by K. M. Shea
Benjimir.
An icy calm settled over Gwendafyn. The sounds of the camp faded, and soon she only heard the pounding of her heart.
The memory of Benjimir’s true smile, his laugh, his insistence on getting her a new practice uniform, his sarcasm—it overwhelmed Gwendafyn.
She couldn’t lose him.
An elf loved forever. Benjimir had her heart now, whether he wanted it or not, and she’d do whatever was necessary to see him through this.
The Evening Stars cannot help; they have their vows. Lesser Elves cannot help; they barely know how to fight. But I can.
13
Unleashed
Gwendafyn was already walking before she realized it.
“Gwendafyn—where are you going?” King Petyrr called.
“To get Benjimir back,” Gwendafyn said, her voice so cold she barely recognized it.
“You can’t! It’s too dangerous!” King Petyrr clanked after her.
“Your Majesty, wait.”
Both Gwendafyn and King Petyrr paused.
Gwendafyn twisted just enough to see Arion extend a hand to the king.
The colonel glanced first at his wife, then Seer Ringali.
Both nodded.
Arion swung his stormy eyes back to the king. “Let her go.”
“You are mistaken, Colonel Arion, if you think I’ll let those blackhearts take my daughter-in-law, too. Benjimir will die if he sees that,” King Petyrr growled.
“Let her go,” Arion repeated.
“Why do you suggest such a thing?” King Petyrr stabbed his sword into the ground. “It is madness!”
“I suggest it because I know the elves of Lessa are capable of more than we think,” Arion said. “And because we both know Prince Benjimir did not marry a serene and fragile elf maiden who would break at the first sign of a fight.”
All the anger drained from King Petyrr, and he seemed defeated somehow. “I’m trusting you on this, Sir Arion. If I lose both of them…”
“You won’t,” Gwendafyn called before she once again started walking. “Calnor won’t be losing anything. Not today, not ever.”
As Gwendafyn strode away, she could hear Tari cooing to her cat.
“No, Sius. Stay with Arion. Follow him, okay?”
What am I doing? Gwendafyn asked herself. I can fight a few honor guards, but I can’t take on a gang of bandits protected by a barrier. Though she knew the truth of her words, something propelled Gwendafyn forward.
What do I do—what can I do?
Again, something in her moved, and Gwendafyn felt the door in her mind. The one locked and barred, that buckled to hold back something bright.
Gwendafyn narrowed her eyes and adjusted her grip on Benjimir’s sword as she carried it in an attack position. Very well.
An eerie silence enveloped the meadow. None of the Honor Guards moved—nor did their horses. Even the wind was quiet.
But as Gwendafyn drew closer to the barrier, she could see the bandits through its opaque surface. The yellow of the magic made them a sickly hue of color, but it didn’t hide their unease as they clustered together and edged back. There appeared to be approximately a hundred bandits—a large force, but something the better outfitted, better trained Honor Guards were more than capable of handling.
No armor, Gwendafyn thought as she carefully looked the grizzled men over. Just cotton clothes and leather armguards. They do have better weapons than expected—proper swords and spears. That doesn’t match their clothes at all—how can they afford them? Unless they were provided by the country that is organizing this…
Gwendafyn stopped just short of the barrier. This close to it, she could feel the buzz of its power. Though her eyes swept up and down the edge of the circular barrier, she didn’t see the mage responsible for it. Probably hiding in the center of the circle with the leader.
She narrowed her eyes as she reached out and prodded the barrier. It dimpled under her fingertip but crackled with power and zapped her hand. She ignored the pain and tried to push harder, but the barrier didn’t give any further.
A muscled man shoved his way past the bandits and strode up to the barrier. “Get back!” he ordered. “Or the prince will lose a limb.”
Gwendafyn swapped out her observation of the magic barrier for the new brute. He was broad-shouldered and carried himself with the hungry confidence of a man thirsty for blood. Though his voice was warped from passing through the barrier, Gwendafyn could detect the faintest trace of an accent.
He’s not from Calnor. It’s undeniable: this is the doing of another country. She glanced over her shoulder, not at all surprised to find Tari and Seer Ringali at her back. Seer Ringali was already starting to glow, and Tari’s smile reminded Gwendafyn more of Sius than her usual sunny personality.
“At your leisure, My Princess,” Tari said, her voice echoing oddly.
Gwendafyn nodded, then gave Benjimir’s sword an experimental twirl, adjusting to its heft.
Muscle Man scowled and took a step closer to the barrier. “I said get back! Since you failed to listen, one of your little soldiers will be slain!” He started to turn around to give the order but froze when his eyes met hers.
Gwendafyn smiled, not at all bothered when the expression made the man blanch. “I think not.”
Clasping her sword with both hands, Gwendafyn drove it into the barrier. It sank in until it was almost hilt-deep.
Excellent work, genius, now what? She thought angrily as she stared at the sword.
The disruption made the magic in the barrier sizzle. It sparked, crawling up the blade to reach Gwendafyn. Her fingers felt numb, and her arms tingled painfully so, but she did not let go.
Picturing that wretched door in her mind, Gwendafyn yanked on the padlocks that held it shut.
They didn’t give.
She pounded on the door and was able to feel something through the gouged wooden surface, but though it rattled and shook, it didn’t burst free.
The magic barrier guarding the bandits started to crackle in anger. The zinging force that assaulted her grew in strength, and soon it was enough to make it hard to breathe.
In her mind, Gwendafyn slammed her fists into the door and kicked at the padlocks. Nothing loosened.
Whatever was behind the door surged forward, but it no longer pressed against the frame.
Gwendafyn opened her mouth in a soundless roar.
Oh, no you don’t. You’re just magic. I’m not going to beg and scrape and bend my will to match a supernatural force. This magic is a part of me—it’s going to answer to me!
Gwendafyn kicked, driving her heel into the unyielding door.
I have a country to guard. Benjimir’s life is at risk. I don’t care what disapproval and hate I am faced with because of this; I am going to fight!
The door rattled, then evaporated in an explosion of splinters as the bright force behind it surged.
Though the sky was clear, lightning struck Gwendafyn in a large, brilliant bolt that crackled and hissed like an animal.
But there was no pain.
It was not the strike of a storm, but the awakening, the rekindling of a magic not seen on the continent in centuries.
Instead of instantaneously retreating, the lightning popped around Gwendafyn as the peal of thunder that accompanied it made the bandits fall to their knees.
It flooded her, making her senses sing and filling a void she didn’t even know she had. It was like plunging in an icy river. Every part of her tingled, and white filled her vision.
Though it faded into sparks after what felt like an eternity, Gwendafyn could still feel the white-hot magic swimming in her blood. She blinked to clear her vision, then returned her gaze to the barrier.
The bandits huddling behind it had backed even farther away from her, though Muscle-Man stood at the fringe with a naked sword in his hands.
Doesn’t matter. I’ll be in there soon.
Gwendafyn gritted her teeth. Her sword still in the ba
rrier, she yanked it up.
Magic-made lightning flared around the weapon, encasing it.
Another clap of thunder, and Gwendafyn’s magic surged up the barrier, gutting it all the way to the top.
The barrier split open, a slice of it completely eradicated.
Tari stepped forward, curved blades of light lining her arms, and rested her magic blade against the left side of the gaping hole. Seer Ringali’s fists were encased in a similar light, though his entire body flickered with his magic. He grabbed the right side of the shield and yanked, peeling it back even farther.
“Go!” he shouted to Gwendafyn. “We’ll hold the barrier open.”
Gwendafyn stepped from the crater of singed grass her magic created. “You two will survive—even though you cannot fight?”
Tari laughed—a mirthless sound—and leaned against the barrier, ignoring the angry crackles created by her magic colliding with the wall. “Do you really think they’re going to attack us?” she asked.
Circles of light ornamented with swirls and stars rotated beneath her feet. A similar pattern—though in a green hue and decorated with vines instead—appeared under Seer Ringali’s.
The older Evening Star smiled a predatory smile. “It’s true we can’t harm a human of Calnor,” he said. “But that’s not to say we can’t frighten them.”
The circles beneath their feet grew, and the bandits shouted in terror.
Turning on their heels, the bandits ran for the back of the barrier, trampling their comrades.
“Go,” Seer Ringali repeated.
Gwendafyn lunged into the enclosure. I need to figure out where in here they have stowed Benjimir and the Honor Guards. Absently, she noticed Muscle Man jabbing his sword at her chest.
Without pausing, Gwendafyn swung her blade up.
When the swords collided, Gwendafyn’s crackled with lightning, and Muscle Man’s shattered like glass.
He gripped the hilt of his sword with wide eyes, sweat beading on his forehead as his mouth formed an “O” shape.
Gwendafyn slugged him in the gut with the hilt of her sword, then kicked him in the kneecap, sending him sprawling to the ground.
She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
As her sword spat sparks, she leaned into the brute’s face and said in crisp Calnoric, “Never threaten what is mine!” She headbutted him, unbothered when she heard the crunch of his nose breaking, then threw him to the ground.
“Defend, you imbeciles,” someone howled from the depths of the bandit’s formation.
The bandits had stopped running—likely because the forces had backed up as far as they could, leaving Gwendafyn standing alone in a third of the circle.
Where are they? Gwendafyn walked toward the bandits, who snarled and spat at her.
When she was over a horse-length away, she jumped, smashing into the front lines.
She downed the first bandit with a roundhouse kick to the throat. With a hole in the line opened, she leaned in and swung her sword in an arc. Though she didn’t hit anyone, the magic encasing the sword sparked and spat little bolts of lightning that jumped to the nearest bandits.
The unfortunate targets yelped in pain as the magic surged up and down their limbs. They dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, their whole bodies shuddering.
Gwendafyn moved in deeper, spinning in a wide-reaching sword attack. She then lunged forward and smashed the hilt of her sword into a bandit’s neck.
An outlaw tried to grab her arm, but she drove her elbow into his throat, making him topple with a gurgle.
Gwendafyn fought not just with her sword, but her entire body. She constantly moved, twisting and rotating, engaging the bandits one way or another.
She felt someone make a grab for her hair, so she launched herself forward, colliding with a spear-wielding bandit. Using her momentum, she slung an arm around his neck as she swung behind him. She planted a knee in his back and ruthlessly pulled tight on his throat, cutting off his air.
He dug his fingers into her arm, but she barely felt it. She noticed too late a bandit leaping for her, his sword extended. He was lined up to hit her lower back. Grunting in effort, Gwendafyn kicked her free leg back with the force of a battering ram. She sent him flying, but his sword bit through her boots and opened a nasty slice on her calf. The pain didn’t seem to reach her.
When she felt the bandit she was still clamped to teeter, Gwendafyn shifted her grip so as she dropped down to the ground, the man bended backwards. A roll of her shoulder redistributed his momentum, and she flipped him over her and slammed him into another bandit. All without dropping her sword.
“I think I like short swords,” Gwendafyn said in Calnoric before stabbing the ground.
Her sword flared with magic. It shot out comets of power that erupted beneath the feet of those closest to her, flinging them into the air with tails of smoke trailing behind them.
Gwendafyn spun around, taking a moment to regain her breath and attempt to orientate herself.
There were so many bandits, and as they had closed around her, she was no longer certain which way she should be going.
This is going to take too long! Where is Benjimir?
“Princess! This way!”
Gwendafyn turned in the direction of the raised shouts. She recognized Thad’s voice above the din of the panicked bandits, but she still couldn’t see them.
She fixed her sight on the biggest, sturdiest looking bandit near her and pounced. She sat on his shoulders, one of her legs fixed around his throat in a chokehold and perched above the sea of humans.
There!
Thad and the men in his squad weren’t too far away, tucked deeper in the crowd of bandits. Their wrists were tied, but the guards struggled against their captors, swinging their arms like clubs, head-butting them, and stamping on the bandits’ feet.
A nearby bandit nearly succeeded in stabbing Gwendafyn with a spear—her precarious position made it harder to block the strike—but Gwendafyn didn’t hop off. She still didn’t see him.
Where is Benjimir?! Wait—there!
He was positioned behind the Honor Guards, his arms tied behind his back and a knotted kerchief serving as a gag.
Gwendafyn’s magic sang in anger at the sight. Using the big bandit’s head like the center of a wheel, Gwendafyn flipped around him, snatching a dagger from his belt when she passed the lowest point of the arc. “Thad!” she shouted as she popped upright again. “Catch!”
She chucked the dagger, but the bandit she was perched on toppled before she could see if the patrol leader caught it.
Gwendafyn righted herself and twirled her sword. It glowed and crackled with power. She took a moment to find her footing, then snaked forward, spinning and whirling.
Every arc she made, every step she took made her sword flare with power. She swung it in a wide slice, and the bandits tripped over themselves trying to avoid it. But even though the blade barely grazed them—cutting through their clothes like butter—they shouted in pain. For Gwendafyn’s magic bloomed from the sword, electrifying everything it touched.
Gwendafyn carved a path of destruction to Benjimir and the Honor Guards. The air reeked of blood and smoke. But she didn’t stop—she dared not. It was almost a certainty that when this was over, she was going to lose all the goodies and tea the innkeeper had served her. But it didn’t matter. She had to reach Benjimir, and she had to show this foe that Calnor was not to be trifled with.
A forward strike, and Gwendafyn knocked over a bandit in the line surrounding Benjimir and the others.
She leaped into their cleared circle, relieved to see Thad had indeed snatched the dagger and was in the process of cutting Benjimir free.
“Don’t move!” she shouted as she whirled her blade.
It’s almost out of magic…
Gwendafyn swung the sword up and held it perfectly aloft. Another huge lightning bolt—accompanied by a deafening peal of thunder—struck. It
punched straight through the barrier, shattering a hole in the top of it, and flooded Gwendafyn with power, making her sword glow as brightly as a star.
Sparking, her magic traced out shapes in the air. It was somewhat similar to the magic Seer Ringali and Tari used, though it was wild, and instead of settling on the ground, it hovered in multiple layers in the air. As such, it took Gwendafyn a minute to realize that the layers combined formed the shape of a heart.
The magic-formed heart burned brighter and brighter, until Gwendafyn had to close her eyes. There was a musical crack—like glass breaking—and the magic unleashed. Men screamed and shouted as Gwendafyn’s magic crackled, flooding the area with raw power that invaded and overwhelmed.
She finally opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She had decimated a huge circle of bandits, essentially clearing the area. Though things still felt cold and a little distant, the prickle of her calf wound was turning into a throb, and Gwendafyn realized her heart was beating so fast, it felt like she had a humming bird in her chest.
She nearly stumbled as she turned to face the Honor Guards.
Most of them were sitting on the ground, their eyes wide, though as Gwendafyn watched, they scrambled to their feet and snatched weapons off the fallen bandits.
Feeling stupidly nervous—what would Benjimir think of her after this?—she took a step towards the prince. “Ben, are you injured—”
Her heart stopped for a moment. Benjimir’s expression was cold, and he flung the dagger Thad had used to free him directly at her.
She inhaled wrong, but the dagger passed over her shoulder. Behind her, someone shouted and cursed.
Gwendafyn swung around, shocked to see a bandit not two steps behind her. He fell to his knees, his hands gripping the dagger buried in his shoulder.
“Fyn!” Before she had a chance to turn around, Benjimir swept her up in a hug that pulled her back against his chest.
Gwendafyn squirmed in his hold until she was turned around and could embrace him with one arm. She dared not let go of her sword, but she rested her forehead on his shoulder and released a sigh that made her whole body shiver.