He walked forward slowly, arms spread as if daring Mordan to attack him. A worried murmur spread through the defenders. Mordan felt a brief pang of despair, but then he noticed that blood was still oozing from his brother’s side, and dripping onto the sand of the courtyard. He had done some damage with that first thrust.
Still wearing a mocking smile, Gali was just within reach of his rapier. Mordan feinted to the left and then cut back right, burying the blade almost hilt-deep in his brother’s chest. Again, he saw shock and pain contort the fleshless face, and the blue-white eyes burned with hatred.
The back of Gali’s fist crashed into Mordan’s chest, throwing him back a couple of paces. The deadly chill washed over him again, but this time he did not feel any weaker. Instead, he felt a sudden warmth from the charm-bag that the old halfling shaman had given him, spreading through his body and driving the chill out. But his breathing became labored and painful—he guessed that Gali’s blow had broken one or more ribs. He couldn’t take much more of this punishment—and Gali knew it.
Through the pain and fatigue, a sudden realization came to him. Gali wasn’t just toying with him for pleasure—he was giving his magical healing time to work between attacks. Like Brey, Gali was undead, which made him tireless. He was gradually wearing his brother down, and time was on his side. The only way to win this fight was to take it to Gali, wounding him faster than he could heal and overpowering him before Mordan became too exhausted to keep on fighting.
Summoning all his reserves of strength and willpower, Mordan launched a flurry of attacks. The tip of the rapier seemed to be everywhere, weaving and probing, keeping Gali at arm’s length. For the first time, Mordan realized that despite all his unnatural powers, Gali was a hair slower than he was. Just as when he was fighting the Valenar, Mordan had to put his faith in speed and skill, in striking and not being struck.
His darting attacks were beginning to have an effect. Gali was oozing dark blood from a dozen small nicks and a couple of more serious wounds. He tried to move inside his brother’s reach and use his life-draining fists again, but Mordan skipped backward, cutting a welt across Gali’s forearm as he did so.
Gali snarled in frustration and lunged, ignoring a thrust to the abdomen and striking a heavy blow to the side of Mordan’s head. He followed this up with a savage kick that sent his brother sprawling, and threw himself forward in an attempt to pin him to the ground. Mordan rolled aside and was halfway to his feet when Gali hit the ground; a lightning thrust through the ribs brought a yell of pain and rage.
Gali leaped to his feet and tried to back off, but Mordan advanced on him, cutting and thrusting with the speed of a striking cobra. Gali dodged and wove, but couldn’t avoid all of the attacks. He seemed to stumble, and Mordan aimed a thrust straight at his heart.
But the feinted stumble turned into a roll, taking Gali under the thrust. He clawed at his brother’s feet, knocking him down again. Mordan’s head hit the ground with sickening force; he was stunned, and the rapier fell from his grasp. In that moment, Gali was on him.
Kaz Mordan gritted his teeth and fought with all his strength. His brother’s face blotted out most of the sky, laughing with savage glee as he pinned Mordan down, kneeling on his chest and holding his right wrist against the ground. Mordan lashed out with his left arm, trying to block the punches that rained down on his head and face.
“Why don’t you use that filthy mark on me now, worm?” snarled Gali, using the childhood nickname he had invented for his despised younger brother. “Why don’t you? It can’t hurt me now—in fact, it’ll make me stronger!” His fist crashed down in time with his words. Mordan’s head was swimming with the force of the blows; he held onto consciousness with all his strength.
At last, the stump of his left arm blocked Gali’s fist. They wrestled, Gali trying to reach past the protective arm and Mordan fending him off. With a growl of frustration, Gali let go of his brother’s right wrist and struck him hard across the face. From the corner of his eye, Mordan could see where his rapier had fallen, and ignoring the blow, he lunged with his right hand, grabbing the hilt. Before Gali knew what had happened, the rapier transfixed his neck, piercing right through.
