Galin was too surprised to avoid the goblin’s incoming arrow. However, the arrow never came near him. It sped away to bury itself in the throat of a cultist who fell with a strangled gasp.
“Did you not think,” the goblin cried, “that after you spared my life, I, Rishk, would not serve you? My brothers and I will follow you till death.” The other three goblins added their agreements before attacking the cultists.
The ritual was interrupted, and Galin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Thalminn turn from Anya to look at the cause of the chaos. His face was of pure hatred when he saw Galin. Nobody looked at Galin like that and lived. His roguish grin was back, and his doubts about winning were gone.
He dashed over to Anya, who was just coming to, and severed the chains that held her captive. She fell, and he caught her in his other arm. She smiled as she looked at him. “It’s Lily,” she said in her sweet voice. “Not Anya.”
“What a beautiful name,” he said. He gave his healing salve to Lily. “Protect her. I’m going after Thalminn.” Two of the goblins put themselves in front of Lily, while the other two preceded to give the remaining cultists no time to breath as they released arrow after arrow into the rapidly diminishing ranks of the cultists.
Thalminn advanced on Galin, having conquered his shock and taken stock of the recent developments. “Foolish man,” he sneered, throwing his book to the floor where it disappeared in the curling smoke. “You will die! You dare to interrupt me? Do you know what I have been trying to do? What you just interrupted? No matter, you will die, and then I will gain my power. Only time is lost, nothing more.”
“If I am so foolish, then why did you bother having mercenaries on the lookout for me?” Galin said nonchalantly, beginning to circle Thalminn, acting unimpressed. He was unimpressed. “You must think I am a threat, otherwise . . . why do you care?”
Thalminn growled and charged. Galin stood his ground and swung his sword in an arc that would have surely slain the enraged man. However, fortune, or perhaps Mykitralna, was aiding Thalminn. The messenger from that fateful night threw himself in front of his master in one, final act. “You shall not touch my lord!” he shouted with his dying breath. After that, Thalminn was more tactful.
All of a sudden, everything made sense to Galin. All his questions came together. This man was preforming a ritual to Mykitralna without a doubt, and Lily had been chosen not for her skill, but because she was the ideal sacrifice. She was a princess, and she herself had told him only her parents and aunt would miss her. His dagger must have been a false pretense to get Lily here easily and without making a commotion. Once she either got the dagger or failed, she would be dragged here to be the victim. And since she wasn’t skilled, she couldn’t fight back. Galin knew that he had to slay Thalminn, else this madman might really gain the powers of Mykitralna, and then he would not so easily be stopped.
Galin always looked for the positive and the opportunity. Thalminn had not finished the ritual. This meant, Galin thought, he was still merely man, and that he could still be killed. And he, Galin, would be the one to do the deed.
Thalminn picked up a sword his servant had been trying to bring him. “You are going to die now, you know.” He began to circle as well. Galin waited for an opening, the faster this was done, the better. He wasn’t sure how skilled or strong Thalminn was. However, Thalminn seemed to be overconfident, and that was on Galin’s side.
“I don’t know that,” Galin taunted. “I’m not even thinking that. What I know is: I am going to kill you, and take Lily back to Goldwood.”
Cackling, Thalminn struck. Galin parried. They struck three more times before circling again. Thalminn was perhaps a little more skilled than Galin, but it wasn’t by much. Galin knew this would be a duel he would enjoy. He had not had an an opponent this close to his equal for quite some time. Yes, he would enjoy this.
“If you surrendered, I could give you immense power,” Thalminn said, hand outstretched. It was just within reach, and Galin was sorely tempted to cut it off. He knew he could easily do it, but he also knew that would unsportsmanlike.
“Like I would want to be the pawn of the Lady Death,” Galin said contemptuously. “I would rather die.” Galin realized he would rather die. He frowned. That was uncharacteristic for him. He was going to have to do better. There was always a third option that put him on top.
Thalminn swore. “Then do it! Let me get back to my ritual, curse you!”
Galin chuckled. “I’d prefer be a thorn in your saddle.” They lunged at the same moment, both falling for the other’s feint.
Things began to slow for Galin as they always did when he was dueling; time seemed to stop and their swords appeared to slow down enough for him to follow. To the outside observer, it was quite the opposite. The two were a blur, and Galin heard a stream of gasps, stifled cries, and shouts of encouragement from Lily.
Both Galin and Thalminn got into rhythms as they hammered away at each other. Swing, parry, block, duck. It all turned into one, flawless dance. Faster and faster they went, the thrill of the fight digging its claws deep into Galin’s chest, while all fear drained away as joy and determination took over his limbs.
The two duelers could neither draw blood. It was almost as if they could predict the other. Finally, Thalminn scored a hit on Galin’s calve. Then he gave Galin a nasty scrape on his head that bled into his eye. Neither were life threatening, but both hampered Galin in ways not ideal.
Finally, Galin scored blood, stabbing Thalminn in his stomach. Both stepped away to circled again and recuperate. Thalminn was holding up better than Galin would have liked. With a wound like that, he shouldn’t be walking at all. He bit off a curse. If Thalminn had been preforming a ritual now, why couldn’t he have done one before? Galin wasn’t sure what the extent of Thalminn’s power was, but he knew he had to be more serious. He hadn’t been giving his all. Without meaning too, Galin had been treating this as a duel, not a fight to the death. That sobered him a little.
They walked around and around, neither willing to make the first move. It became ritual. They would clash for what felt like ages, wound each other, then go back to walking. This happened too many times for Galin to count, and their bouts were lasting longer each time.
They were at it again, and Galin wondered not for the first time if they would duel forever. The smell of the crimson incense was sickening, but Galin realized with shock and interest, invigorating. Taking a deep breath while they parried, he found that his wounds felt very distant, and he suddenly noticed that they weren’t bleeding as much as they should be. Apparently, Lady Death did not only favor her followers.
Was this where Thalminn’s power was coming from? No, Galin decided. Neither was tiring from the fight, and their wounds were not serious, but that wound in Thalminn’s stomach should have killed him minutes ago, even with the incense. Black magic was keeping him alive, that was certain.
“Oh Per and Lalm,” he silently prayed, “aid me! I cannot do this on my own. I am only man.” Then a thought was given to Galin. Darting away from Thalminn, twisting and contorting himself to avoid being skewered and hewn, Galin drew his green dagger.
Taking aim, and whispering another prayer to Lalm, he threw the blade. Flying straight and true, aided by unseen hands, it struck the censor held by the statue of Mykitralna. The censor, now sliced cleanly in half, swung, divulging its contents onto the ground below. Lily cheered. The incense was still floating around the room, but it was no longer billowing from the censor. The smoke from the brazier began to overpower the little incense left in a duel of its own, and soon smoke, and not incense, could be smelt.
Galin immediately felt pain all over his body from the wounds Thalminn had given him. Thalminn had been affected similarly, Galin was pleased to see. He still wasn’t dying from that stomach wound, but he looked almost as exhausted as Galin felt. Galin was heaving, and knew he did not have long before he couldn’t swing his sword again. But that moment had not yet come.
Summoning all his strength and giving a guttural roar he didn’t know he had in him, Galin barreled straight at the winded Thalminn. Thalminn was too surprised to do anything as Galin’s sword cleaved right through his neck. Gain allowed himself to sag as he watched his enemy fall.
When Thalminn’s head rolled to a stop, it began to swear oaths and call upon the goddess of death to curse Galin.
“You lost, admit it,” Galin said, kneeling down in front of the decapitated head. Thalminn refused to admit that. He spat at Galin’s face before breathing his last.
Shaking his head, Galin looked around the room. One of the goblins had been killed during his duel, but he and his brothers had done their work. All of the cultists were slain. Lily was safe for the moment, and that was all that mattered to Galin. He staggered towards her, limping because of his injured legs.
Lily did not wait for him. She slipped around the goblins and ran towards him, ignoring everything else and stumbling over the bodies littering the floor. Once she reached Galin, she threw her arms about him.
“You saved my life,” she said, smothering him with kisses. “Thank you so much. I owe you my life!” She hugged him tighter than his weekend body could handle.
Galin pulled away before he was suffocated by the sobbing princess. She was now holding him upright, since his exhaustion had finally overcome him. He kissed her back. Once. Gently. Her soft brown eyes stared up into his, sparkling from the tears that lined them. “My love,” he said, “we’re not out yet.”
The End for now. Please stay for the end of Into the Mines next week. God bless
Word count, 1,772. Total word count, 9,497.
Catch up on the rest of the story.
Read the prologue here.
Into the Mines, Part One.
Into the Mines, Part Two.
Into the Mines, Part Three.