Magiere slashed at the elder elf, hoping to turn him aside, to block him from Darmouth.

He did turn, but only for an instant. As her blade dropped low, he leaped upward.

His foot touched halfway up the column. One fist clenching a stiletto braced against the ceiling.

Magiere passed under him in her rush and heard him drop down behind her. She couldn't turn quickly enough and blindly swung the falchion back. It clanged against the stone column as she finished her pivot.

She caught only a glimpse as he ducked through the previous archway into the room's center section. Magiere twisted back the other way and stepped through the archway to get between the elf and Darmouth.

She knew he'd try to break inside her guard with his stilettos. She knew he would underestimate her strength.

This wasn't an undead she fought, but if she didn't kill him, he would kill her. Leesil would be alone against two of the Anmaglahk. More than he could face himself or to save Darmouth.

Rage fed her strength and speed, and she needed both to keep up. The tall elf charged her from between the columns and the nearest stone coffin.

Magiere spun the falchion low, cutting upward in the narrow space. As she'd hoped, he leaped, stepping off the coffin to plant his other foot sideways at the column's top. He twisted aside as her blade passed before his face. Before he could come down on her, Magiere reversed her swing downward.

The falchion's tip sliced through his cloak's shoulder and his vestment, and she felt it go deeper and drag for an instant.

She spun around, following with a level swing across the coffin's top where he had to land. But he wasn't there.

Pain pierced through her left shoulder.

From the corner of Magiere's eye, she saw a dark hand wrapped around a stiletto hilt. Half its blade length was buried through her hauberk. He had ducked under the archway, landing around the column, and stabbed her before she'd spotted him.

Magiere flicked the falchion across at his arm. When he jerked his blade out and stepped away into plain sight, she threw herself into him. More pain flooded her left shoulder as she struck his chest, and they both collided into the next column.

Magiere rolled away, stumbling, and brought the falchion up again. A flash of gray passed in the dark beyond the archways. She lunged along the coffin's side and set herself in front of the next opening before he could reenter the room's center section.

How could she fight him if she couldn't keep him in sight? Her shoulder hurt but hunger slowly masked the pain. Somewhere behind her, steel scraped on stone, but she didn't dare take her eyes from her opponent to look for Leesil.

In the dark beyond the archway, she saw the elf face her in a half crouch. A dark stain was spreading through his tunic around a slash in the fabric over his collarbone. She had wounded him.

Magiere's jaws ached under the shift of her teeth. When she separated her lips to relieve the pressure, a flash of uncertainty passed across the elf's eyes.

"Dead thing!" he whispered.

He had seen her teeth, her eyes-both surrounded by her pale skin.

"No," Magiere answered with effort, "much worse."

He moved toward her, slower than before. As she raised the falchion to block his slash with one stiletto, he leaned back and kicked up. His boot caught her sword hand.

The falchion tore from Magiere's grip. Before it hit the floor, his foot came down and he staggered slightly. Blood loss or pain had made him falter.

Magiere jerked the dagger from her belt and made a lunging slash at his face. Like smoke in the dark, he simply wasn't there when the blade passed. Before she reversed her swing to follow, he struck.

His stiletto slipped inside her hauberk's right armhole.

She felt its slide, cutting her instead of piercing her chest. The pain was still sharp enough to make her buckle, and she dropped to one knee, losing hold of the dagger.

The hunger inside of her made his movements suddenly appear slow. She lashed out with her left fist into his midsection.

The movement cost her, as the pain in her wounded shoulder sharpened. She didn't even feel her strike hit, but his body snapped backward, and he tumbled into the space beyond the arch.

For a long moment they both knelt there, panting, bleeding, and glaring at each other.

Magiere saw faint lines of age around the elf's large eyes. Beneath her pain and hunger, she wondered what had just happened.

He'd found an opening, and she couldn't stop him. He could have stabbed into her chest. Had he failed? Had his grip slipped in the last instant? Or had he tried only to disable her dominant arm wielding the dagger?

His eyes suddenly widened with fright as he looked beyond her.

"Groyt'ashia… no!" he cried out from beneath his face wrap. "Mortajh wearthasej-na Leshil!"

Magiere turned in panic to follow his gaze.

"Darmouth, stay back!" Leesil yelled again.

He raised his punching blade and pulled the second one as he rounded the coffin's far end. He still hoped the warlord would stay out of the fight. A foolish, stupid hope, like wishing a rabid dog wouldn't attack anything that moved.

The young elf switched one of his stilettos for a match of the bone knife Leesil still carried in his belt. His gaze traced Leesil's punching blades, studying them in a blink. Then his body became a blur of hands and feet as he charged, striking in short, controlled movements.

Leesil hadn't expected a straight-on attack. He scissored and slashed his blades to keep the elf at bay.

A flash of steel came at him from the side.

He ducked down against the coffin's end and heard metal grate on stone. To his side he saw heavy, thick legs. One booted foot lifted, about to crush down on him.

Darmouth had come at him as well. The man wanted him dead more than he wanted to preserve his own life. And still Leesil had to keep him alive.

From his crouch, Leesil lurched sharply sideways with his shoulder into the sole of Darmouth's boot. He then struck upward with the top of his arm into the back of Darmouth's knee and shoved against the man's foot with his whole body. Darmouth toppled back, his shoulders landing heavily on the stone floor.

The elf's bone knife came instantly for Leesil's face. He twisted his head, and the silvery blade passed through his hair near his ear.

Leesil braced both his blade points into the floor. He pivoted on his left knee away from the elf and whipped his right foot backward.

His heel sank into the elf's abdomen. Momentum spun Leesil the rest of the way around. The elf was bent over from the kick, and Leesil slashed out with his right winged blade.

The young elf leaned away, and the winged blade's tip tore through the side of his cowl, level with his throat.

Leesil rose up. He'd missed doing any serious injury, but the wrap across the man's face was cut through below his chin. A shallow line across the side of the elf's neck began to bleed. Leesil heard Darmouth struggling and glanced over at him.

The warlord rose on one knee, both war blades ready.

"True!" the elf shouted like a curse.

Leesil's eyes flicked back. The elf's hooked knife was gone, but there'd been no clatter of it dropping to the floor. Something glinted around his palm and between his narrow fingers.

"Groyt'ashia… no!" a lilting voice shouted out. "Mortajh wearthasejna Leshil!"

A name… and some command? These words had come from the other Anmaglahk, but Leesil heard no one coming up behind him. Magiere must have found a way to hold the elder elf at bay.

The young elf's gaze lifted, looking beyond Leesil toward the room's far side. He shook off whatever he'd been told, and his smooth tan brow wrinkled as he glared back at Leesil.