The mage shifted his focus back to him. “Kill me? Hmph. I recall neither you, nor that rabid dog you keep as a pet, being able to do such a thing when you had the chance. I do however recollect you destroying a plan that had been in motion for decades, one I was about to finally be paid a handsome fee for completing.”
His crimson eyes narrowed on Hartt and shone around his pupils, as bright as firelight.
“Twenty years of putting up with that snivelling bitch. The promised access to that which her precious organisation protects stolen from me by little more than a mangey cat shifter and two tainted wretches,” the male spat.
Hartt frowned at him. “The huntress hadn’t promised you coin?”
“Coin?” the mage scoffed. “I have all the coin I could ever need. What I needed was access to Aryanna.”
Was that another huntress? Or something else?
“Now that vile Crow will beat me to her power.” The mage launched at him before Hartt could ask what the hell he was talking about.
He barely had time to twist to his left to avoid being skewered by a blade that appeared in the male’s hand.
One that looked awfully familiar.
“You are weak against it, are you not?” The male looked at the short black sword and then back at Hartt as he swept it out at head height, forcing Hartt to duck beneath it to avoid being decapitated.
It was one of the pair he had given to Mackenzie.
He focused on the blade as he threw himself into a slide across the ice, passing beneath the blow the mage aimed at him. Only the sword didn’t respond to his command, didn’t disappear from the male’s hand.
The mage chuckled.
Brought the blade down in a fast arc aimed right at Hartt’s head.
Hartt teleported, and regretted it when he landed and his right knee almost gave out. He jammed the tip of his sword into the ice, used it as a crutch to keep him upright as he mustered his strength.
“Shall we dance?” the mage said.
Before Hartt could say anything, the male was right in front of him, had moved almost too fast for Hartt to track, leaving a series of faint blue outlines of himself in his wake. Hartt dodged left and gritted his teeth as the black blade sliced across his right shoulder, cutting straight through his armour.
When the male twisted and kicked off, Hartt was ready for him, leaped to his left and came up behind the mage. He thrust forwards with his sword. But rather than the blade plunging into his side, it only struck that point on one of the blue outlines. It wasn’t possible. Hartt growled as the mage’s knee slammed into his back, knocking the wind from him. It was.
The mage was getting faster.
Hartt rolled onto his feet and came to face him, honed all of his senses and did his best to track every thrust and withdraw the mage made. He countered most of them but wasn’t fast enough to block all the blows. He grunted as the black sword cut across his left thigh and then nicked his cheek, backed off in the hope of gaining some space to move so the witch couldn’t attack him as easily.
Only he ran into a problem.
A clone grabbed him from behind. Hartt growled and seized the wretch’s right hand, bent forwards and threw the male over his shoulder. The second the clone landed on his back in front of him, Hartt drove his katana through his chest.
The mage grunted now.
Hartt grinned.
If he couldn’t deal a direct blow to the witch, he would target his clones, weakening him by dealing wounds to them. He spun on his heel and cut through the neck of another copy, twisted and brought his arm up to block the silver sword of another. His bones vibrated with the force of the impact, but the blade bounced off his armour.
He turned to decapitate another, but the male disappeared.
Hartt growled as more of them disappeared in a wave that spread outwards with him at its centre. The mage was on to him, drawing his power back into himself to stop Hartt from weakening him. Damn it.
On a feral roar, he unleashed more of the darkness writhing inside him, harnessed it to make himself faster. He clashed with the witch, managed to land a blow this time, cutting across the male’s shoulder. The mage grunted and kicked at him, driving a heel hard into Hartt’s left knee and following it with a solid right hook that had the pommel of the blade he gripped catching Hartt across his cheek.
The cut on it split open, spilling blood that was quick to freeze against his face.
“Hartt!” Mackenzie’s voice pierced the darkness, drove it back to a point where he could control it but agitated it at the same time.
He snarled as he sensed her closing in on them, wanted to roar at her and order her to stay away. He was glad she was healed, but he didn’t want her anywhere near the mage.
That desperate need to protect her compounded in his veins, burned in his soul, as the mage turned his crimson eyes on her.
Hartt couldn’t let the male reach her.
He launched at the black-haired male, struggling to keep pace with him, barely blocking every fierce blow the male made as he tried to come up with a plan. Keeping him busy was the best he could do while maintaining a safe distance. It wasn’t enough. His sword clashed with the male’s again, sparks flying from the iron that laced the black metal and rendered the two blades impervious to each other.
Hartt redoubled his effort, summoned the last of his strength and focused. He moved faster, struck harder, but he still couldn’t deal a fatal blow to the witch. The male was too quick, blocked every attempt he made.
The mage’s crimson eyes darted to Mackenzie again, filled with a terrible black hunger that chilled Hartt to his soul.
His instincts flared in response, the need to protect his ki’ara strong as it beat inside him, rousing his darker side, bringing it to the fore as he realised something—the mage intended to do exactly as Hartt had feared, viewed her as a source of power he wanted to abuse in order to make himself strong enough to kill them all.
He realised something else too as he sensed the barrier fall and the mage bared teeth in the direction of Rosalind and then glared at Mackenzie as she ran at them.
There was only one way for him to get close enough to the witch to kill him, or at least deal a fatal blow that would allow the others to take him down and end this.
The mage moved, leaving the eerie blue trail of outlines in his wake as he closed the distance between him and Mackenzie. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as Hartt mustered the last of his strength, as fire shone in Mackenzie’s eyes and Grave kicked off, sprinting towards the mage.
Silvery light shimmered over Hartt.
He swept his blade out as he sliced through the darkness, as he came out the other side of the teleport.
His sword cut clean through the mage’s side, spilling his coppery blood and tearing a pained bellow from his lips.
Hartt realised one final thing.
The witch had better aim than he did.
Chapter 31
Mackenzie couldn’t hold back the ear-splitting shriek that ripped from her as the mage’s sword punched right through Hartt’s chest and protruded from his back. A blow that had been meant for her. Her heart felt as if it was going to burst as pain speared her, as she fought to catch her breath.
As rage ignited inside her.
Fear stoked that rage as the mage withdrew his blade and Hartt slumped to the icy ground in a heap and lay there, his weak pulse grating in her ears, throbbing in her breast.