“But surely you can see that the melted ice would have provided plenty of water without flooding the land!”

“ You pretend to know what you were doing that day? You were not sent forth to learn, you were dismissed in disgrace from your wise master! You took with you his most powerful spells without permission, only to use them to wreak havoc on me with your inept abilities! All this I have learned of you, Awlmys, and more. You played me for a fool, and I paid the price. Now it is your turn to pay,” Strumalt yelled as he stood. He drew his sword and pointed it under Awlmys' chin. “Alas, it is a shame that I can kill you but once.”

“If you so much as cause but a drop of my blood to paint the ground, I will avenge the insult!” Awlmys declared, ever boastful. Strumalt took a half-step back.

“How will you cause this to happen?” he asked, almost amused.

“I will summon my most powerful magicks against you!”

“Ah, then I have nothing to fear!” Strumalt bellowed as he lunged forward, his ancestral sword plunging deep into Awlmys' chest. The mage had enough strength left to look down, in disbelief, at the steel ruining his finery. He then slid backwards off the blade and crumpled to the floor.

“Those who die by the sword live by it,” Awlmys rasped. “Thus I curse thee.”

“Even this you cannot get right!” stormed Strumalt, punctuating his words with a kick to the fallen mage.