King of Bryanae (Bryanae Series Book 3)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  The creature gave no indication it had even felt the strike, let alone had suffered any injury from it. She staggered back, away from the overwhelming heat of its presence, trying to catch her breath.

  How in the Seven Hells could they defeat an enemy that was too hot to approach and suffered no injury from their weapons?

  Ah, but D’Arbignal’s rapier had hurt it. Not much, true, but it had …

  Wait a moment. How, indeed.

  She had an idea.

  As soon as she could breathe again, she skirted the creature’s legs and ran around it. She headed toward D’Arbignal, who brandished his rapier at the creature. The blade seemed more on fire than ever, with tiny waves of eldritch flames rippling across its surface.

  The fire creature swung another massive leg at D’Arbignal; once more, he dove out of the way. As he did, he cut at the creature’s leg, but missed.

  “Look,” D’Arbignal shouted at it, “you may be bigger than me, and stronger than me, and maybe my weapons can’t hurt you, and you could set me on fire just by standing near me, but …” He paused for a moment. “Actually, you know, I forgot what I was going to say. Never mind.”

  Once again, the fire creature attacked, this time by raising its leg and stomping down like a man might squash an ant. D’Arbignal pointed his rapier up at its feet like a nail protruding through a board, but at the last moment, he abandoned this foolish idea and dove out of the way.

  This time, he landed near Willow. She ran up to him.

  “Your Majesty!” she shouted.

  “Ah, Willow!” he said, grinning manically. There was no hint of fear in his eyes; that was very wrong. To face certain death was no big thing; all soldiers must do that someday. However, D’Arbignal looked almost as though he welcomed death.

  “Your Majesty, can you—?”

  “Willow, you look absolutely bewitching in this firelight. The way the light of the flames dances in your hair, and reflects in—”

  She slapped him. “Your Majesty, shut up and listen to me!”

  She heard a roar such as from a hurricane, and felt a surge of heat. Instinctively, she shoved D’Arbignal away from her and then dove to the side.

  The creature’s fiery foot crackled in her wake, missing her by only a handful of feet. She looked down and saw that her outer skirt had caught fire.

  “Now that was just rude!” D’Arbignal shouted at the creature. “Willow was just about to confess her love for me, and you had to go spoil the moment. I’m very cross with you!”

  The creature seemed entirely fixated on killing D’Arbignal. It barely seemed to notice her. She ran to a position where she could catch D’Arbignal’s eye. She rolled her hand in a go on gesture.

  D’Arbignal looked confused, but she had to move. She ran toward one of the taller buildings, hoping that he would figure out what she needed: a diversion.

  “Um, so as I was saying,” the King fumbled, “you’ve nearly spoiled a very romantic evening between the two of us. However, fear not, because I—”

  Again, she heard the roar of flames as it swung at D’Arbignal. She winced; she should be at his side, protecting him.

  However, she couldn’t protect him. Not that way, at least. However, she had an idea. A crazy idea, to be sure, but if she could pull this off …

  If she could pull this off, she would be luckier than she deserved. Her plan would almost certainly fail.

  “As I was saying,” D’Arbignal said, “before I was so rudely interrupted by a certain fiery individual whom I shall not name, this evening is not a total loss, as I shall now compose for Captain Willow one of my famous (and terrible) poems.”

  Another roar of flames: she heard the King dive and roll. She reached the building she'd marked, lifted the shutter from the first-story window, and kicked at the wood panel blocking it. After two kicks, she felt the bar behind the panel give. The third kick drove the panel into the building, opening the window.

  “‘Ode to a Murderous Firebeast,’” D’Arbignal shouted. “I rather like that title, don’t you?”

  Willow climbed in through the window, and ran through the room toward the stairs. All the store’s wares had been sealed up for the night, but if she had to guess, the store sold some kind of dried food.

  She shucked her skirts and then sprinted across the room She hurdled a crate that was in her way and landed upon the third step of the staircase. She felt her ankle shriek in pain, but she ignored it. Outside, she heard D’Arbignal’s taunts, occasionally interrupted as he evaded the creature’s attacks.

  As she hobbled up the stairs, her confidence in her pathetic plan dwindled further. This was insanity!

  She reached the top floor of the shop, and saw various baking tools: rolling pins, pans, and assorted knives. She had been close about the store. Oh well, that had to come as some kind of consolation.

  Attached to the ceiling almost directly above her was the fold-up ladder that led to the roof. She jumped once, twice, and then caught the rope handle on the third jump. She yanked, pulling her end of the ladder down, and clambered up them as quickly as she could. Her ankle howled in protest.

  She punched open the panel above her and saw starlight. She climbed onto the roof and ran across it to see the scene below.

  The fire creature was trying to corner D’Arbignal, who kept rolling out of its path. Periodically, he would stand, gesture grandly, and shout something that sounded like verse. Fortunately, she couldn’t hear it from where she stood.

  She waved her arms until she caught his attention. She pointed at the creature, and then pointed at a spot just below the roof upon which she stood. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw him wink.

  D’Arbignal dived between the creature’s legs and whacked its “heel” with the flat of his blade. The creature seemed to feel the blow, but was unharmed. It whirled around to give chase.

  D’Arbignal ran past her building, the creature following.

  Now was the tricky part. She had to time this just right.

  She ran to the opposite edge of the roof, ignoring the pain each time she set her left foot down. She gauged the position of the creature by the position of the flickering lights reflected across the street. She took one deep breath, then another. Then she sprinted toward the end of the roof.

  This was insane. It was reckless. It was foolhardy. It was …

  It was the kind of stunt D’Arbignal would do.

  Willow smiled grimly to herself and leaped from the edge of the roof. As soon as she cleared the roof, she placed her finger on her glyph and activated it.

  Time in the Other Place moved slowly when she wasn’t there. Almost nothing had changed since she had fled it last. It was still raining ice-spiders in that frozen valley, and the Mother of All Ice-Spiders had only now started to turn away from where Willow had disappeared. It shuffled on seven legs, holding up the leg she had partially amputated, protecting it from further injury.

  No doubt were D’Arbignal in her position right now, he’d shout something glib and witty. However, he wasn’t here, so Willow did things her way: she hacked at one of the Mother of All Ice-Spiders’s rear legs, drawing a spray of frost-like “blood””.

  It shrieked hideously, causing Willow’s teeth to vibrate. The giant spider whirled in place. Upon seeing Willow, it reared onto its two hindmost legs; the one Willow cut buckled, but did not give.

  Its circular mouth at its base widened in rage, its triangular teeth dripping with what looked like saliva. By now, hail-like drops of venom dripped from its fangs.

  The Mother of All-Ice Spiders drew back. It shuddered as it gathered force, and then it sprang at her.

  For a moment, something primal deep inside Willow’s brain recoiled at the sight of the giant spider sailing toward her. Then she brought her discipline to bear, took three steps toward the creature, and slid at it, feet-first, and at a slight angle.

  The creature had intended to land on her with the upper half of its enormous body so it could
bring its fangs to bear. Instead, it was the rear part of its body that fell on her. As it did, she reached toward it with both legs and one hand.

  As she braced her feet to catch the weight of the spider’s abdomen, she reached for the creature’s rear leg.

  The Mother of All Ice-Spiders landed on her! Its weight was astonishing, far more than she had expected. Willow’s legs began to collapse.

  She pushed as hard as she could. As she did, she grabbed the spindly, hairy end of the nearest leg. Her hand went numb almost instantly.

  She managed to deflect the abdomen just enough so its torso would clear her body. As it brushed over her, she touched her glyph.

  Willow found herself once more above the streets of Bryanae, with a fire-creature below her and the Mother of All Ice-Spiders sailing past her above.

  She swung on the Mother of All Ice-Spiders’s leg like it was a trapeze, and hurtled toward the roof of the one-story building across the street.

  “Yaah!” shouted D’Arbignal on the street below.

  Willow landed on the roof and rolled. She tried to roll to a standing position, but her foot wouldn’t take her weight. She rolled a moment more and tried again. She came to her feet just as the Mother of All Ice-Spiders slammed into the side of the building from which she had leaped.

  She spun in time to see the enormous ice spider bounce off the building and land almost directly on top of the fire-creature.

  The being of ice collided with the being of fire. A horrid screeching filled the night. An enormous cloud of steam billowed skyward.

  Willow hobbled to the edge of the roof to gauge the damage. Below her, the Mother of All Ice-Spiders was nowhere to be seen; it had apparently vaporized on impact.

  The fire creature seemed no better off. Where once its “head” and upper torso had been, there was only dissipating steam. Its two fiery arms, bereft of a body to which to attach, fell to the street and twitched. Its lower torso stood wobbling on two intact legs with no upper body to support.

  Below, on the street, D’Arbignal whistled tunelessly.

  “Um …” he said, seemingly at a loss for words. “Wow!”

  Willow staggered across the roof until she found the trap-door entrance into the building. She forced it open and descended as rapidly as her wobbly legs allowed.

  When she reached the street, the fiery legs still stood there, like some bizarre symbolic gate. D’Arbignal was whistling again, but this time it was a jaunty tune. He merrily dragged a nearly full rain barrel toward the remains of the creature. He continued whistling cheerfully as he cupped his hands, filled it with water from the barrel, and splashed it onto the creature’s legs. There was more sizzling and more steam.

  D’Arbignal repeated the action again, and then once more. The legs gave way and the entire remains collapsed into a burning pile. He bobbed his head in time with the tune he whistled while he walked around behind the barrel. With the final note of his song, he kicked the barrel over.

  The rainwater ran along the street and into the remains of the fire creature. Another cloud of steam, smaller than the first, rose into the sky. When it had cleared, there was nothing left of the creature except small pockets of flame on the ground.

  D’Arbignal stamped out each of these with the bottoms of his boots.

  He grinned at Willow as she approached. He drew his rapier and spun around theatrically, his eyes watchful.

  “That can’t be all,” he said. “There’s got to be something else. I mean Four Fingers’s guards, the two assassin clans, a fiery monster, and what I swear looked to be a spider made of ice. Pfff. Child’s play. Barely an appetizer. I’m looking forward to the main course!”

  However, no additional attack seemed to be forthcoming. D’Arbignal seemed almost disappointed. He looked at Willow and opened his mouth to say something, but she interrupted him.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, “might I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, Willow? Of course!” His face was all manic smile. “Ask away!”

  She gestured at the carnage about them: the dead assassins and the smoldering ground. “Was all this really about some girl?”

  D’Arbignal flinched as though he had been punched in the gut. His smile vanished. His face contorted with unexpected sorrow and outrage, and after a moment, tears streamed down his face. He pressed his lips together as if to swallow a sob, and held up one hand at her.

  He shook his head, and then wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. He half-turned away, as if to hide his shame from her. He attempted a smile, but couldn’t sustain it.

  “You should have seen what he did to her,” he said at last in a choked voice. “He boiled her eye out of her socket, Willow! Boiled! Her poor, young, stupid, innocent face! Ruined! And for nothing.”

  He shook his head slowly, his mouth turned down in fury. “Nobody deserves that, Willow. Nobody!”

  He struggled against the surge of emotion, turning his head back and forth. Then he forced a pained smile onto his face.

  “But we sure poked a few eyes of our own tonight,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Didn’t we, Willow? Eh?”

  Willow was trying to think of a reply when she surprised herself by slamming D’Arbignal against the wall of the warehouse and kissing him.

  Chapter 56

  D’Arbignal worked at the lock of one of the vacant stores with a thin metal tool, his fingers fumbling with eagerness.

  “Almost there,” he said. He glanced wolfishly at her; she felt a tremor of desire run across her chest and shoulders.

  “Shut up,” she said. “Hurry.”

  She felt an astonishing degree of desire. While she wasn’t asexual, decades often passed between lovers. It had never been a priority.

  But this was different. The way he had fought tonight! His mastery of the rapier. The way he exploded into action. She hadn’t been aware of it at the time, but her desire had been mounting the entire evening.

  However, it was D’Arbignal’s surprising moment of vulnerability that had ignited the blaze. On the surface, he was an irresponsible dandy, “a lovable rogue with a heart of gold”, as Four Fingers had called him. But there was more to him, buried below the surface. This resonated with Willow in ways she did not understand, nor did she bother to try.

  The lock clicked. When D’Arbignal rose from his crouch, Willow shoved him into the store and latched the door.

  Inside, the store was filthy with dust and cobwebs. D’Arbignal smiled, his eyes shining.

  “Ugh! It’s filthy in here,” he said, miming disgust. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to—”

  “Shut up,” she told him, shoving him against the wall and kissing him again. She was not skilled at kissing, but D’Arbignal didn't appear to mind. He moaned once and his lips turned up into a smile beneath hers.

  Willow undressed while D’Arbignal watched in admiration. Her body had always been a weapon, so ordinarily she felt neither shame nor pride. She was neither prudish about nudity nor an exhibitionist. Her body just was.

  Nevertheless, seeing D’Arbignal’s appreciative eyes roam over her body made her feel different, just this once. His eyes were wide and he shuddered with anticipation, like a child unwrapping the present of his dreams. Yet she felt inadequate; her body was lean instead of curvy, and her breasts were little more than swellings on her chest.

  “Your body is … exquisite, Willow,” he said.

  “I know,” she said, ignoring his hollow flattery. “It’s not much to look at.”

  “Not much to look at?” He traced the underside of her breast with the back of his index finger. She shivered with unexpected pleasure. “Willow, had I known there were women as beautiful as you in Bryanae, I would have impersonated the King a long time ago.”

  “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” she said.

  “And you didn’t land one. It’s the truth.”

  Her face grew warm. She knew she was blushing. She pulled off his tunic and threw it to the floor.

>   “Hey, mind the clothing …” he protested.

  “Shut up,” she repeated. She pressed her lips against his, then grasped his shirt with both hands, tearing it in a single motion.

  “I’m sure Shara will appreciate the extra income,” he quipped.

  “Shut up,” she said yet again.

  “Willow, we must work on your pillow talk.”

  His body, too, was exquisite—minor cuts here and there notwithstanding. He was slender, which had made him look weak at first, but she saw that his muscles were in fact very well developed. His stomach, in particular, had that peculiar ribbing pattern normally found only in dancers and athletes.

  If you did somehow succumb to the temptation, the Queen had said, I’m sure you realize that there’d be no place to which you could flee to escape the full weight of my wrath.

  Screw her. Let her try.

  Willow reached for his breeches, but he stayed her hand. “I think I’d better do this myself. My clothes don’t fare too well under your ministrations.”

  He removed his breeches and she stared at him while he folded them and placed them atop the remnant of his shirt.

  She glanced at his penis. She could tell he was certainly in the mood, and she felt she would die if she didn’t have him inside her immediately.

  He caught her looking and smiled devilishly.

  “I know,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “it’s not much to look at it.”

  “It looks adequate for our purposes, Your Majesty.”

  He looked crestfallen.

  “I was fishing for a compliment,” he muttered.

  “Shut up,” she told him.

  “Willow, as lovely as you are, your banter leaves something to be desired.” She was about to tell him to be quiet, but he forestalled her with a finger to her lips. He gestured around at the dusty room, replete with misfit windows and a greenish-brown tint staining the floor.

  “This place really is filthy, Willow. Seeing as the Guard maintains this neighborhood, couldn’t you have at least kept it clean?”