Page 150 of Witchshadow

More and more bodies fell. More and more bodies got up again. Until eventually he realized the storm had fallen away. He was no longer in the camp, but back at the spruce tree where he’d found Iseult and the child. There was the icy stream, snow vanishing into its dark waters, and on the bank Gretchya had dropped the young Threadwitch’s corpse.

She held her knife aloft again, except it was not aimed at Aeduan but at a figure in white stalking from the trees on the stream’s other side.

And it was only then that Aeduan caught the new scent against his magic.Crisp spring water and salt-lined cliffs.He did not think but simply moved, sprinting with heightened muscles past Gretchya, past the corpse stiff as stone, and then over the stream in a bounding leap.

He sank to the snow on the other side, catching himself on one knee, and pinned his gaze on the woman who had once been his mentor but was now as tormented as he.

Evrane smiled. A foreign thing that clashed with her blood-scent and grated against the memories pumping in Aeduan’s limbs. “I see you have changed sides.”

“I see you have not.”

Evrane sniffed and lifted her sword slightly. She had paused ten paces away, but now she advanced again, circling left. Aiming for a fallen tree that would give her higher ground.

Aeduan let her have it and did not rise.

She frowned, almost disappointed. “You will not fight me?”

“I do not need to.” It was true: he could control her blood. Choke off her heart, her brain. But just as the first Aeduan had let his mentor remain untouched, months ago on a Nubrevnan cliff, this Aeduan let the Old One be.

And though he told himself it was because the first Aeduan pushed through, whispering to him of mercy, he knew it was not true. Not entirely, at least, for there was only silence in his brain, save for a conscience newly grown.

Evrane’s frown deepened to a sneer. “Still you are the weakest.” She stomped her boots. Two blades sliced free at the toes. Then she leaped at Aeduan.

He swept sideways. Her blade sang past his ears—fast enough tocarve him in two. But not fast enough to beat his Bloodwitchery. He shot up the log in a single leap, legs scissoring as he passed her. His foot hit her spine. She stumbled forward, hitting the snow on one knee, toe blade dragging.

He could have ended her then. But he didn’t, and that truth made her scream as she thrust back to her feet. “Fight me.” She brandished her blade. “Quit being a coward andfight me.” She charged, sword swiping.

Aeduan skipped backward again. Once, twice. Each attack he avoided, and each moment for retaliation he let slip by. “We are not enemies.”

“We are since you betrayed us.”

“Portia is the enemy.”

“He is not Portia.”

“Of course he is.”

A strangled snarl. More arcs of silver steel. More snow to settle on her hair and shining cloak. Aeduan had thought Evrane Moon Mother when she had saved him as a boy. The first Aeduan, that was.

Ah,the Old One thought.There you are to join me.

I never left,Aeduan replied, and the Old One found himself smiling.

“Stop that,” Evrane barked, following Aeduan over roots and into the trees. “Stop smiling and fight me.”

“Why?” He bounded around a hemlock and opened his empty hands, briefly whirling about to face her.

She lashed out with her sword, aiming for his calves. But he easily slipped behind her and grabbed her in a choke hold.

“You can still change your mind, Evrane. Now that you know he is not truly Midne.”

“It changes… nothing,” she forced out. “So what if Corlant is an Exalted One? We are too, in case you have forgotten.”

“I have not.” He squeezed his forearm against her throat. “And I no longer like what I remember.”

She dropped her sword. It thumped, a sound muffled by snow.

“Why do you want to die?” he asked. She was so sturdy against him, her browned Nubrevnan skin a sharp contrast to his half-Nomatsi pallor. “You know that if I truly fight you, you will not win.”