“Yes,” hissed Yelsing. “You are powerful. I can taste your soul’s sweet nectar already. I am going to enjoy you.”
Only the extreme discipline of Akiri’s training kept him from losing consciousness. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Yelsing’s discarded sword on the ground just a few feet away. This was his last hope. Letting out a feral scream to help muster every bit of his remaining strength, he heaved his body hard backward.
His movements had been slowed by the attack, but they were still sharp enough to catch Yelsing by surprise. Confident his victory was already complete, he could only gawk in utter astonishment as the opponent he imagined to be on the point of death suddenly pulled himself free and rolled over to snatch up the fallen sword.
Akiri saw the confusion fast fading from Yelsing’s eyes. He had only a heartbeat of time in which to finish things.
“Die, abomination!” he shouted, swinging the blade at Yelsing’s exposed neck and slicing all the way through in one vicious but satisfyingly clean cut. The volkar’s head rolled from his shoulders and landed on the earth with a dull thud. As though in a bizarre refusal to accept what had happened to it, his body remained stubbornly upright for several seconds before eventually crumbling to the ground.
Akiri watched grimly as the earth all around became soaked with thick crimson blood. He tossed the sword beside the body and backed away. Everything he had learned about the volkar told him that the beast was dead. Removal of the head or heart were two sure methods of killing such creatures, but there was only one way he would be totally satisfied that it would not somehow return to life.
Quickly, he gathered together some wood from the broken furnishings and splintered cabin wall to build a pyre, on top of which he placed the head and torso. After sprinkling the oil from the lanterns liberally, he lit the fire. In less than a minute, the flames turned bright green and began to hiss. Akiri watched without expression as the volkar was completely consumed.
Satisfied, he took a minute to search the cabin before making his way back through the trees to where he had stowed his equipment. After putting on a pair of leather pants and a shirt, he attached his sword to his belt and headed east. With his rapid pace eating up the miles between himself and the main army camp, one name echoed repeatedly in his head.
General Kirlon Galliani.
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Dragonvein Book Five Page 37
