Everything He Has

Misha and Sally met back up at sundown, just a stone's throw from the prison. As if sensing the mood, the weather had turned bitter the last few hours of the day. The wind and drizzling rain amplified the already uncomfortable chill of night. Misha once more longed for real pants.

"So that's the prison they're holding our girl in?"

"Mhm."

"So what are you waiting for? Whip those knives out, and just get in there."

"The guards all use anti magic. Without my magic, these are just knives. We need to wait."

And so they did. Crouching in the cold, watching the movements of the prison guard. Finally, Misha saw what he was looking for.

"Sally, the guard's are about to switch places, get ready."

The moment the door was open, he drew his unheated blade. Without stopping to admire the beauty of thousands of rain drops frozen in place, he grabbed Sally. His feet raced over the wet stone deftly, carrying him to the prison and through the door faster than any human could have, even with time slowed. But the coast was not yet clear.

He kept up his breakneck speed, feeling the burn of magical fatigue and of the regular fatigue from carrying Sally. By the time he had gotten to Stephanie's cell, his lungs, legs, and hands all screamed at him. But still, he pushed on.

Not taking time to rest, he pulled the magically heated dagger from its sheath. He couldn't feel heat radiate from it but didn't doubt it was there. He gripped the weapon in both hands, ignoring the pain of overworking his magic abilities.

The superheated blade cut through the ironwood bars easily, but not quite quickly. It felt like ages to get through the first bar, and he had to do two.

He ignored the steam coming off of his hands. He was so close. He moved to the second shaft, pushing the blade against it with all of his strength. He couldn't feel his hands, the nerves probably fried. He moved down, now cutting through the bottom of the second shaft. Progress came agonizingly slowly, each moment pulling more power from his empty reserves. He could feel the magic begin to eat away at his soul. Still, he continued. He felt success finally within reach. Just a few millimeters and he would be through.

He felt the last of the bar's resistance fail as the blade finally sliced through it. He fell back, the knife clattering to the floor. Time speed up around him and Sally rushed in to the cell, closely followed by a stumbling, exhausted Misha.

He felt her before he had actually registered her movement. Her arms around him, pulling him against her. The stream of nonsense she uttered was music to his ears. When she finally let go of him, tears streaked down her cheeks.

"You came."

"You thought I would just leave you here? Now c'mon, we gotta get outta here."

Misha paused in his tracks when he heard a slow clap from outside the cell.

From the shadows in the corner emerged a tall, lithe woman with red hear and a golden spear. Vanala.

"I shouldn't be surprised that my coward of a brother would choose this instead of facing me outright. But I must admit, I did not expect this. I'm almost impressed. Now, hand me those weapons, and I'll take you alive. Or, even better, keep them, and I'll drag your corpses."

"Oh, you mean these weapons?"

Misha reached to grab one of his daggers, but his hand found empty air. Of course. That one was laying on the floor by Vanala. Unfortunately, reaching for one dagger had tipped his hand, and Vanala casually sliced through Misha's belt, dropping it to the ground. Another spin, and the blunt end connected to his temple. The ground rushed towards him. The last thing he heard was his sister's demented chortle, quickly followed by the thud of her foot connecting with his jaw, and then nothing.