The lifesinger swung her staff in a long sweep, which was precisely what Rashir was waiting for. He swept forward, taking the handle's blunt hit on his arm. Pain stung him but it was worth the opening he gained. Swinging down Wind's Wrath, he snapped the staff's weakened shaft into two. The lifesinger froze momentarily, then raised the remnant of the handle to block Rashir's overhead strike. The handle splintered furthermore, leaving a piece of wood in each of hands.
Discarding them, the lifesinger closed in and landed a clenched fist on Rashir's astonished face, followed by a kick to the stomach. Rashir hadn't realised earlier, but it seemed that his opponent was almost as tall as him, since she had no trouble in landing more blows directly to his face. He dropped to the ground with his head feeling dizzy. The lifesinger didn't stop, and continued kicking his face. Rashir poured the Lifesong to the pain-afflicted region and regained some sense of consciousness. He realised that his hand still held his weapon.
The lifesinger raised her foot, going in for a kick to his neck probably trying to smash his windpipe. Rashir raised Wind's Wrath and allowed it to fall sideways. Blood sprayed over his face as he heard a conundrum of screeches escape from his weapon. You are back! He smiled at it, jumping back to his feet. The lifesinger lay on the ground gritting in pain, her left leg missing down the thigh. The blood had stopped gushing out but it would take a good while before she fully regenerated. A lifesinger was capable of regrowing limbs but the process was a frustratingly slow one.
Rashir walked to her and found that she had discarded her helm. Light olive skin and black hair tied into a braided bun indicated that the lifesinger was native of the grainlands.
"If it means anything," Rashir said, "I'm sorry for your family. Deccina was a terrible...incident."
"Curse you, demon!" she spat.
Rashir nodded respectfully as he raised his weapon and beheaded the lifesinger. A piercing pain surged through his neck, followed by similar inflictions throughout his torso. The archers! He realised. The only reason they didn't loose the arrows until now was because of their leader. Now that she was dead, nothing stopped them from sticking a dozen arrows in Rashir, which they immediately did.
Wind's Wrath dropped from his hand as he fell to his knees. Healing would have been a possibility had he not been on a battlefield. Any moment a militiaman would see the opportunity and strike him down to avenge their leader.
"Frustrating isn't it?" a raspy voice spoke in his right ear, "To win such a glorious duel only to be taken out by archers."
"Who…" Rashir struggled to turn to his side.The voice belonged to a faceless figure clad in concealing purple robes.
"Well, I am here to clean up the last of your lot." the figure spoke.
"No…"
"Yes, really. The ones waiting for you in the stonewaker lands up north are very much dead." the figure explained, "I must say though, it was a good run. However, this sweet Dream of yours has come to an end. Farewell, Rashir the Visioner. We shall meet again, at the Isle of Retribution."
The figure drew a shining knife from the sleeve and slit Rashir's throat. Thus died the last Dreamsinger acolyte, marking the end of what would be remembered as the Dreamsong Crisis.