by Rowe, Andrew
And Myros has the Heartlance, Orlyn’s sacred artifact. They say any wound it inflicts will bleed forever, giving strength to the wielder.
Lydia raised a hand to her chest, not in pain, but in a fist. A salute.
Two minutes of battle against a god. You’d better be what I hope you are, Taelien.
“Sounds great!” Taelien shouted back, his powerful voice nearly inaudible due to the sheer size of the arena.
“Begin!” Edon shouted from above.
Taelien charged straight at Myros.
Oh, no.
Taelien’s greatsword sang through the air, the Heartlance lifting to meet it at the last moment. A flurry of rapid slashes sent sparks flying from Taelien’s rusted steel as it impacted again and again against Myros’ weapon, every strike deflected with the smallest modicum of effort possible.
Lydia leaned over the edge of her box, transfixed by the display. Taelien lashed out from a dozen angles, each strike leading fluidly into the next, only to meet the unrelenting wall of steel each time.
Finally, after a few heartbeats of Taelien’s assault, Myros struck back. A simple horizontal swing of the spear slammed into Taelien’s weapon, carrying him backward with enough force to take him off his feet, sending him sailing backward twenty feet in the span of a breath. Myros followed instantly, dashing across the arena floor in a blur, spear poised for a killing strike as Taelien landed and began to slide across the stone.
The moment Taelien landed, he was swinging again, deflecting the Heartlance and stepping in closer, his blade touching the air where Myros’ helm had been an instant before.
The Heartlance’s bottom flew upward, forcing Taelien to side-step to avoid being smashed, and he brought his blade diagonally across toward Myros’ gauntleted hand. The god of battle stepped back, avoiding the strike, and then planted the spear back into the stone, pausing.
“Unexpected,” the voice said, a whisper that carried across the whole of the arena.
Taelien’s reply was too quiet to hear, but it was followed by a flash of his blade toward Myros’ right arm.
Myros stepped back, withdrawing the spear, and raised the weapon in something that looked like it might have been a salute.
“Second warrior, engage,” Edon shouted.
That couldn’t have been two minutes, Lydia considered, watching as the man with the sword and shield circled around behind Taelien to attack.
Taelien, seemingly oblivious, pressed his attack at Myros. A splinter of iron broke free from his blade as it struck the tip of the Heartlance, and Taelien stepped back, barely dodging a thrust aimed at his chest.
As the second warrior approached, Taelien spun and smashed his greatsword directly into the man’s shield, causing an ear-ringing vibration and taking a visible chunk out of the wood. Grinning, Taelien danced backward, the Heartlance’s point catching him across the right shoulder as he retreated.
Taelien stumbled back a few more steps, his left hand reaching across to press against the wound.
Lydia winced. It’s all over. A wound from the Heartlance will continue to bleed, no matter how much pressure he puts on it.
With a shout, Taelien’s hand glowed red, and even from a distance, Lydia could see a hint of smoke rise from Taelien’s arm.
And then he was back on the attack.
Flame sorcery, Lydia realized. He just burned his own wound shut. By the gods, how is he standing?
Taelien’s sudden resurgence caught the Queensguard defenseless, and Taelien smashed the steel sword right out of the man’s hands. A moment later, Taelien was in close, slamming a fist into the man’s face, and past him, shoving the plate-armored warrior to the floor.
The Queensguard went down, and Myros gave a nod, spinning the Heartlance and diving forward for another attack.
This time, Taelien winced visibly as the Heartlance connected with his blade, but he gave no ground. Myros grabbed the spear in both hands and forced it directly against Taelien’s iron blade, pushing him downward toward the ground.
“Third warrior enters,” Edon proclaimed.
And, in the moment of distraction, Taelien swept Myros’ leg.
The warrior-god toppled to the ground, rune-etched plate flashing, and swung the Heartlance directly at Taelien’s feet. Taelien jumped over the strike, then turned and raced toward the newly-incoming warrior, laying a horizontal slash into the Queensguard’s shield.
Lydia glanced at Veruden, noticing for the first time that he was at the edge of the booth, leaning over it along with her. He seemed just as transfixed by the fight as she was – which gave her a window to act. Never taking her eyes of the fight, Lydia sat back in her chair, swiftly removing the mirror, quill, and parchment.
Taelien landed a single glancing blow against the shield, and another against the warrior’s left greave. The axe-wielder’s counterattacks were too slow, too short-ranged to catch Taelien as he danced backward, readying himself as the god of battle stood back up.
“Fourth warrior enters,” Edon proclaimed.
This time, Taelien was the one distracted, gazing upward toward Edon, betrayal evident on his face. It hasn’t been two minutes, his face seemed to say.
I know, Edon’s grin seemed to reply.
Growling, Taelien spun on his feet as the Queensguard with the shield and mace sprang began to advance. Taelien charged – right past the mace-wielder, and toward the Landen of the Twin Edges, the only fighter that still remained on the sidelines.
Landen gave a nod of acknowledgement as Taelien approached, catching Taelien’s incoming blade a graceful parry with his left sword, and then trying a counter with the right.
Taelien blocked the riposte easily, taking a step back, and wincing noticeably as he landed heavily on his injured leg. Lydia winced along with him, watching as Landen raised both of his blades into a high stance, practically sitting the blades atop his armored shoulders.
The Lysen Tear stance, Lydia realized. He’s inviting Taelien to take a swing at him, gambling that he can parry anything that goes toward his exposed head, or trade hits if Taelien goes for a lower part of his body. Since Taelien is unarmored, Landen expects that trading blows would be to his advantage.
Taelien smirked, nodded, and took a swing at Landen’s feet. Landen hopped over the strike, swinging downward with both blades. Taelien caught both against the greatsword, then surged forward, shoving Landen back. Landen slashed as he stumbled backward, but his cuts met only open air.
Myros was approaching from Taelien’s side, but the swordsman didn’t seem to notice. Lydia grit her teeth, pressing closer against the edge. I can’t shield him from here, but maybe if I was a little bit closer...
Taelien spun away, tapping the flat of his blade against one of Landen’s weapons, and then rushed across the arena into an open space, leaving Landen with a perplexed expression.
Taelien’s head scanned from side-to-side, taking in his four remaining opponents. Myros made a gesture at the three Queensguards, and they spread out at equal intervals, moving to surround Taelien and approach him at a steady pace.
Taelien planted the tip of his sword against the stone and used his off-hand to beckon for Myros to approach.
Myros didn’t take the bait – the four oppponents continued to advance as a group, while Lydia snatched one of her pre-written notes and placed it against the mirror.
Plan E, it read.
Myros surged forward, a wave of steel piercing a dozen places as Taelien struggled to dodge. A second and third cut landed against his skin, and Taelien fell backward, a perplexed look on his face as he backed up nearly into the stone wall of the arena.
Taelien gripped his blade tightly, taking flashing strike at Myros’ midsection, but the Heartlance was there – and the bladed edge tore Taelien’s rusted iron apart.
Left with half a sword, Taelien struggled to parry Myros’ next strikes, each seeming to come faster – and harder – than the last.
Finally, the fourth strike dislodged
the iron weapon from Taelien’s hand.
Myros gave a nod and raised the Heartlance, preparing for a killing strike.
And the Sae’kes descended from the sky like a comet, trailing silver fire.
Taelien caught the still-sheathed blade in his right hand, spinning it in whirlwind of silver light, deflecting the Heartlance and landing a strike against the chain mail on the inside of Myros’ right elbow.
Myros took a step back, stunned, as the crowd took a collective breath.
The scabbard of the Sae’kes, lined with metal, was sharpened into a blade. A blade now wet with the blood of a god.
Landen stepped in next, undeterred by Taelien’s resurgence, but Taelien parried his strikes easily now, his weapon a blur of untraceable motion. Two, three strikes landed against Landen’s plate, but none made a mark – and another Queensguard had stepped in behind Taelien, mace at the ready.
Taelien sidestepped to avoid the mace strike and rushed at Myros, but the god of battle had recovered quickly, and the Heartlance thrust forward to impale the incoming fighter. Taelien slapped the spear aside with the Sae’kes, never stopping his charge – and slapped his left hand against Myros’ armor as he rushed past.
Landen’s blades shot out of his hands, followed by the blade of the first Queensguard to fall, and the mace and axe of the other guards a moment later. All of them flew directly toward where Taelien had touched Myros’ armor.
“What the...?” Veruden muttered, no doubt mirroring the thoughts of near-all the people in the stands.
Magnetism, Lydia realized. Taelien’s feints, each time he clashed against their weapons – he was magnetizing them.
Myros was a tornado of motion, slamming each of the projectiles with the Heartlance, deflecting them harmlessly. As each weapon was knocked backward, the remaining Queensguard retreated to avoid being hit by their own now-flying weapons.
Orlyn’s god of battle was not so easily deterred.
As each weapon boomeranged back toward Myros’ now-magnetized armor, Myros smacked them aside seemingly effortlessly, advancing toward Taelien one step at a time.
Taelien fell back toward where he had entered the arena, a look of determination on his features as he leveled the still-sheathed Sae’kes in front of him.
Myros snatched one of Landen’s swords out of the air and hurled it at Taelien, who obligingly dodged the strike. Myros charged as Taelien dodged the rebound, bringing the Heartlance downward in a heavy strike, too fast to avoid. Taelien parried, but the strike drove him back toward the ground, and Myros hopped over Taelien’s attempt to perform the same sweep that he had before.
The Heartlance tilted upward, catching Taelien under the chin, flattening him against the arena floor with a thump.
Myros did not hesitate, plunging the Heartlance’s point toward Taelien, but he rolled to the side. The point grazed Taelien’s side and pierced into the ground.
Taelien’s hand shot upward, grabbing the Heartlance and pulling it deeper into the ground. Myros grabbed the spear with both hands, lifting it – and Taelien off of the stone.
Taelien released his grip, tapping Myros on the armor with his hand a second time, and then shoved him toward the entrance.
Myros spun toward Taelien, thrusting the Heartlance at Taelien again, but the Sae’kes flickered and deflected the strike.
Then a spear flew out of the entrance hallway, arcing toward Myros armor –
Followed by two dozen other weapons and pieces of armor.
Myros swept the spear in a wide arc, and the entire audience could hear the god’s sorcery-amplified curse. Weapons and armor shattered from Myros’ strikes, but each piece of shrapnel simply boomeranged back a moment later.
Meanwhile, the magnetism gradually began to pull two of the remaining Queensguard across the arena, the intensity of the force now sufficient to drag them – armor-and-all.
Taelien continued to retreat, his off-hand reaching down to cover the freely-bleeding wound from the Heartlance’s last successful strike.
And, Myros continued to spin and deflect each of the weapons, Taelien raised the Sae’kes to throw.
“Enough!” Edon’s voice boomed.
The magnetized weapons clattered to the ground, and Lydia gasped as sorcery washed over her, triggering her Comprehensive Barrier.
Eru volis mar sharu taris.
The words were nonsensical to Lydia, but the effect was familiar – too familiar. Counter Sorcery, Lydia recognized immediately. The ability to remove any sorcerous effect. The greatest Gift of Sytira.
Edon had just invoked what she had only ever known to be the power of Sytira – and with greater effect than she had ever seen.
“No,” Lydia muttered. “How?...”
As Lydia watched, even the runes on Myros plate flickered for a moment, as the god of battle looked upward toward Edon.
“The challenger has proven, beyond the doubt, that his might matches his bravery. He will be given a place as an ambassador to our court, and the boon that I have promised.”
Taelien nodded, slumping to his knees, catching himself on the Sae’kes. Myros advanced on the fallen warrior, and Lydia gripped her sword, readying herself to vault over the rail – a forty foot drop - if Myros attacked again.
As Myros drew close, the god of battle thrust the Heartlance downward – anchoring it in the stone – and reached down with a gauntleted hand. Taelien clasped the gauntlet, and allowed Myros to haul him to his feet.
The crowd cheered wildly as the pair stood, each raising an arm to acknowledge the city’s cries.
Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, releasing her tense grip on the handle at her side.
“Well,” Veruden said, looking to her. “That was unexpected.”
Lydia found Taelien in the now nearly emptied armory, a medic tending to his wounds. Landen of the Twin Edges was sitting next to him.
The sorceress was still jittery with nervousness. “Plan E” had been one of the contingencies she had hoped to avoid – placing the Sae’kes and Taelien in the same location was gambling at the possibility of losing both. The swordsman had proven to be worthy of the risk, but she still felt the mild echoes of panic at having made such a rash decision.
“Resh, boy, you gave me an embarrassment there,” Landen was saying. “People are going to be talking about that fight for years to come.”
“Thanks,” Taelien said, wincing as the medic plunged a stitching needle deeper back into the skin on his left side. “You’ve got great speed and reflexes, but my sorcery gave me an unfair advantage.”
“That’s an understatement,” Landen replied. “But you needed it. And if you had to prove something today, gods, you sure proved it.”
Landen looked up, seeming to notice Lydia entering. “Ah, court sorceress. You catch all that?”
Lydia nodded. “Great fighting, both of you. Where are you both heading next?”
“Dinner, I think,” Landen replied. “Edon wants to meet Taelien at the palace as soon as he’s patched up.”
“I’d imagine. That was quite a show. Do you two mind if I come along? I’d love to hear more about the fight from your perspectives,” she asked.
Landen shrugged. “Up to this guy,” he nudged Taelien, triggering another wince. “What do you say, swordsman? You want the sorceress to come to dinner with us?”
“Well, if you put it like that, I don’t see any way I can refuse,” Taelien said, giving Lydia an exaggerated wink. “Didn’t catch either of your names, actually.”
“Lydia,” the sorceress replied, nodding to Taelien.
“Call me Landen,” the other swordsman replied. “What about you? I’ve only heard them calling you the Taelien – which I guess is true. Reshing showy there. How’d you make it come out of the sky?”
“Trade secret,” Taelien replied. “And you can call me Salaris.”
Chapter IX – Decieving Sight
Jonan was exhausted and, once again, half-blind as he stumbled into his false bedroom. Ma
intaining his invisibility over two hours had taken a toll, and casting the spell to cause the Sae’kes to shine like a comet as he hurled it into the arena had added to that burden. He had rushed to a hiding place as soon as he had thrown the sword, abandoning the invisibility spell, but the cost to his sight had still been significant.
Still, he considered with a grin, it was worth it. I just wish I could have seen Taelien’s expression when he saw it falling from the sky. Or Myros expression – that’d have been even better.
Throwing the sword to Taelien had been Lydia’s emergency plan – and one that had proven to be more successful than he had imagined. On one level, he regretted parting with the sword – he could have simply left the city with it and come home to a cascade of promotions when he handed it over. That, however, was not his mission – nor what he cared about.
He locked the bedroom door and slipped the rug off of the secret passage hastily, eager to get to bed. The lack of guests was somewhat disorienting – Taelien and Lydia had been a near-constant presence for the last several days, and he had been getting used to them.
I hope they’re alive, Jonan considered. Lydia is playing a dangerous game, and Taelien isn’t playing at all. He’s just dangerous. Or in danger. Probably both.
With a sigh, Jonan opened the passage down to his room. He had only taken the first step downward when he noticed a glint of glass in the wrong place.
Peering down, Jonan scanned the area with blurry eyes. Broken glass. Everywhere.
Jonan half-stepped, half-jumped back up the stairs, kicking the trap door shut a moment later.
Erase image of self.
He rushed to his false bed, reaching into the pillow case of one of the bottom pillows and withdrawing a sheathed leather dagger. With that in hand, he moved to the cabinet nearby, opening the third drawer from the bottom. Four unlabeled glass bottles sat in the drawer; he grabbed the furthest on the left.
With the vial in his right hand and the sheathed dagger in his left, Jonan moved back to the trap door and pulled it open, hurling the glass vial inside. As the vial shattered, an inky black mist began to spread across the chamber. Jonan slammed the trap door shut, took a step to the side, and drew his dagger.