Another random scene, or flash fiction as I’ve heard them called. The scene turned out differently than what I expected when I started it, and by the time I was finished I decided it needed a book of its own. When and where, I don’t know, but someday I’m going to write this story.
“What have you done?” Magden staggered back as the dark figure withdrew his glittering blade from his chest. A weakness he’d not felt in an age and a half course through his veins. “I carry the blood of dragons. No mortal blade can slay me.”
“Except this isn’t a mortal blade.” The moonlight glinted off a grimacing mask as the dark figure stepped to the edge of his cloaking shadows. He chuckled as Magden’s own blade slipped from his gauntleted fingers and he stumbled to one knee. “This blade is forged in the fires of Fate herself, and purged with the three-twined blood of king, dragon, and warrior.”
Magden drew a sharp breath, blinking away a mist which hovered before his eyes. It couldn’t be…how, by all that was pure…?
“There are few…who can wield such a blade.” The words fell between his labored breathing.
“And only one who is as dark as I.” The figure lifted a booted foot, shoving Magden in the chest.
Magden muffled a groan as he crumpled on the pavement of the narrow street. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up on one elbow just as silver flashed in his vision. A mask clattered, spinning on the stones only inches from his face. Slowly Magden lifted his gaze to the cloaked figure as cold terror settled in his bones.
“Darow.” The word fell from his lips like the name of death itself.
The figure inclined his head slightly. “Didn’t think you’d recognize me after all these years.”
“You thought I’d forget?”
“It would have been better if you had.” Darow shrugged and sheathed his sword. “But greater things are breaking with the tide of night. Things you cannot stop. Or perhaps I should say, could not stop if you weren’t already dying.”
He should have known…should have suspected. The rumors…the age of peace…it was never meant to last. Magden shook his head weakly as Darow turned away. He’d failed…failed again, and the united nations of Karisa would pay the price. Darkness swept about him, cloaking the dim lamps, cloaking the street, cloaking the retreating figure. But still he heard his nemesis’s final words, drifting with an evening breeze.
“Good night for the final time, my brother.”