“Necromancers took the field against you, again?”
“Yes, Majesty. Their beasts swelled with power, growing stronger and becoming harder to kill. As Matriarch Gothy tried to come back to our aid, the gates broke and we were forced into close combat. I called for an evacuation, and had my Captains get the Matriarchs out of the manor and flee with the townsfolk.”
“So all three border towns were lost?” The Queen’s voice was wintery and full of displeasure. “Why should I not have you killed for your failure right now?”
Alvin was about to speak when Kuro squeezed his hand hard. Glancing at her, he realized that the Queen was pandering to the crowd; if she had wanted them dead, she wouldn’t have invited them in. Wintersbreath had already delivered reports of what had happened during all the attacks to the Queen.
Putting on a display for your nobles? Why? What do you hope to accomplish? Alvin asked internally, trying to parse out why the Queen was putting on this show.
“Majesty, the forest is gone. The heart is dead and the necromancers are slain,” Wintersbreath said into the hushed silence.
“What?” The single word echoed in the still air, and all eyes turned to Thunderrise.
“Do you wish to speak, Matriarch Thunderrise?” the Queen asked with a patient smile.
“No… your Majesty. I was just shocked at Champion Wintersbreath’s claim.”
“I helped them burn the forest,” Wintersbreath snapped, eyes narrowing as she stared at Thunderrise. “I was there when they eradicated the beasts, and again when we chased the Elven undead to the north. Why the north, you wonder? Inside the manor of Neldor Soulfist, in the heart of the forest, we found letters from his brother, the King.”
The crowd started to talk again and another whistle cut through the air, silencing them.
Giving Skyfall a smile, Wintersbreath continued. “We chased them down to Gelinaholt. The city was already under attack and five necromancers were mounted on undead sevras, commanding them. The town had already fallen, so we did all we could. We did kill at least one of the necromancers before we were forced to retreat. Once we were able to go back for them, they had gone on to Weraholt, so we followed.”
“Tell me of this battle before Weraholt,” the Queen said into the silent room.
“We engaged them with all the weapons that Matriarch Gothy could bring. We slaughtered the necromancers with weapons that tore craters in the ground and sent fire spewing in liquid form. We did our best to break the ranks of undead Elves, who were carrying out coherent and organized attacks. When the last of the necromancers died, the organization of the undead fell apart and they became the normal mob we have long dealt with.”
“You saved Weraholt, but couldn’t save the other four towns?”
“That is correct, Your Majesty,” Wintersbreath said.
“Matriarch Gothy, did Champion Wintersbreath tell us all we should know?”
“No,” Gothy said shortly.
Silence stretched for long seconds and the Queen sighed. “I see you grow weary of this. Tell us what else we should know… please.”
At that last word, a gasp rose up among the nobles, and Becky bowed her head slightly. “Among the papers we took from Neldor’s home was an unsigned letter from someone within your court. Whoever wrote it promised to marry him, if he could kill you.”
A cold smile settled on the Queen’s lips. “That is very important information. Which of my Matriarchs is willing to side with the King and plot my death? Do you have the guts to step forward and challenge me to a duel?” she demanded.
One of the nobles stepped out from the crowd, her eyes cold. “I would challenge your Champion.”
“Stormheart? I had already planned to call you before me later today to answer for your attempt to kill our guests, but I wouldn’t have expected this from you.”
“I’m one of many that have become tired of your rules, Mother.”
“We are on the cusp of dealing with your Father, once and for all, and you act now? You are as stupid as he is, child.”
“I challenge you! Send forth your Champion,” Stormheart snapped. Three people came up behind her, each of them staring coldly at Wintersbreath.
“I see you brought your best,” the Queen smiled. “I call Champion Wintersbreath to fight for me, to the death. You may field Elowyn Ironarm, though it will pain me to see her die today.”
Twin blades glowing dark purple appeared in Wintersbreath’s hands as she stepped forward. “Matriarch Gothy, you and your people need to clear the floor.”
“Is this considered a duel for honor?” Alvin asked.
“It is a duel for the crown,” Wintersbreath said.
“Can I bet on this match, then?” Alvin asked with a smirk.
Wintersbreath began to laugh, “Always so flippant. No, this is not a betting duel.”
“Always missing out on easy money,” Alvin said as he stepped aside with the others.
Chapter Fifty-four
Ironarm strode forward from the trio of nobles. Her dark skin had an ashen tone and her face was set in a grim expression. “I’m sorry it has come to this, but my Matriarch demands it.”
“I knew we’d meet in an honor duel to the death one day, Elowyn. You’ve been my best pupil, therefore you have the best chance to defeat me,” Wintersbreath said. “I wish I didn’t have to kill you today, when we finally have the chance to reunite all our people again.”
Ironarm summoned her Dancer’s Soul blades to her hands. Purple light shone across the edges and gems set in them. “There is more at risk than you know, Amara. Forgive me when this is over.”
Wintersbreath’s brow furrowed briefly, but she dismissed the distraction and focused her thoughts. Her feet inched apart, and she centered herself mentally and physically. “Come then. Let us see if you can surpass me today.”
Dropping into an identical stance, Ironarm’s face cleared of emotion. A long moment of silence filled the room before both of them darted forward. Alvin’s jaw sagged as he watched the two inhumanly graceful women clash. Their swords glowed like lightsabers as they spun around each other. No sparks flew, nor did the blades hum like in the movies, but the clash of metal on metal rang out to the beat they followed.
“Wintersbreath will win... right, Mousie?” Becky asked in a whisper as the two women finally drew apart, both of them sporting minor cuts.
“It is as close a fight as we are ever likely to see,” Kuro whispered back. “This is a duel that has been building for many years. Wintersbreath has the advantage of not having shown Ironarm all of her tricks, but Ironarm has fought more duels in the last fifty years than any other Dancer has in two hundred.”
“Your grasp of my advanced teachings has improved,” Wintersbreath smiled as she spun her swords lazily. “I shall drink to your memory every year, Elowyn.”
“I shall mourn your loss, Amara. I know you held back on teaching me everything, but you’ve grown stale in your dances. You’ve not been pressed to learn for well over two centuries, while I have gone out of my way to grow.”
With a sad shake of her head, Wintersbreath’s friendly demeanor shifted to serious. “I respected your drive, but to insult me so…”
The women came at each other again, the clash of their swords faster, the beat of their fight climbing higher. Cries of pain in two different registers came from the swirling, beautiful dance of death, and they separated again.
Wintersbreath’s leg trembled as she looked at her student, the gash and blood flowing from the cut testament to the wound she had taken. Ironarm hissed in pain as she rotated her left arm, the cut across her shoulder clearly hindering her ability to move it.
The silence in the throne room deepened. Everyone knew the end was coming in the next few moments. The Dancers exchanged nods, knowing the next clash would see the end of the duel. Everyone held their breath as they readied for the next exchange; one with a barely working arm, and the other with a leg that had trouble supporting her.
&n
bsp; Alvin looked at the Queen, who radiated sadness. The Queen’s eyes weren’t on the duel, but on Matriarch Stormheart. Frowning, Alvin followed the Queen’s gaze to see Stormheart and Thunderrise talking softly with another person covered in a cloak. The three were partly hidden from the others by a handful of other cloaked figures acting as guards.
“Gothy,” Alvin whispered, “look at Thunderrise.”
Head turning to see what Alvin wanted her to see, she missed the moment when the Dancers came together again. Gothy’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Thunderrise, only looking back at the fight when the clashing of metal filled the room again.
The dance didn’t flow as smoothly as it had for the first rounds. Wintersbreath was clearly favoring a leg and trying to get to Ironarm’s injured side. Ironarm was doing her best to keep Wintersbreath back while using only one arm, the injured one barely even being used to parry.
The winning stroke came when Ironarm was able to land a clean hit on Wintersbreath’s other leg. As her legs refused to support her weight, Wintersbreath landed a deep cut along Ironarm’s good arm, causing her to drop her blade.
Backing away, Ironarm grimaced, “Always to the finish with you.”
Wintersbreath winced as she pushed herself back to her feet, her left blade stabbing down to act as a cane. “You were the best I trained in my long years, so it pains me that it has come to this. Surrender the fight and I’ll spare your life, Elowyn.”
Ironarm’s lips set, her eyes flickering to Stormheart. “I... can’t.”
“Child, do you wish to keep your fighter alive? I will let you keep her if you apologize to me now,” the Queen said into the stillness of the room.
“It is to the death,” Stormheart snapped. “Do your duty, Ironarm! She can’t move, you can still win this.”
“Foolish child,” the Queen sighed. “Wintersbreath, end her as painlessly as you can.”
“I’m sorry,” Ironarm whispered, holding her injured arm out in front of her. “For Elina.”
Winterbreath’s brows drew together into a deep frown, “What does your daughter have to do with this?”
Shaking her head, Ironarm darted forward, trying to use her mobility to get a clean hit on Wintersbreath. Wintersbreath pivoted as best she could, but Ironarm was able to get around her. With a hiss, Wintersbreath spun quickly, a spray of blood from her left leg clearly showing the damage she caused herself to complete the turn. Not expecting her opponent to be able to turn on her, Ironarm tried to back off, but Wintersbreath’s blade caught her in the throat. Ironarm dropped her blade to grasp at her throat, gurgling as blood sprayed, ending the duel.
Falling to her knees, Wintersbreath grabbed Ironarm and pulled her to her. “You stupid fool, what did your daughter have to do with it?”
“The duel is over. I remain your Queen,” the Queen’s voice filled the room with finality as she stood. “Captain Steelheart, take Champion Wintersbreath to the healers.”
“Majesty,” Becky said, stepping forward. “I can heal her, if you’ll let me.”
All eyes went to Becky and the Queen nodded. “Show them more of what you can do, Matriarch Gothy.”
Becky went to Wintersbreath, who had laid Ironarm on the floor and closed her eyes. Pulling a trauma kit from her bag, she pressed it to Wintersbreath’s back. Eyes flaring, Wintersbreath gasped as she felt her wounds heal. Getting to her feet, she gave Becky a sad smile, “You can’t return her, can you?”
“No, that’s not possible,” Becky sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“Is she fully healed?” a male voice asked from next to Thunderrise.
“Not completely, but much better than she was,” Becky replied.
Wintersbreath reached down and touched Ironarm’s body and it vanished. The crowd murmured at the disappearance of the body, not used to how the world worked yet.
“Now that the duel is over, I command Stormheart to come before me,” the Queen said as she took her seat again.
Stormheart strode forward as Wintersbreath went back to her position before the dais. Becky retreated to her two lovers, eyes locked on the Matriarch. “You’ve called for me, Mother?”
The Queen frowned at the tone and words. “Why did you send your husband and others after our guests when they were here initially? Why do you challenge me today?”
“Because you are a fool,” Stormheart snapped. “How long have we been at war with Father? Why? Because you can’t compromise with him? It is long past time to put our conflict to rest. The Gates have opened new worlds to us and you seek to treat with them, when we could conquer them and take them as our own.”
Skyfall and Wintersbreath both snickered, but it was Skyfall who spoke, “You’ve listened to too many lies. We’ve both told you time and again how dangerous they are if angered and made an enemy, yet you would have us attack a world full of them?”
“They are the descendants of the demons from long ago. Those demons were not invulnerable, so these two aren’t either, nor are their race. If we join with Father, we can claim their world.”
“Foolish child,” the Queen sighed. “I had thought your days of doting on your Father were past you when you sided with me. I see now you’ve been his daughter all along, haven’t you?”
“And if I am, then what? You promised us all that you would never raise your hand against us. The most you can do is exile me. Who cares? I’ll have a home waiting for me still. I will help him keep our world pure while you sell us out to these beasts.” The last word dripped with contempt.
Alvin laughed, “Sell you out to us? We’re not even buying. Hell, we’re leaving in a day or two. When we do, your mother will have access to the weapons we possess, and your poor, little, shrimp-dicked dad won’t. You’re backing the wrong horse, you idiot.”
Stormheart went pale as she spun on him, “Quiet male! Be glad I still recognize decorum here, or you would be dead where you stand.”
Becky suddenly held her Tommy gun in hand, her dress gone and her armor covering her, “Want to bet on who’d be dead?”
“Matriarch Gothy, put your weapon away,” the Queen said calmly. “Stormheart, go back to your Father. I will be sad, but I will not stay my hand in the future when I move against him. I have waited for years and years, but I never attacked him, hoping he would apologize and return to me. With his latest attack on the Gate and the obvious communication with his brother inviting the necromancers’ attacks on us, I find I am forced to finally take the attacking role against him.”
“You will fail, Mother,” Stormheart spat. “These demons will turn on you. I will look forward to the day I say so again.”
“Does anyone else wish to speak?”
“I do,” Thunderrise said, stepping forward with the robed person trailing just behind her.
“Thunderrise, what do you have to say?” the Queen asked, sitting back in her throne.
“I have a parting gift for you, as I will be going with Stormheart,” Thunderrise said with a sad look. “I wish it were otherwise, but I agree with Stormheart. Trusting these demons is the worst thing you could have done. I feel the need to balance the scales, so please take this.”
A gloved hand holding a fist sized gem came out from under the cloak. The deep black-green gem glowed with its own internal light.
“What is this?” the Queen asked as she frowned at the gem.
“A payment long overdue,” a strong male voice snarled. “My brother says hello.” The man holding the gem pulled the hood of his cloak down so he could meet the Queen’s eyes.
“Neldor!?” the Queen hissed. “Stop him!”
Before anyone could move, Neldor smashed the gem at his feet. “Die, and rise as my puppets!”
Alvin pulled a panacea from his bag as soon Neldor was named, immediately splashing it over himself as a pulse of energy washed over the room. He was soon glad he had done so, watching everyone in the room besides Neldor, Stormheart, Thunderrise, and those who had been with the three fall over screaming as the magic began
to eat away their lives. Quickly pulling another panacea from his bag, he administered it to Becky.
“Gothy, help Mousie, then go for the Queen,” Alvin said as his armor replaced his clothes and his Type 56 appeared in his hand.
The eight other people who remained on their feet turned to him with puzzled expressions. “How did you resist my curse?” Neldor asked with compressed lips. “It shouldn’t be possible unless I have marked you.”
Alvin backed up as Becky got to her feet, dumping panacea on Kuro. “If you run, you might live,” Alvin said coldly.
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