Tyaethe used the man's stagger as a brief opportunity to survey the flow of battle. Everything was in hand, now: no more undead, knights were filtering down from above, and the other mage had been incapacitated. She was now free of the restrictions from having to defend or focus on their enemy being perfectly certain to survive. The feral grin that split her face was alarming--for the split second before she attacked.

It was an attack without finesse but finesse would have been a waste against defensive wards. The enormous blade swung in as a club, trying to break through the defences by force alone... again and again. If the necromancer was even standing for long, finding a way to assist in the fighting would have meant being in nearly as much danger from the rebounding steel as he was. The only signal to stop the onslaught was his being smacked into a wall and crumpling from the injuries.

Unless her blade snapped. Durable and weighty as it was, there were still things that could be tough enough to buckle after it, with the force being imparted.