ENDLICH
German, "finally; at last"

Good doesn't triumph over evil. There's just random chance and death. -- Ethan Cross, The Shepherd

At first the skrýszel was too confused to react. If it had a human-like face it would have watched the dragon statue with furrowed brows. As the dragon sprang it stayed motionless and stared.

The dragon's teeth sank into its shoulder.

The skrýszel roared and lashed out with one massive paw. It missed. The dragon was much smaller and could hang on more easily. It bit a chunk out of the skrýszel's shoulder, darted out of reach, then sprang onto the skrýszel's back.

Blood rained down on the courtyard. The stone sizzled as the blood turned into acid.

The dragon's claws sank into the skrýszel's back. The skrýszel reared up in a desperate attempt to throw it off. It rolled over. The dragon was faster. It jumped off its back before it could be crushed.

Back and forth across the courtyard the fight raged. Diarnlan and Karandren waited on the other side of the gate. If the skrýszel charged towards them it would have nowhere to go but through the concealed doorway.

But it didn't. It levelled half of the outer walls with its tail. Every time its tail struck something, lightning sparked from the spines that covered them. Karandren pressed his hand to his chest with a grimace. He remembered only too well the pain of being electrocuted by that thing -- or by one with a tail just like it. They all blurred together after a while.

The dragon couldn't feel pain like a living thing. But it could be damaged. Its teeth and claws were coated in the skrýszel's blood. And skrýszel blood turned to acid when it was spilled.

Before long the dragon had begun to melt. Its movements were much slower than before. It couldn't climb out of the skrýszel's reach.

The skrýszel struck it with its tail. A blaze of light, the crackle of electricity, and the dragon was reduced to a heap of scrap metal.

Karandren had already lost his life to this thing once. Now he'd lost his pet too. He forgot the plan, forgot common sense, forgot basic survival.

All he felt was rage.

He charged at the skrýszel. Diarnlan tried to grab him, tried to pull him back, but he yanked his sleeve out of her grip.

"You idiot, you won't come back this time!" she yelled.

He didn't hear. The skrýszel was distracted by sniffing suspiciously at the melted dragon. If it had much of a brain it would probably had been wondering how something could die without bleeding. It didn't notice Karandren run up behind it.

When fully grown he was strong enough to break a stone pillar with a single blow. For a minute he forgot his body was only fourteen. He brought his sword down on the skrýszel's tail with all his might.

The blade sliced half-way down through skin and muscle. It sank into bone and lodged there. Karandren couldn't pull it free. He didn't get much of a chance to try. The skrýszel bellowed in agony and lashed out with its tail.

Its lightning no longer worked, but it still gave him a blow to the chest that left him stunned on the ground.

Diarnlan watched in dismay as the skrýszel rounded on him. It raised one of its huge paws to tread on him. He couldn't move out of the way. Even from here Diarnlan could tell his breathing was irregular and pained.

She gritted her teeth. The old Diarnlan made one final effort to come back. Why should she risk her life to save Karandren of all people?

Time slowed down.

The skrýszel's foot began to fall.

Diarnlan thought of finding Karandren dead after the jǫtunn attack. If they died now they wouldn't get another lifetime. Could she watch him die again? What was the use in trying to save her own life when she knew how this would end?

No. To hell with Vanadel. She had once been a Great Mage. Even if they died now, they would get another lifetime.

Diarnlan drew Saungrafn. She whispered a spell to make its edge razor-sharp. The skrýszel's foot was inches above Karandren's chest. He tried to spit at its face. Blood trickled down his chin.

Saungrafn sliced through the skrýszel's leg.

It lopped it off at the knee. The severed foot landed inches away from Karandren's head. The skrýszel screeched and stumbled. It slumped forward, unable to balance properly.

Diarnlan knelt down beside Karandren. A single look was enough. The side of his chest was caved in. Blood streamed from his nose and spurted out of his mouth. He made a gurgling noise in his throat.

He looked her in the eye and she looked him in the eye. There was no need to say anything. They both knew there was no hope.

Diarnlan reached out.

She hesitated.

She placed her hand on top of his head.

"Hold on a few minutes," she whispered.

He couldn't speak, but a flicker of understanding showed in his eyes. She was sure he knew what she was planning.

The skrýszel regained its balance on three legs. It stood still for a moment. Diarnlan stood up. It glared at her and she glared right back. She took stock of its injuries. Its remaining leg had a chunk torn out of the shoulder. Gashes and scrapes covered its back and neck. Its tail was useless.

Diarnlan lunged under its head. She dodged its weird tentacles. It couldn't lash out at her with its claws without overbalancing. But it sensed what she was planning and it began to rear up on its hind legs.

Diarnlan stabbed Saungrafn straight into its throat.

She leapt out of the way to avoid the deluge of blood.

The skrýszel made a pained noise. It fell. For a minute it thrashed and twitched in a pool of its own blood. Then it was still.

Some of the blood had splashed on Diarnlan's leg. It had eaten through the cloth of her trousers and was burning her skin.

She ignored the pain. She stumbled over to Karandren. He was still alive and conscious. His breath came in sharp gasps. He'd pressed his relatively uninjured arm to his chest. The glow of magic surrounded his hand. She realised he was trying to heal himself. Judging by the way his chest was still caved in, it wasn't working.

"I have an idea," Diarnlan said. Karandren nodded slightly to show he was listening. "I'm not going to let Vanadel decide when we die permanently. Every time we've died before now we've woken up in that realm. Maybe if we die in it, we'll come back to life once last time."

Even as she spoke she knew it was a faint hope. But she didn't have any other ideas, and she couldn't stand the idea of letting Vanadel win.

Karandren managed a grim smile. He tried to speak, but his words were incomprehensible.

"This will hurt," Diarnlan warned him, then picked him up.

He hissed in pain. All the colour drained from his face. She carried him out of the courtyard, through the magical doorway, and into the realm. She set him down on the snow beneath the tree. Its lights played across his face as he stared up at it.

"I'm going to come back," he muttered, just barely understandable. "I'm going to come back, and I'll punch Vanadel in his ugly, smug face!"

Diarnlan managed a sort of laugh at that.

After so many lifetimes it seemed impossible that they might permanently die. After so long with Karandren as her worst friend and best enemy she couldn't imagine a world without him. She also couldn't imagine them starting over as they had been in their original lifetimes. Surely they'd remember something of all this? Not all of it -- she'd go mad if she had to endure a whole lifetime with so many sets of memories -- but enough for it to be worthwhile?

Karandren coughed. Blood sprayed out of his mouth. Diarnlan stroked his hair, something she had last done when her sister was seven and had a nasty cold. Suddenly she realised Karandren was younger than her sister. He was just a child. He was just a child, and she had treated him appallingly.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Karandren's breath was much weaker now. He struggled for a minute, then whispered, "I'm sorry too." A brief pause, then, "Sing?"

It was exactly the same request her sister had made. Diarnlan was startled to find her vision was suddenly blurry.

She cleared her throat and began to sing a lullaby her mother had once sung to her.

"Look, the sun is setting.
The birds have gone to sleep.
Close the window or the wind will carry you away,
Go to sleep or the ghosts will creep under your bed..."

Karandren stared up at the glowing leaves as he listened. He was smiling faintly. At the end of the first verse Diarnlan pressed her fingers against his neck. There was no heartbeat. He was still smiling.

Diarnlan sat there for a while, still stroking his hair and humming the tune.

The acid had eaten through her skin. It should have hurt. In a way it did, but it was so distant it barely felt real. She only realised how bad the injury was when she tried to stand up. She sank down again with a sharp intake of breath.

Saungrafn was in its sheath. Drawing it while sitting down was awkward but not impossible. She held it up and ran her finger over the etched snowflakes around the hilt. A feeling of sadness emanated from the sword. Sadness, but not the deep grief of a soul-weapon that was about to be separated forever from its creator. Diarnlan took that as a good sign for her future lifetime.

After so many deaths she knew how to die quickly and relatively painlessly. She held Saungrafn out to the left so it wouldn't strike her breastbone, and lined it up so the blade would slip between her ribs and straight into her heart.

Diarnlan looked at the realm for the last time. The mountains, the frozen lake, the strange glowing tree -- though it had stopped glowing now Karandren had died. In fact its leaves were starting to fall. They rained down, slowly at first and then faster, until the snow looked like it had been soaked with blood.

She took a deep breath, thought very firmly I am going to come back to life. We are both going to come back to life, and stabbed. The last thing she saw was the realm beginning to collapse.

~~~~

Magic was a strange thing. It wasn't truly alive, but it would do whatever it could to keep its owner alive. It couldn't exactly think, but it could try different things until it got the desired result. All Vanadel had done was cut the bond between Diarnlan's and Karandren's magic. He hadn't stopped their respective magic continuing to try its best to save them.

Twenty-four years ago, a girl was born.

Fourteen years ago, a boy was born.

They both went to Laoivere Academy.

And that was the only similarity with their original lifetimes.

~~~~

"This was not the expected outcome," Vanadel said. If he was capable of anything so human, he would have scratched his head in confusion.

The skrýszel owners scoffed.

"You said you could stop them coming back to life!" one of them said.

"I thought I could. Obviously I was wrong. Interesting. Very interesting."

The skrýszel owners turned and began to debate among themselves. The young jǫtunn scribe continued to try to take notes.

"This is definitely and finally the end," one of the rock-spirits said. "No one's going to pay to see a battle with such an inevitable outcome."

Everyone nodded.

"Most of my customers have already left," said one of the betting-shop owners. "So we're all agreed? No more skrýszel battles?"

Again everyone nodded.