The sword sings a different note and the bearer lays the flat of the blade against his recently injured thigh. Skin sizzles as the bearer’s wound staunches itself, purifying, painful. Agony clouds eyes with tears, squeezing them shut. The enemy is stunned, momentarily blind and defenceless. The commander takes his chance. Moaning, his sword comes down. Meeting another as it swings across. For the enemy is not blind. A third eye, the sword’s, remains open, blazing fury. The parry is elemental, inhumanly strong and in a shower of shards and relief, the commander’s sword shatters.
