And streaming tears of bitter fury, Jess could sense no lie in his words. Damn him to hell.
“Malek. You have to back off,” Jess wheezed. “We gave an oath not to harm him. I don’t know why, but it’s true.”
Malek gazed at her in horrified protest. “But that’s insane! There is no way we would have sworn ourselves to that oath! I would bloody well remember! And if that's true, then this whole fight was just a damn set-up! It can’t even be valid!”
Mord gazed about them, smiling in cold satisfaction. “Ah, we finally have some spectators. Fear not, wench. My man has let them all know the nature of our little duel, so none will think it untoward that I break you, for it is a duel of submission!”
Still wheezing, Jess nevertheless stumbled back to her feet, even as Mord crashed into her once more, binding her blade even as he lashed out with a fierce jab of his mailed gauntlet to her pelvis, below the thick leather plates of her training armor. Her mithril mail, such exquisite protection against any cutting weapon, did little to cushion the force of the blow as Jess was sent crashing to the ground once more with fierce spikes of pain emanating from her pelvis. She feared he might have cracked the bone.
She hissed with blackest fury even as she attempted to stumble to her feet, seething that she was utterly unable to grapple with him, as any blow or counter she made could be interpreted as her causing him harm and violating her oath. Snarling, grateful her grip on her blade had never faulted, she brought her point online to meet his charge once more, grimly determined to make that obnoxious smirking bastard pay for his humiliation of her, refusing to be bound by an oath she could not even remember.
“No, Jess. Raise your blade!” Her familiar’s voice rang sharp and forceful, so unlike his normal self. Now there was no way she could deny the weight of her oath, nor the vileness of the trap that had been so neatly sprung.
Holding back bitter tears, Jess raised her blade, Mord laughing as he slammed into her blade first once more, having known she dared not cause him harm countering thrust with thrust. Once again she was sent sailing, her breastbone feeling the force of his charge even through the thick leather plates, plates she was grimly certain had warped with the force of his last blow.
“I tell you to stay out of trouble for but a handful of minutes, just until I return, and I see you’ve been neatly roped into becoming Mord de Plaga’s practice dummy! What were you thinking, Jess?”
“How the hell was I to know, Twilight?” Jess gasped through tears of pain, even as a taunting Mord hammered her desperately raised blade as a gasping Jess was sent crashing to her knees once more, even as Mord slammed his metal boot into the side of her helm, sending her reeling.
Even as her body curled up in agony, with Mord slamming his armored boot into her face, her groin, her thighs, any exposed area he could, Twilight caught Jess’s agonized gaze the instant before she felt herself begin to sink into a black rage so awful she was terrified it would consume her utterly.
“Don’t give in.” Pitiless. Gaze as cold as the starry night sky, Twilight refused to let her give into the rage. “Take the pain, Jess. Submit. Debase yourself. Do what you must. But you will not break your oath, Jezabelle! You will not surrender even an iota of power to this insignificant worm!” Her familiar’s terrible voice slammed into her, sent her gasping, torn from the comforting grip of blackest rage and forced to endure terrible agony as her mocking tormentor tore free her helm and began to pound her face savagely with his mailed fist.
“Submit, wench! Submit to me, body and soul! You are mine! Say it, whore! Say it for the whole school to hear!”
His eyes blazed with darkest triumph, Mord’s brilliant smile mocked every facet of her hopes and dreams. He gloried in his sick plan manifest, to debase and humiliate her in front of the school entire. And she, bound by a word she couldn’t even remember having given, was utterly powerless to stop him from savaging her.
It took every facet of self-control she had not to lash out with one exhausted fist and shatter his teeth, even as his furious blows did everything they could to shatter cheeks, nose, every exposed part of her flesh.
Silently screaming, Jess gave in to the intolerable. “I yield, Mord! You’ve beaten me. You’ve won the match!”
Mord’s eyes blazed with fury even now, hand squeezed into a furious fist as he slammed his gauntlet against her upraised arms again and again. “Not enough, bitch! You don’t get to yield so easy! You must abase yourself! You must show me the utter sincerity of your submitting to me! And the only way you can prove the sincerity of your submission is if you yield to me utterly!” His lips curled up in a vicious grin. “And you can only do that by surrendering your mithril shirt to me, the man who has already mastered you, whore! Do it, Jessica de Calenbry! Surrender to me utterly, or taste my fist till I shatter every bone in your body!”
With that Mord struck her with renewed savagery. She could blearily see the foam from his lips even as he worked himself into a lather, Jess trying desperately to parry his blows, futile as it was, having collapsed to the ground. Even as Mord roared for her to submit, Jess swore to herself that even should she lie broken and bleeding before this monster, she would surrender neither her word nor her mithril shirt to his mad machinations, as utter as her defeat otherwise was at his hands.
Jess did her best to hold out, even as she felt herself swimming in and out of unconsciousness, praying that one exchanged glance with her panicked shieldbrother had conveyed all that needed to be said.
“I submit, Mord, you’ve won.” She cried out even as she spat out a shattered tooth, even as Mord’s fist pounded the back of her skull so hard she fell to the ground, utterly defenseless, crying out in agony as his boot slammed into her kidney.
“Not enough, Jess! You must surrender to me, body and soul! Say it, wench! Say I own you, body and soul! Only then will I cease my chastisement of your flesh! Only then will I accept your yield!” He grabbed a fistful of her hair, savagely stretching back her neck, cursing in her ear. “And then you will submit to me, proper and docile, Jessica de Calenbry! My little whore in the bedchamber, exactly as you like, exactly where you belong!”
He bit her savagely and Jess screamed.
“That will be enough, Mord de Plaga.” Words grim as a blood-soaked battlefield. And Mord was suddenly off of her.
Jess sobbed with relief, utterly ashamed to feel so broken even as she did so.
Slowly, painfully, Jess turned to gaze upwards, instinctively raising one trembling arm to defend herself, shaking as she felt herself gently caught by the comforting grip of her shieldbrother even as she began to topple over, her arms so bruised and battered they could barely support her weight. “Easy there, shieldsister. It’s over.” Malek soothed.
Yet Jess’s eyes were riveted upon Lord Eloquin, having smoothly twisted Mord’s flailing fist behind his back even as Malek roared and cursed, eyes blazing with ill-concealed hate.
“Unhand me you cur! You have no right to interfere in a duel of honor!”
Lord Eloquin’s gaze turned cold as death. Jess felt herself shivering, all the more when her instructor’s gaze locked squarely with her own. “Jessica de Calenbry, do you concede this duel of honor to Mord de Plaga?” His voice, Jess thought, was strangely gentle, at utter odds with his fearsome glare.
“Yes. Gods, yes.” Jess shuddered before hissing, sick with the knowledge that Mord had done her serious injury with his mad frenzy.
Lord Eloquin gave a slow nod, before turning to gaze at the numerous spectators who had gathered to witness Jess’s utter defeat. “Then I declare this duel ended! Mord de Plaga is winner by submission. This match is over.” He then let go of Mord and stepped back, catching Mord’s gaze as he turned around to curse at Eloquin before being stopped cold, pinned by the older man's gaze. “And should you strike out at Jessica de Calenbry ever again outside of a formal duel, I shall deem that an act of aggression against my student, and I will respond accordingly. Are we clear, Mord de Plaga?”<
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“Are you threatening me, sirrah?” Mord hissed.
A deadly whisper, cold as the midnight sky. “Had you not blackened your dagger for me with every king's call, my hands would already be red with your blood.”
A shaken Mord actually stumbled back from whatever he saw in Eloquin's gaze before the general turned his focus once more to Jess. “And I forbid you to accept any further duels from Mord de Plaga for the duration of your stay here at this college. Am I clear, Jessica de Calenbry?”
“Yes, General Eloquin,” Jess whispered, before shuddering at the thought of being bound by any further oaths that could be twisted to humiliate and hurt her. "But I will feel free to act, should he or his cohorts attack me or my friends."
“Of course,” Lord Eloquin allowed with an icy nod. “Now come with me.”
Humiliated and shaken, Jess couldn’t keep the tears from her eyes as she stumbled to her feet, upright only with her shieldbrother’s tender support, unable to bear the weight of so many gazes upon her. Some onlookers appeared horrified, others sickeningly satisfied by her humiliation, and the great majority were unreadable to her. She couldn’t bear to face any of them, wanting to cry out that she had been tricked; baited into a duel in which she was bound not to fight back, even as her tormentor reveled in beating her senseless. She seethed at the bitter unfairness of it, for all that the tears of a shaken, battered girl streamed down her cheeks.
“No, Jess,” Twilight cautioned in a grim tone that brooked no argument. “You cannot say a word of your suspicions regarding the origins of your oath. For if you are to give your allies cause to even suspect Mord of various machinations, that would invariably raise suspicions as to the true nature of his crimes, something which you are also oath-sworn not to do.”
“By all that's holy, how on earth did I allow myself to get trapped in such a vile oath?” Jess whispered even as she grimaced with the pain she felt.
Twilight’s ears tilted back, his expression one of extreme displeasure. “I too am bound, to some extent. Though the interpretation of oaths exchanged that supposedly bind me is extremely tenuous, by saying the absolute minimum, I assure our enemies have not the slightest strand of power with which to bind you. But as Mord did deliberately press to manipulate and trap you, I am well within my rights to caution and protect you.” Twilight gently licked Jess's bruised face, as if he were tending a battered kitten. Much to Jess's surprise, the aching throb of a cracked jaw turned to an itchy tingle under her familiar's gentle ministrations.
“What I can tell you, Jess, is that the most vile imaginings you have about his culpability are, if anything, an understatement.” Twilight gave a thoughtful frown. “Either that, or Mord weaves a twisted game so dark that even if he strives for virtue, he does so covered in blood. And Jess? Your actions did save several souls you hold dear to your heart.”
Jess sobbed bitter tears despite the comfort of her familiar’s words, unable to help herself, feeling all the more humiliated as Eloquin favored her with a look that was too horrifyingly like pity for her to bear. She realized then that Eloquin saw her not as a future commander worthy of his respect, but as a battered girl in need of protection.
She had never felt so humiliated in all her life.
The concerned gaze of Sir Jevons, so filled with shock and alarm at seeing Jess so grievously wounded, didn’t help Jess feel any better.
“Lady Calenbry! By the angel’s grace, Jessica, what happened to you?” The healer’s voice was filled with such gentle concern as he so carefully touched her broken flesh that Jess felt her eyes start to sting hotly once more, fighting to hold back fresh tears.
Commander Eloquin said nothing, just taking her measure with the same hawk-like gaze that had once coolly appraised entire battlefields; eyes that never shrunk from even the most brutal of stratagems or their inevitable aftermath. Jess could only imagine how little regard he must hold for one battered girl who had stupidly trapped herself in binding oaths, and scolded away her own tears.
Cold as ice, strong as steel, hot as wrath. She strove to be all those things at once, to burn away the weakness of her own shame, to allow her mind to gaze at all with emotionless appraisal even as hot fury fueled her limbs, sword swinging, till battle was over at last, or in this case, until Master Healer Jevons ceased his examination of her.
As strong as she tried to be, she couldn't hold back several sharp cries of pain when the muttering healer helped pull off her various armaments. Malek, who absolutely refused to leave despite Eloquin's cool look, silently stepped in to take Jess's most sacred prize, and with a painful nod of permission given, took the step of draping her mithril mail over his own armaments, flashing Jess a wry grin as he did so.
“There, shieldsister. Now no one will be able to steal or claim it while you are on the mend, now that we know that this is what Mord and his friends were really after.” Malek’s wry smile turned fierce. “I’d love to see those bastards try to take it from me. Most especially, I’d relish pounding my displeasure all over Mord’s body, should it come to that.”
Jess could feel the weight of her instructor's gaze upon them both, even as the gentle healer hissed, pausing in his gentle ministrations in sudden concern. "Are you saying Lord Plaga assaulted you, Jessica? That is outrageous! How on earth did he manage to do this to you? Forgive my questions, dear child. I am just shocked. For but days ago I had treated a number of bruises and strains as a result of some fifty of Highrock's elite attempting to best you and Malek, without success. Yet now I see you looking quite the worse for wear."
“Jess.” Just one word. Yet it was all her familiar needed to say, reminding her that she could say nothing. Do nothing that would reveal the vile truth of Mord’s claims.
“It was a duel. And a bloody foul one at that.” Malek grimaced. “I’m sorry, Jess. Don’t look at me like that. I won’t say anything else but the damn truth that everyone who was there already knows! He taunted you into accepting that duel, Jess. Then he told you something, the gods alone know what. But whatever he said paralyzed you like the most potent of spells. It kept you from striking back at him even once! He then pounded you like you were a slab of meat, demanding you surrender your soul to him, the sick bastard. Not to mention your prize from Shadow.” Malek patted the shirt of mithril he now wore.
“By all the gods!” Sir Jevons looked horrified. “What machinations is that boy playing at? This is unconscionable, Lord Eloquin! Steps must be taken to assure my patient’s safety!” Sir Jevons appeared beside himself with worry, Jess was oddly touched to see, even as she winced, seeing the silvery white filaments of his gentle healer’s gift gently probe her many injuries, and she did all she could not to squirm under the healer’s magic.
“Steps have been taken, Sir Jevons," Eloquin coldly assured. "The match has been concluded in front of witnesses. I have forbidden my student from accepting any more challenges from Plaga, and if he dares to lay a hand on her again during her time at this school, I shall see his family pay an immediate blood-price for assault, and I shall make sure the college body entire knows of the deed." His smile turned icy. "I know well the Plaga temperament. I have no doubt his father would be more than happy to take out his displeasure for his family's humiliation upon the boy's flesh, in much the same way as his son did my protégé, after she foolishly allowed herself to be lured into ground of her enemy’s choosing! Led, disarmed, trapped, and slaughtered.”
Jess felt herself flushing with hot shame as the words of the man she admired so fiercely burned into her heart. “It is a poor tactician, Calenbry, who allows herself to be so utterly defeated, in the realms of politics or battle.”
“Yes, Master Eloquin." Jess clenched her eyes even as the hot tears of shame leaked forth, she helpless to stop it. "I was a damn fool. I know. I should have suspected a trap when he was suddenly so willing to cross steel with me in a rematch, after having refused to face me for three years!" She shook her head and hissed as the master healer gently tended to he
r wounds, doing all she could not to push the strands away from her, so furiously they made her wounded flesh itch, and she realized she was only partly successful.
“What on earth?” Sir Jevons looked a bit dumbfounded, no doubt at how difficult it was to reach Jess with his healing magics.
“Quit fighting him, Jess. That's an order," Eloquin barked.
Jess flushed. "Yes, commander. I can't help it, though. It itches like mad."
Eloquin’s cold gaze left Jess breathless. “Show some discipline, Calenbry. It’s about time you started to.”
Sir Jevons blinked, slowly shaking his head. “Lady Jessica. Are you actually affecting my magics? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I’ve always known you were a tough patient, but it seems as if you are actually pushing my spellweaves away! Why are you not training under Rens, if you have such gifts, Lady Jess?”
“What you hear in this tent, stays in this tent.” Lord Eloquin’s voice rang with the authority of one who had once led armies. “Those who need to know, already do. Are we clear, healer?”
Sir Jevons actually looked a bit offended, though his voice was deferential. “Of course, General Eloquin. The healer’s oath is taken very seriously under my teachings, I assure you. Still, it is a remarkable gift!”
“Good.” Eloquin focused his gaze upon Jess once more. “I would have your full report, commander in training. Explain the nature of the trap which put you so effectively in your enemy’s control that you allowed him to pummel you like a madman for the entire duration of your fight, as I witnessed even across the field of battle, to my most extreme displeasure.”
Jess felt her heart race, pinned under his gaze. And then she felt a certain measure of fierce satisfaction, her mind seeming to come up with an answer of its own accord, as it so often did in times of peril. The words came to her even as Sir Jevons went on to explain in exquisite detail the exact nature of her many wounds, including a shattered nose, broken teeth, cracked ribs and hip, all injuries she herself was already painfully aware of.
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