Mrillis called, his voice faint through the Threads. Are you thinking of... Pray for me, Grandfather! "What are you doing?" Edrout stalked up to the shield's edge, and through it as it popped with a fizz of sparks. His death-walkers staggered for a few crucial heartbeats. Fury and fear twisted his face into a caricature of his former arrogance. A sizzling sound and the stink of scorched hair tinged the air. "You want the sword?" Emrillian growled. She half-bent, turning away from Grego, putting her whole body into the effort. "Take it--and choke on it!" With all the strength of her body and her mind, she pulled back on Threads as thick as her arm, wrapped them around Braenlicach, and let go, like an enormous slingshot made of all the magic of the world. Edrout bellowed, an incoherent, animal sound, and reached for Braenlicach. It sliced through his hands and through his side just above his hip, and kept going.
