The Turin soldier came right at Lady Vye’s section, but because Lady Vye was looking fluffier than usual, he ignored her and impaled Lord Rutherford first.
And then, all hell broke loose. Calvin, the Castellan with direction sense, started barking orders. The Royal Guards pulled the Prince into the Castle before anyone could tell what was happening.
Vye reached for her sword, but ended up grabbing her own pannier. She tried to kick Halmir, but her dress was too frilly. Halmir, in the meantime, had killed four other men, each as they drew arms and attacked him.
Then, Halmir waved his hand across the entire crowd. There was a silent thud, a sort of empty popping sound, as everyone in the courtyard was stunned. Vye recoiled, her equilibrium shot to hell. She couldn’t hear a thing. And her vision blurred.
Halmir leapt up onto the East Balcony, clearing the ten-foot wall. This wasn’t a question of jumping. He made it look effortless. He knelt down and pounced, but Vye had never seen a human get that much lift.
Michael was still up there. Damnit, Vye thought. Why did he have to be such a brave fool? Any other Count or Duke in the Kingdom would have fled in terror. But of course Michael wasn’t that kind of leader. There he was, shielding Lady Sarah behind him. And, of course, that’s why Vye respected him.
Still, although Vye considered Michael a competent swordsman, she didn’t feel comfortable leaving him up there on his own. Especially not with a Turin warrior who could appear out of a wisp of smoke, leap over walls, and stun a courtyard full of people.
But whereas the rest of the crowd kept reeling and stumbling, Vye found her hearing coming back to her. The sense of balance returned to her feet. She shook it off. Plenty of time to be dizzy later. She had to take action now.
Michael and Halmir were dueling it out on the balcony. Vye grabbed Rutherford’s sword, and ran to the nearest entrance. Two turns, one flight of steps, and one intervening curtain later, and she burst out onto the balcony--
--Just in time to see Michael fall to his knees. He had been impaled just under the left shoulder, somewhere very close to where Vye imagined his heart was.
Vye raised her sword and engaged Halmir. And finally she met her match.
It had been years since her training with Tallatos. She had returned with a sense of humility. Always training hard. Always prepared to lose. But after defeating Sheldon and every other combatant she had faced, she had grown confident. Not cocky, mind you. She had no concept of swagger. But she appreciated the fact that she was good.
So was Halmir. It only took Vye three swings and four seconds to figure out that he wasn’t just another arrogant swordsman. What was worse, he didn’t seem to care she was a woman. In the past, Vye always gained a little extra advantage. Fair or not, men always assumed she couldn’t fight, or didn’t want to hurt her. Halmir had no such reservations. He was fighting to kill.
Halmir figured out the same thing at about the same time. The Turin-Sen, as a group, were arrogant. They had trained so much longer, and so much more intensely, that they expected to win outright. There shouldn’t have been anyone in Rone capable of holding his own against a Turin-Sen Warrior. But Halmir hadn’t belonged to the group for that long. He hadn’t drunk quite enough Kool-Aid to believe he was invincible.
They were matching stroke for stroke, block for block. Immediately recognizing patterns and counter-striking. Adjusting. Footwork, stance, technique all changing in a blur that only these two could have understood. Tallatos himself would have asked them to slow down so he could figure out what was going on.
But Halmir knew the stalemate favored Vye. The crowd hadn’t recovered as quickly as her, but they would recover. And who knows what other guards and soldiers were on their way. They could have parried each other all day, until the winner was finally decided by some minor advantage pressed at precisely the right time. But that would take too long. Halmir had to cheat.
He swung his free arm around, like he was swatting a very slow fly. And Vye went airborne, sailing backwards, and smashing into the wall. She managed to land on one foot and one knee, and keep her sword in front of her, but it was all for show. If Halmir had taken three seconds, he could have charged in, disarmed her, and killed her.
But Halmir was in a rush, and Vye wasn’t part of his agenda. He fled through the curtains and into the halls of the castle.
Vye coughed up a little blood, pressing her clammy hands against the cold stone walls, hefting herself to her feet. That was a hard hit. But as long as she still had breath, she was not giving up the fight.
She charged through the curtains, following the sounds of clashing steel to the base of the stairs. Vye figured the Royal Guard would try to get the Prince to the third floor. Because Hartstone was built on a hill, the third floor was also a ground floor. They could use the sally port to get to the reserve stables.
From the looks of it, they wouldn’t make it quite that far. Two Royal Guards were already dead. Halmir was stabbing a third one. A fourth charged at Halmir. The other half dozen Guards had dragged the Prince a whole flight ahead of the Turin soldier.
Halmir had recovered from his Shadow Door Spell enough now to use his most powerful magic. He opened his palm at the incoming Guard. From his hand, a small light shot out, with the speed of an arrow, looking like a candleless flame, striking the Guard mid-charge. The electricity danced over the Royal Soldier, crackling, smoking, burning his life force from his body. And eliciting a scream that would freeze your heart.
Vye charged in behind Halmir, hoping to catch him off guard. But he was prepared, turning to counter. And they were at it again, like they had never stopped. Neither surprised by the other’s skill level this time, pulling out all the stops. A blur of limbs and steel. The steps made it interesting, but it was almost academic. It changed their tactics. Their options. But not how well matched they were.
Halmir didn’t have time for this again. It seemed unsportsmanlike, to kill such a fine fighter with magic. He would have to destroy her. He opened his palm and faced Vye. The light enveloped Vye, crackling, lighting her up.
But that’s all it did.
Halmir and Vye froze for a second. A long, contemplative second. Vye was sure she was dead, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Halmir agreed, despite the fact Vye had apparently forgotten to fall down.
Or scream.
Halmir struck first, trying to seize the advantage in Vye’s hesitation. But her instincts kicked in and she parried him off. What the hell had just happened?
Halmir was sure there must have been some kind of mistake. A cosmic miscalculation. He pressed in, an aggressive stance, forcing Vye to back up a few steps. Again, he opened his palm, shooting an amped up version of the death spell. Again, the light struck Vye, surging over every inch of her body. She was glowing, radiant, like an Angel of Fury.
But as far as Vye was concerned, it was just a fun light show. It didn’t even tickle.
This time, Vye attacked first, catching Halmir while he was still thinking about the spell. Halmir fought her off well enough, but he didn’t have any answers. The spell should have worked. The spell always worked. What the fuck was wrong with this woman? Why wouldn’t she just die, like she was supposed to?
The Royal Guards had reached the third floor and were racing to the front gates. Halmir couldn’t waste more time here. He charged in again, having learned how to get Vye to back up a few steps. Once he had just enough room, he turned and leapt.
Again, when Halmir leaps, it’s not just a really good jump. He reached the first floor landing in one hop, then the second floor landing on the next. A full flight ahead of Vye, he took off on foot, conserving his remaining energy for the fight ahead.
Vye charged up the stairs... And that’s when she finally tripped on her dress.
“Oh, that just about does it!” she said, standing.
---
The Royal Guards burst through the sally port and dragged the Prince across the courtyard. They scurried for the stabl
es at top speed.
They were halfway there when Halmir emerged from the sally port. While his prey was running, he just walked. He didn’t need to run. He just needed to open his palm.
Vye, making a compromise between modesty and practicality, had torn the skirt of the dress, ripping it from seam to waist. It was certainly a fashion statement, but more importantly, it gave her mobility.
She charged up the three flights of stairs and straight across the third floor main corridor, and out the sally port. By the time she emerged onto the courtyard, the third Royal Guard was dying a horrible death.
Vye scanned the area. Halmir was walking, with an eerie calm, toward the Prince and the three remaining Guards. The Guards were almost at the stables.
Halmir fired another candle spell. The next Guard went down shielding the Prince’s body with his own. Vye saw that Halmir’s focus was fully committed to the Prince. She started to sneak up on Halmir, letting her feet rest on the soft grass of the summer.
She stepped closer and closer as Halmir fired yet another Candle, killing yet another Guard. Only one Royal Guard remained, but they were only a few paces from the stables. Vye, likewise, was only a few paces from Halmir. Tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe, Swing!
But Halmir showed himself to be more aware of his surroundings than he let on. He turned and parried the attack, just in the nick of time. Or was it planned that way? He was too good for Vye to be sure one way or another. Vye and Halmir once again started dueling, allowing the Prince and his Guard to get into the stables.
The masters matched swords. Left undercut, right feint, left foot shift, right cross swing. Up, down, and around. Halmir could see that, if nothing else, Vye would save the Prince’s life just by using up time. He had to do something drastic. He swung his free hand out to the side, as though conducting the violins to crescendo.
The ground shook. The soil crumbling upwards, like the ground had failed to keep down a very bad meal. The dirt rose, in a way dirt was certainly not supposed to, and formed into the shape of a large, stone hand. The key word being large. It was easily six feet across the palm.
Vye swung at the monstrosity, but the dirt she cut away was quickly replenished. The hand grappled Vye, closing its fist around both of her arms, restricting her.
And then it started squeezing.
Halmir turned and dashed off at a sprint. The Prince and his last Guard were mounted now, but he could still get a clear line of sight if he could make it around the gate before they cleared the courtyard.
But Vye wasn’t aware of any of this. The very ground was tightening around her, crushing her lungs. Her arms were pinned. Breathing was out of the question. Her vision was going red...
Halmir caught a glimpse of Prince Nathaniel as he turned the corner. But a glimpse was all he needed. He fired one more Candle Spell at the Prince. The Heir to the Throne was enveloped in the white hot, crackling energy of the spell. He screamed.
And he died.
Vye didn’t know the fight was over. She was wriggling, twisting, gasping, trying to get loose. But she was out of breath, and she was almost out of fight. She would have passed out if it weren’t for that painful snap. Most likely one of her ribs, she figured. A second later, two similar snaps.
It didn’t seem fair to her, to die in the hands of… well, a stone hand. This stupid, stupid, stone hand. Crushing her. She thought about the fact that it was just a bunch of dirt and pebbles. She thought it shouldn’t be causing this much trouble. She imagined it all falling back to the earth, inert and lifeless as it was supposed to be.
And then it did. It crumbled around her. She collapsed, gasping for air and panting heavily. Every breath was a shock of pain from her ribcage. Now she was going to hyperventilate. She felt like a loose collection of bones and skin, with a layer of dry dirt coating her. She felt like half a person.
Her eyes tried to find focus. When they did, they could only see one person moving. It was the Turin man, walking casually back to middle of the south courtyard. He just needed some clear space.
Vye lifted herself to her knees. How much longer could she keep up the fight? The pain of breathing alone was going to knock her out in a minute. To say nothing of bruises, internal bleeding, external bleeding, a broken rotator cuff, and utter exhaustion.
And then she saw Flopson, the jester, ambling across the courtyard in his comic waddle, juggling three acrylic balls. Flopson was in his late thirties, though if you had a conversation with him, you would insist her was just an older-looking child of eight. You would also insist that he was mildly insane, and you would probably be right. His bag was missing a few marbles.
But those who had been around him and had paid attention, knew that he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what was going on. His wit was razor sharp, his tongue wicked, and his sense of humor layered. Vye had never seen him wearing anything other than his patched clown outfit, with the felt crown and the large collar, a mish-mash of very loud colors. He had some eccentricities, to be sure. But overall, he was the perfect fool for the castle.
And he was Michael’s fanatically loyal servant. Vye didn’t know the full story, but sometime in the past, Michael had saved Flopson’s life. And since then, the jester had protected the Count’s interests wherever and whenever he could.
Halmir stopped in the very center of the courtyard, where he began chanting and waving his hands around. As he did this, a small wisp of smoke started rising from the grass. In moments, the pathway back to the Turinheld would open before him, and he would be safely at home.
Flopson straddled up to the concentrating Turin, handling his balls with expert care. A casual observer would assume it took all his concentration to play with his balls, but a careful observer would have noticed that he stepped over a dead Royal Guard without looking down.
Halmir noticed the jester, but he didn’t care. Nobody else was on the field except Lady Vye, and she was just getting to her knees. He didn’t really know how to process the presence of the jester. There was a clown juggling in this field of death.
“Hey there Stinky,” Flopson said. “Hope you enjoyed the wedding.”
Halmir ignored Flopson, continuing his chant. The smoke was growing, expanding. He only needed to focus for a few more--
“I said, hey there, Stinky,” Flopson said, getting much closer to Halmir.
“Leave me alone,” Halmir said in his best Cirilian. Argos had taught them the language of the enemy, of course.
“How rude,” Flopson said, still keeping the three balls in the air. “Perhaps I didn’t introduce myself properly. My name is Flopson.”
Flopson kept the three balls in the air with one hand while extending the other. Halmir didn’t shake it. Vye, in the meantime, had managed to lift herself to her feet. She was leaning on the sword like a cane, but she was up. Halmir was a good thirty paces, but she would make all of those paces.
Twenty-nine, Twenty-eight…
“Someone,” Flopson said, “Is going to have to teach you some manners.”
“I certainly won’t take lessons from you,” Halmir said in his own language.
“Well, you certainly didn’t take lessons from your momma,” Flopson responded, in the Rone tongue.
Halmir snapped a look at the fool. He hadn’t expected the insane man to understand him. There was a look in Flopson’s eyes that Halmir couldn’t read. Was he just jesting, as was his profession? Or was he insane, and actually challenging Halmir to a fight?
Twenty-two, twenty-one…
“Be gone before I tire of you,” Halmir said.
“I can’t run that fast,” Flopson said, leaning to the side and juggling every other ball behind his back. Showing off. Clearly, he could manage his balls in any position.
Eighteen, seventeen…
Halmir turned back to his wisp of smoke. The portal wouldn’t open if he continued to exchange banter with a fool. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.
“Are you just going to ignore me now?” Flopson said.
“What if I said your mother was uglier than the wart on a donkey’s ass?”
Thirteen, twelve…
Halmir continued to chant.
“Fine, you leave me no choice!” Flopson said, hurling the acrylics at Halmir’s head.
Halmir turned in an instant, raising his hands in defense. Like Gerard and Sandora, he could deflect arrows (or, in this case, juggling accouterments) if he had enough warning. But Gerard and Sandora had been charging across a field, with the archers in plain sight. Flopson was right beside Halmir.
He deflected the first two projectiles within a heartbeat. But Flopson’s aim was too good to be random. He had fired the three balls at three different angles, using both hands and a quick dance step. Halmir couldn’t bring his arm around fast enough for the third one.
It impacted against Halmir’s head, sending the towering Turin Warrior staggering to the side. Flopson started laughing, as though he had just seen the most hysterical thing in his life. He grabbed his stomach, as though it hurt. He was rolling on the ground.
Nine, eight…
Halmir was holding the side of his head. He was reeling in pain, and his vision was doubled. He just had to get through the Shadow-Gate, and he could fall unconscious all he wanted. All he had to do was keep the Gate...
Five, four…
Halmir spun back around to refocus on the Gate. But as he turned, he lost his balance. Somehow, his boots had become tied together. He fell, hard, to the floor, completely off balance. He didn’t even get his hands up in time, so his torso took the brunt of the hit.
Two, one…
Vye arrived. She was too tired to lift her sword and swing it, but she could easily fall on top of Halmir. Halmir tried to roll over, but Vye gathered up a final bit of strength and slammed the back of her elbow into Halmir’s cerebellum. Halmir fell promptly asleep.
Then, out of sheer exhaustion, Vye collapsed into a deep sleep of her own. The wisp of smoke dissipated, carried away in the wind.
Chapter 15: A Pirate in Name Only
Within the Hollow Crown Page 7