Guardians of the Lost by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online

creature had abandoned the small knife and held in her gloved hands an enormous black sword with wicked, serrated edges. Now Gustav knew what it was he fought.
    â€œA Vrykyl,” he breathed.
    Creatures of myth and legend. A nightmare come to life. There had been rumors, reports that these ancient demons once more walked Loerem. It was said that they had been responsible for the destruction of Old Vinnengael.
    The Vrykyl swung her blade, a stroke intended to test the skill and strength of her opponent.
    Gustav parried the stroke with his own blade, but the Vrykyl’s powerful blow nearly knocked the weapon from Gustav’s hand. Forced to spend a moment recovering, he could not follow up his advantage and he felt the first twinges of despair. He was far more skillful with a sword than this Vrykyl, but the Vrykyl had the strength of Void magic, the strength of one who has no muscles that will start to ache or heart that will begin to falter. He was wounded and he was old. He could feel himself already starting to weaken.
    Gustav had one chance and that was to end this fight quickly. His magical weapon, blessed by the gods, had the ability to penetrate the accursed armor. He had only to find a vulnerable spot and strike a killing blow.
    He waited and watched, grim and patient. The Vrykyl saw his weakness. She rushed at him, sword raised, thinking to cleave him in two with a death-dealing stroke. The Vrykyl was darker than dark, a hole cut in the night. Gustav balanced, thrust, used all his strength to drive his sword into the Vrykyl’s midriff, beneath the breastplate.
    The sword penetrated the armor. The shock was paralyzing, sent jolts of teeth-jarring pain throughout Gustav’s arm. His hand went numb, he could no longer hold onto the sword.
    But he had hurt the Vrykyl. Her shriek split the night. The horrifyingsound sent shudders through Gustav. He stood clutching his arm, trying to rub some feeling into it, trying to halt the jangling of his nerves.
    The Vrykyl fell to the ground, screaming and writhing. The magic of Gustav’s blessed sword entering the Void brought substance to the Void, filled it with light, bringing an end to the darkness that sustained her.
    His right hand was useless. Gustav wondered if he would ever regain the feeling. The wound in his shoulder burned and throbbed and he started to feel a numbing chill spread from his shoulder throughout his body. Using his left hand, gritting his teeth against the pain, Gustav leaned over the wounded Vrykyl and yanked his sword free. The blade was clean, bore no trace of blood.
    The Vrykyl’s screams ceased. She lay on the ground, her body twisted in its death throes.
    Gustav collapsed near his enemy. He spiraled down into darkness, fell into the emptiness of the Vrykyl’s eyes.
    Â 
    Gustav felt something tickling his cheek. He woke with a wrenching gasp, the horrid memory of the bone knife of the Vrykyl fresh in his mind. His eyes flared open. He stared up in terror, to find that the tickling sensation on his face came from the muzzle of his horse.
    Gustav gave a shuddering sigh. He lay back on the grass, looked up to find the sun was shining high in the sky. The warmth was wonderful to feel, eased the pain in his shoulder. The horse, remorseful that he had failed in his duty, nuzzled his master in what was first an apology and second a demand to be fed.
    Gustav lay a moment longer, basking in the sunshine, and then he lifted his right hand, wiggled the fingers. The feeling had returned. He gave another sigh of relief and sat up, carefully, so that the blood didn’t rush from his head.
    He was no longer wearing his armor, which would have acted to protect him while he was unconscious, had there been any threat. Shoving aside his shirt, he examined the wound. It was not serious, at least to look at, being nothing more than a small puncture, suchas might have been made by an ice pick. The wound had not bled much, but the flesh around