As always, Vivian saw what she was doing for a split second. The wizard had a scar on its chest from an old fight for dominance. Human soldiers had burned one of its legs badly when it had helped attack Oakford. When it had been human itself, before it had gone over to Thyran and been changed to its current form, it had broken its wrist.
None of those wounds were fatal. Even together, they wouldn’t necessarily kill the thing. But when the fault lines made the injuries fresh again, the wizard couldn’t so much as try to get back on its feet.
When Vivian reached its side, the creature was only writhing in pain. Dark blood pooled on the ground beneath it. Vivian lifted Ulamir and thrust him down into its chest, once and then again, then swung him down to decapitate the monster entirely.
That was more than enough for her.
Chapter 32
A none-too-feeling entity had opened up Olvir’s head, briskly rearranged the contents into tidy piles, and slammed it shut again. It was not pleasant. It was one of the least pleasant experiences he’d ever had, in fact, and he’d once taken a large club to his right kneecap.
Slowly, he recognized sensations beyond the pain: cool moisture moving lightly over his skin and a voice saying his name. It was quiet, that voice. Gentle. The pain in his head got worse when Olvir tried to listen, but he thought—oh, he could think again—that was because listening was effort, movement away from stillness and darkness.
The voice was worried.
Olvir put a name to it: Vivian. Her face came back, guiding him away from the darkness, reminding him of the reasons he needed to get through the pain. He forced his eyes to open a crack. Needle-sharp light poured into his brain. It was still midday or so.
“Not long then,” he said, or assumed he said. His throat and mouth both were slow following his commands.
Vivian made the sign of the Four, not bothering to put the damp rag she was holding down first. “You gave me a horrible moment or three there,” she said.
“Sorry,” Olvir managed.
“Hush.” She helped him sit up, then handed him a waterskin. “When you feel ready for it, tell me: do you know who you are?”
The water was impossibly sweet. He could taste the faint flavor of wine in it and the hint of leather, and he loved every second. Discipline kept him from gulping—that and consideration for Vivian, who was sitting beside him with her arm around his shoulders, trying not to openly show any signs of worry.
Pieces of the world kept resolving themselves and taking on meaning: the feel of Vivian’s shoulder and side, for instance, absent her leather armor. The remains had been under Olvir’s head when he woke. There wasn’t much to them any longer. He took another, hasty look at Vivian but saw no serious wounds.
“I’m Olvir Yoralth,” he said, keeping his speech short. His throat hurt. That could have been related to what the wizard had done or to how loudly he’d been yelling beforehand. “I serve Tinival and justice.”
“So you said.” A few of the strain lines on Vivian’s face eased. “It was quite impressive.”
“You’re Vivian. A Sentinel. We’re saving the world. I bear the Heart of Gizath.” He’d been going to ask about the wizard and the geisbar, but his sight was coming back. The nearby landscape told him all he needed to understand.
The geisbar was a small mountain off at the edge of his vision. A bit nearer lay the wizard, or, really, the wizard’s component parts. Vivian had been very thorough. She’d cleaned her arms to the elbow before touching Olvir, he saw now, but her legs were spattered with purple-black blood.
“Smart,” Olvir said and gestured to the Twisted mage’s remains.
“Angry,” Vivian admitted, with a rueful smile that went straight to Olvir’s heart. The pain in his head was still very present. It mattered less at that moment.
He put an arm around her in return, moving carefully in case either of them was more damaged than was obvious. For the most part, Olvir found, his body seemed to be in decent working order, though his muscles were going to have some complaints and his chest felt downright sanded.
“I’m not completely sure why it didn’t kill me,” he said. “Whether it meant to and didn’t have as much force left as it wanted, or the Heart gave me a little resistance to Gizath’s power, or it meant to take me alive if it could.”
“There was no sign one way or another. It touched your forehead, you collapsed—no lights or noises. No expression on the damned thing to read either,” Vivian said flatly. Feeling the communication between her and Ulamir, Olvir suspected she was thinking of the third option, as he was, and of what that would’ve likely meant for him as well as the world. “I wish I’d gotten there sooner.”
She spoke with a matter-of-factness and a lack of self-recrimination that they both were familiar with from other battles. The world was what it was. It would’ve been better in another form. That was nobody’s fault, and nobody could change it.
“We both survived, thank the gods. Very specifically.” As reality became sharper, awe rose up within Olvir again. He looked upward, into the cloudless turquoise sky. “Lord Tinival, you have honored me far above what I deserve today and far beyond what I ever could have expected. I vow to be as worthy of your grace as mortal flesh and will permit.” He paused. “And I vow to praise you more formally as soon as my circumstances allow.”
Once he was capable of kneeling, after all, he’d be capable of walking. At that point, he rather suspected that the god of justice would prefer them to be about their mission, saving the lengthy devotions for when evening brought them to a stop.
* * *
“I’m in no position to say anybody’s earned divine favor,” said Vivian, “but your speech did Him credit, in my opinion.”
That was an understatement. She’d crept to Olvir’s side while he asked the wizard questions, trying to determine whether he was being sincere, feeling Ulamir holding himself in check for whatever was to come. It had been a profound relief when Olvir had finally answered, and then much more than simple relief.
