"No!" cried a clear, male voice—a voice that Tomas had never thought to hear again in this lifetime. "I forbid it!"
Tomas could not turn his head, but he did not heed to. Aelfric's horrified face, fastened on the figure directly behind the boy, showed all. "It... it's not possible," he breathed. "I killed you! You're dead, Blayne!"
Blayne, for surely it was he, laughed. "I was dead. But she brought me back—brought me back to fight and defeat you."
"You murdered Blayne by trickery." This was a feminine voice, harsh with righteous anger. Lauris, tall and straight, stepped out of the shadows. "You thought to poison me. You've no stomach for fighting. The Dark will tear you apart. Yield. You cannot face us both!"
For a moment, it seemed as though Aelfric would. Then he drew the black knife across his own palm, laying open a red streak. Suddenly, the knife began to radiate a dull, pulsing purple aura.
"Now the knife has tasted blood!" he crowed. "It must have a human life, or else the full power of Darkness will come upon the land! You speak bravely, wizards, but you know you cannot violate my circle!" And he raised the knife again, resuming the incantation, preparing to slay Tomas even as blood dripped from his own injured hand.
"Perhaps not," Lauris screamed over the thunder. "But if the rain can enter your circle..." and she gestured with her hands, "then the lightning surely can!"
Tomas was never certain as to what happened next. One instant, he was standing in front of Aelfric, awaiting his murder. The next he hit the earth a good twenty feet away. His entire body thrummed, spasmed, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Then suddenly air rushed into his lungs and he painfully turned to see what had happened to Aelfric.
A few yards away, his body smoking, lay the dark wizard. A flash of lightning illuminated his twisted, blackened features. There was a terrible burn in his chest, a second on his feet. By the lightning's illumination, Tomas realized that the boots and skin of the feet had been burned clean away—white bones showed through. He was no threat to anyone anymore.
The knife was another matter. It lay just outside the circle, radiating that eerie purple gleam.
"Dear gods," breathed Blayne, "he was telling the truth. That is a Kitlis dagger, and he has awakened its hunger." His gaze locked with Lauris's. Suddenly he reached for her, brought her close in a fierce, passionate embrace. Then in one fluid motion he pushed the wizard away, lunged for the dagger, and plunged it into his belly.
The storm raged. Rain scoured the crumpling body of the wheat-haired wizard. Wildly, Tomas was reminded of the legend of Lammas Night—the willing sacrifice of the young god, to ensure a bountiful harvest.
Lauris gave a wordless scream of anguish and loss. She crawled over to her beloved, tried to pull the dagger out. But Blayne laid a bloody hand on hers, staying her.
"No," he commanded. "I was already dead. I see that I was meant to die... that in the end, Aelfric was meant to be my death. I will not give innocents over to the Dark. I...I am sorry, beloved... what magic, what love, we could have made..." He reached to touch her cheek. Lauris seized him, shook him angrily, but Blayne was already gone. Before Tomas's horrified gaze, the wizard began to decompose. His time in life, as he had intimated, had only been borrowed, not bought. Lauris was beyond caring. She clasped the rotting flesh to her breast, rocked him back and forth, and began to outkeen the howling storm.
The tale of how Lauris and Blayne defeated the worst enemy to have trod Greenhaven soil brought the young wizard fame. She continued, though, to be as accessible as ever. Tomas became her close friend, but as the years passed, he realized that the love he bore her would never be requited. Something quiet and patient sat in her prematurely-aged eyes. Once, he asked her about it.
She was silent for a time, then spoke.
"I have looked into the well of Death, reached inside, and pulled out Love. I could not hold it—no mortal could, I suppose—but I know it is there. I know he is there. I see him in the eyes of all those I help. My life, Tomas, is merely a summer storm. It rages long and loud, but I know that soon it will pass. Then I can be with him I love beyond all imagining."
Her eyes were distant, soft, misty. "I can wait out the storm."
Mark A. Garland.
"What do you mean he's dead?" Alluen asked. "What happened."
"We don't know," Jon the miller, who was also the mayor, replied. "We found him... that is, what we think was him, smoldering in his house, in a circle he'd drawn. Lennet, his name was." Jon's pouchy cheeked face and easy manner were the sort that could put anyone at ease, but his nervous eyes betrayed him.
"When we hired him he claimed to be a skilled adept, you understand," Thella, the miller's wife, added. She was a bit larger than Jon, and certainly less malleable. "I never thought so. Many make claims, and his claims were many. In truth, he was an ill-mannered, inept young fool."
"So he did it to himself, but you have no idea what he might have been trying to do," Alluen persisted.
"We expect he... old something wrong," Jon said