Nataniel stood in the doorway, blood dripping from his silver armor, his hands glittering with magic.
Kayla glanced at the pistol, lying on the floor a few feet away.
"Don't bother," Nataniel said. "You've caused me a lot of trouble, girl. I'll take it out of your skin, once we're away from here." He began to walk into the house and stopped suddenly, as though encountering an invisible wall. With an impatient gesture, he brushed his hand at something invisible in front of him, then walked forward. Shari and another elf that Kayla didn't recognize, an older, silver-haired man, followed him through the doorway. All were wearing bright armor from head to foot, bloody swords in their hands.
Kayla shook her head; her throat was too tight for her to speak.
"Oh, defiance from the little kitten. We'll cure you of that soon enough." Nataniel stepped over the unconscious body of the young man, moving toward her.
"My lord?" Shari asked in a strained voice, and Nataniel turned.<T>
She had her sword raised, stained with bright blood. As Kayla watched in total disbelief, she brought it down in a killing stroke, aiming for Nataniel's face.
He ducked back, so that only the tip of the blade creased the side of his face, cutting across his forehead and left eye. He shrieked something Kayla couldn't understand and brought up his own sword, parrying her next attack. Blood coursed down his face from his ruined eye as he countered another attack.
My God, they're trying to kill each other!
Kayla scrambled backwards as the silver-haired elf joined in the fight, swinging a deadly cut at Nataniel, who barely blocked it with his own sword.
"You too, Perenor?" Nataniel hissed.
Kayla crawled closer to Elizabet, realizing that the elves were totally ignoring her for the moment. She rested her hand on Elizabet's shoulder, letting her vision change and show her whether Elizabet was badly hurt.
She was. Kayla could feel the place in Elizabet's skull where the bone had broken, and the fragments were embedded deep in her brain, cutting through blood vessels. She'll die of this, Kayla realized. Or worse, she won't die, but it'll destroy her mind.
The elves are too busy trying to kill each other; they don't even know I'm still here. I can get out of here, or I can heal Elizabet. . . .
She didn't even have to think about it. Kayla called the magic and let it flow through her. She wrapped the magic around the bone shards, slowly easing them out and back into their proper place, and quickly sealed off the damaged blood vessels.
Distantly, she heard a scream and felt the agony of a sword slicing through flesh and bone, a killing blow. She forced herself to concentrate on Elizabet, as the magic repaired the last of the damage and faded away. She knelt for a moment, resting her face against Elizabet's motionless shoulder. It was too much, everything was too much; the total terror and exhaustion were dragging her down and she couldn't stop shaking. The clashing of swords across the room finally registered with her again, and she looked up, not knowing what she was going to see.
Shari was lying in a pool of her own blood on the floor. Nataniel and the other elf were faced off, standing almost over her body, eyes intent on each other.
"You convinced her to betray me, didn't you, Perenor?" Nataniel asked, gasping for breath. "Shari would never have done this on her own."
Perenor's only answer was another swift block and cut combination, almost too fast for Kayla to follow.
Nataniel's mistake was small, and Kayla nearly didn't see it. His foot slipped slightly in the blood on the floor, just enough to throw him off-balance. The other elf moved instantly, closing in on his blind side and stabbing upward with his sword. Nataniel made an odd choking sound and fell back as the silver-haired elf withdrew his sword from Nataniel's chest. Nataniel staggered backwards, his back to the wall, then slid to the floor, leaving a bloody trail on the wall behind him.
Perenor turned toward Kayla, his sword dripping blood, his eyes bright with insanity. Kayla was held by that gaze, unable to look away. He staggered toward her and nearly fell, clutching at a long gash that cut through his armor along his side. He straightened slowly, his eyes burning, breath hissing through his tightened lips. He brought up the sword with both hands, taking another step forward. . . .
"Father!" It was a blond woman, walking quickly across the blood-slicked floor. The sharp contrast between them, the elegantly dressed woman and the blood-splattered man in armor, was so startling that Kayla could only stare at her.
He looked blankly at her, not seeming to recognize her for a moment.
"Father," she repeated, her hand on his arm. "You're hurt, and the police will be here soon. We have to get out of here." She glanced at Kayla, and Kayla saw something flicker across those calm blue eyes, too fast for Kayla to see what it was. Then she turned back to her father, urging him toward the door. "Quickly, Father, walk more quickly. . . . "