Sangno forced qi into his leg and into the channels that had betrayed him. It felt like trying to dam a river with bare hands.
Pain cramped his face until his features twisted ugly. He clutched the pewter crystal to his chest.
Curses spilled from him, thick and useless.
Below and behind, two figures closed the distance without haste.
Old man Jorge lifted his straw hat a finger's width, just enough to see, just enough to judge.
The dark robed man, Liam, showed his palm for a heartbeat.
He dragged two fingers across it in a clean, half-cut gesture, asking for cooperation.
Jorge answered with a slow nod. They both wanted the treasure. They both wanted Sangno.
Neither was fool enough to start a three way standoff. Cut one throat first. Split the corpse after.
Jorge moved first. His jagged sword gathered color as it rose. Ash, clay, and coal, as if he had scraped a mountain face into the edge.
