Before Lindarion could tear the blade free, Veythar's sword came up in a single, perfect motion. The pommel struck Lindarion in the jaw, hard enough to blur vision, before the edge carved across his chest, ripping through armor and skin alike.
Pain flared. His knees wavered.
He tried to counter, ice blooming from his free hand into a jagged spear, but Veythar's knee drove into his gut, knocking the breath from his lungs. He staggered back, his boot catching on loose stone.
Veythar followed without pause.
One strike. Two. Three. Each blow hammered into Lindarion's guard, forcing him to give ground until his back hit the crumbling wall of a half-toppled building.
The fourth blow shattered his sword.
Shards of ice and lightning scattered across the street, fading to nothing before they hit the ground. Lindarion barely had time to bring up his arms in defense before Veythar's next strike tore through his guard and sent him sprawling to the dirt.
