Mogart came toward me, the black dagger in his hand, but he stopped when he heard the sound of my voice.
“The master . . .” I gasped. “The master of the Sword is . . . the one . . .” I coughed and blood filled my mouth and ran down my chin. “The one . . . who claims it.”
I brought my hands up and wrapped my fingers around the hilt. Behind me, metal screeched against the rock as I pulled the Sword from my body. Mogart was opening his mouth to either scream or say something, I’ll never know, because I was free of the Sword now—or it was free of me— and, free, I swung the Sword around in one gigantic arc, my own blood flying from the blade, and I cut off his goddamned head.
I dropped to the cold stone floor. I realized I might die again, but I had already died once and I wasn’t worried about it anymore, at least not once I finished what I had started.
I started to crawl toward Natalia, but my arms gave out and I flopped onto my belly on the cold stone. I let go of the Sword; I needed both my hands to push myself along the floor.
There was a soft white glow surrounding her and through my tears, in the trick of the light, I thought I saw a shadow hovering over her and the shape of wings.
My head felt hollow and black stars began to bloom before my eyes. I would never make it to her in time, but I told myself I could go one more inch. One more inch, Kropp, I told myself. One more inch. And after that inch, another inch.
My teeth chattered and I was very cold, colder than I ever remember being. The soft light around her burned my eyes to look at, so I closed my eyes and felt something warm around me, as if someone had wrapped me in a blanket.
There was a rushing sound and I thought of a great river running to the sea. Hundreds of years, thousands, whole centuries passed, and I still didn’t know how close I was or if I was even close at all.
Then I breathed in the scent of peaches.
I opened my eyes and saw the face of the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
I whispered in her ear, “By the power of the Sword, Natalia . . . in the name of the Archangel Michael . . .”
Dipping my fingers into the wound in my stomach, I brought the blood to her side where Mogart had stabbed her.
I bathed her wound in my blood, whispering in her ear, “See, I remembered. I remembered what I had forgotten. I was going to stay dead, mostly because I was just so darned tired, but then I remembered what I’d forgotten, which is the power to heal as well as to rend . . . so get up, Natalia, get up, because I am the master now and you have to do what I say.”
I smoothed her hair and stroked her forehead with my other hand. “Live,” I said. “Live.”
And after what seemed a very long time, her eyes opened, she took a deep breath, and I knew I had saved her.