#armisa

"Give up, Invocator." Gwardan, all sharp angles and lines, gazed down scornfully at the tiny, battered figure crouched before him in the dust. Armisa stared right back, curled up in a barely-upright ball beside her crystal-studded staff, fury burning in her amber-coloured eyes though she could barely focus them on her foe, a spike of darkness erupting out of the barren, scorched ground. The dark stain on her white robes was spreading; the wound underneath refused to stop bleeding the life out of her.

A cold, dry wind whipped up dirt and sand, smelling of bones and blood older than herself. Truly, this was Gwardan's favoured killing ground. But she could not fail now. If she died, then the demon would kill her comrades for sure. From the corner of her eye she could see Orna sprawled across Ardite, and from the corner of her other eye she could see Ardite's arm, still gripping his mighty sword. She knew that behind her crouched Shatem, both legs broken and one eye blind with blood. But her beautiful, ice-coloured gaze gave Armisa strength, just a flicker of it within her heart.

"I will not give up," she choked out, before a spasm shook her from head to foot and she coughed out a mouthful of blood. Something had definitely broken inside her. Her breath was a short, horrible rasp that she had never heard before. And it did not stop, going on and on. The little Invocator blinked. Gwardan, in his dark jackal-shaped helmet and spiked armour, was laughing.

"You are a fool. A tiny little fool with a tiny little army. You are right in what you think. If you die, then so will your friends, whatever that word means to you. But you can still save them, little one. Let no one say Gwardan Dark-eye is without mercy. Join your forces with me! Your strength will not go to waste. There will be other names--yes, more than you can count. You have called and freed the twenty-eight names bound to your own. There are no others who will fight with you."

Armisa smiled, a tiny, tear-streaked, dirt-streaked smile. "No. Shatem would not forgive me. And I have one last name to call." She planted her staff in the blood-damp earth and pulled herself to her feet, even as her muscles screamed bloody murder and the red stain on her side blossomed. And she began the incantation, slipping into the old tongue as easily as breathing. The largest crystal upon her staff, once cold and clear, suddenly flared to life.

"You the nameless, I name you Twenty-eight warriors of the shining ground Aid this your sister in a time of need Make your strength mine, and make my cause yours. I invoke the final name, Armisa Whitemoon."

The change was as spectacular as it had always been, though Gwardan had only once seen it at this distance. Light poured from the staff over Armisa's frail body, and she slowly loosened her grip on it as the final soul in her arsenal seeped into her, drawing her to full height. No, indeed, she was taller now. Her eyes now shone a pale, thin gold, and her short, pale hair fell loose to her hips like a sheet of starlight. Standing there was an entirely different woman: taller, thinner and stronger. But no Invocator could call upon a living soul. Which meant that she had to be dead. Which meant...

"What is the meaning of this sorcery?!" bellowed the dark lord.

"I am Armisa Whitemoon." The voice from her lips was different, but familiar somehow. Behind her Shatem stared, mouth wide open with shock. "The Invocator of Twenty-Eight. None have come before me, and none may do so again. Except, perhaps, my sister, Altem." She touched her chest softly as Gwardan's eyes boggled under his helmet. "You have not lavished any mercy upon her and her friends, Dark Lord. Do not expect any from me!" she snarled.

"Y-you were bound to her?!"

"I bound myself to her. You left us no choice. Both of us were trained as Invocators, but only one could inherit the title. Our village fell at your hands, and I did what I could to save my little sister." Armisa--the true Armisa--gazed upon Gwardan with a cold and furious gaze. "Would you like to see how you fare with an Invocator at her full strength, Dark Lord? Altem has called upon our friends, but I have not, not once." Gwardan let out a desperate howl and charged, swinging the battle-axe that had cleaved Ardite's arm from his torso, dented Orna's skull and crushed Shatem's pretty legs. Armisa did not flinch, but jerked her staff from the ground. It had been so long and it still felt right in her hands. Every single crystal set in the staff suddenly pulsed with new light.