The god was fast before, but he must have been holding back, since he came for me much faster than before.
The scythe came for my throat, and I brought the blade up to block, and the impact nearly tore the sword from my grip. The scythe's blade skidded along the edge of Dorrik's gift, sparks flying, and the god twisted his wrist, bringing the weapon around for a second strike.
I stumbled back, barely avoiding the follow-up. The blade passed close enough to cut through my robes, and I felt the wind of its passage against my skin.
The tongue of the god tasted the air, and he bent his head far to the side and observed me. "You are not a swordsman," he crooned. "And you hold the blade of a god? Is this the depth that the so-called free gods have fallen to?"
