeasurable distances overhead. Dylwin saw her sun-drenched shadow in the darkness of Markos’ eyes, and grinned.
“Are you ready to die, brother?” he said, and Markos raised his blade.
“Of course.”
“Good,” Dylwin said, and spun, wrenching his blade free. The crystal shimmered green in the darkness as it sped toward its target, and Markos cried out but once.
Ryshan crumpled noiselessly to the ground, consumed in a haze of emerald flame as Dylwin ran toward her. He fell to his knees beside her, his face splitting into a maniacal grin as she sprawled lifelessly in his arms.
“I killed her,” he said, and began to giggle, staring at Markos with a strange light in his eyes.
“I killed her,” he repeated, and the laughter was interspersed with sobs.
“I killed her,” he whispered, and in that moment, he gathered her sword from the stone and plunged it into his own heart.
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With a snarl, Dylwin leapt for his sword and Markos came to his feet, their blades meeting in an instant and shrieking their displeasure. Turquoise sparks erupted from their joining, but each man held his ground and fought within the sight of the Father of Peace.
“Technically perfect, brother,” Markos said. Dylwin flicked Markos’ blade aside and lunged.
“Technically flawed, brother,” he sneered. The blade locked between Markos’ bones, caught in his shoulder, but Markos only laughed hollowly.
“Better a gem with a flaw than a pebble without,” he said. Dylwin’s eyes widened and he twisted the blade viciously, crystal shrieking against the touch of his brother’s blood. Markos’ sword, too, began to sing, a high, keening noise, ultramarine fire dripping from its length.
Behind them both, Ryshan climbed unsteadily to her feet. An errant shaft of sunlight set her midnight hair aflame as she raised her face to the sky, immeasurable distances overhead. Dylwin saw her sun-drenched shadow in the darkness of Markos’ eyes, and grinned.
“Are you ready to die, brother?” he said, and Markos raised his blade.
“Of course.”
“Good,” Dylwin said, and spun, wrenching his blade free. The crystal shimmered green in the darkness as it sped toward its target, and Markos cried out but once.
Ryshan crumpled noiselessly to the ground, consumed in a haze of emerald flame as Dylwin ran toward her. He fell to his knees beside her, his face splitting into a maniacal grin as she sprawled lifelessly in his arms.
“I killed her,” he said, and began to giggle, staring at Markos with a strange light in his eyes.
“I killed her,” he repeated, and the laughter was interspersed with sobs.
“I killed her,” he whispered, and in that moment, he gathered her sword from the stone and plunged it into his own heart.