“Don't you see?” he asks, hissing the words into her ear. “I will always win. I am better, faster, stronger, smarter than you will ever be. That is why I inherited Furo, and that's why you had to crawl away to Arktos, to try and make something of yourself. You crawled away to Arktos! The land of women.” He spits onto the ground beside Charaxus' sword that has fallen completely to the earth, splashing into a puddle at her feet. “That is why I am the chosen one of the goddess, and that is why I will bring about the change this pathetic world so sorely needs.”
Charaxus is gasping for air, and I'm gasping with her, my hands to my face, trying not to watch the dagger twisting up so deeply into her belly, into her lungs, probably. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, and Virago's hand at my elbow is even stronger, her fingers curling tighter. Calla stands there, her jaw clenched, her hands fisted at her sides, and all the black-armored knights are looking to us now.
“Kill the knight and the woman,” says Charix, disgustedly pushing his sister to the ground where she gasps, curling herself inward, blood leaking out into the mud. She turns a little, her face to the sky, her eyes open, tears leaking from the corners of them. “And do it quickly,” Charix mutters, cleaning his dagger on the torn edge of his fur coat. “We must go back through the portal with the queen.”
Virago unsheathes her sword, bringing it over her shoulder at lightning speed, but there are about thirty knights here (and that massive champion), all with swords, all advancing toward us, and one is reaching for me. It's too many, too much.
This is how we're going to die—in my backyard, on my planet, but at the hands of someone who's from another world. As a child, I had so many hopes and dreams about magic. I never thought it would be the death of me.
But no. I'm not ready to go, and I'm especially not ready to go at the hands of such a complete asshole.
I dash forward, and because all of the knights have their attention trained on Calla and Virago, they don't even catch me bolting until the last minute, and then it's too late. Because I'm beside Charaxus, and I'm picking up her sword from the mud.
Virago said that when a sword is sworn to a knight, anyone else who tries to wield it will be out of luck. And...that is totally true. When I pick up Charaxus blade, it's like I'm trying to pick up an entire fallen tree trunk in my hands. I wheeze, holding it as “upright” as possible, but its blade is still stuck in the mud. I can't lift it any higher.
And Charix, of course, laughs, the bass sound of his laughter booming around me like the thunder.
“Holly!” Virago shouts, but since she's looking at me, her eyes wide, her face full of fear that I'm now in the middle of things, a few knights take this moment of her distraction to surround her, pummeling the sword out of her hand. It falls to the mud as they grab her arms, as she growls, struggling. They hold her arms tightly, and she stares at me with wide eyes, panting.
Charix takes a step forward, his eyes flashing and his smile poisonous.
“How funny,” he says then, lifting his hands, gazing around at the rest of his knights. “Isn't this amusing? How many of you would like to try your sword practice on this new sword dummy? It'll be just like the practice yards back at home.” Charix shrugs, taking another step closer. “Or do I, perhaps, want to run her through right now? I do so love to watch the life of a person leave their eyes. It gives me something to fall asleep to at night,” he whispers to me, his gaze blazing with a fury and hatred that makes me take a step backward in revulsion.
But that's the only step I take. Because he is super tall, and he's got a million muscles, and he's wearing black armor and a black cape, and he's pure evil—anyone would take a step back from that. But no more. I am standing my ground today. I have a sword I can't even lift, I'm in my own backyard, and we're probably about to die.
But Virago would die with honor.
And, dammit, that's how I'm going to die, too.
“I love you, Virago,” I shout to her, and my voice shakes when I say it, but I mean it with every fiber of my being. Virago shakes her head, already about to tell me to watch out, and the whole world seems to slow on its axis in this moment, this one moment...as she stares at me with wide, pained eyes, trying to reach across the space between us.
If the last words I ever say are “I love you,” that’s got to be okay.
I stand firm, I take a deep breath...and then I try to lift Charaxus' sword again.
If it were a just world, I would be able to lift up this sword right now, and it would come out of the mud with such force and power that it would arc through the air and aim itself toward Charix. But life isn't necessarily fair, and the world is certainly not just, so the sword? It doesn't budge. Instead, the blade sinks even deeper into the mud, squelching further into the earth.
It feels a little like trying to pull the Excalibur from its stone, and I'm not King Arthur material by any stretch of the imagination. The sword doesn't give; it doesn't even budge.
Charix laughs again, and it's the cruelest, worst laugh, the laugh of someone who is laughing so hard at you that he can hardly remember to breathe, his sides heaving, his head thrown back in slow motion as he lifts his sword, as he raises it to the heavens. The lightning dancing across the sky is reflected in the sword blade. I stare up at the blade, at the wicked gash of lightning tracing itself across the sky, the metal reflecting the light, and I realize this is it. It's over. That blade is about to come crashing down on me.
It's over.
I tear my eyes away from the terrible, glittering blade, and I rest my gaze on Virago, instead. Virago, who is standing there, held back by six knights now, seven knights, all of them pouring around her, because she's struggling so strongly against them. She's still struggling, still trying to reach me, but it doesn't matter. That sword is going to come crashing down, and everything will end for me.
But, at that moment, Virago's eyes widen, and she glances from me, down to my feet.
Charaxus is still curled up in the mud. I can see the gash in the chink of leather armor just beneath the edge of her metal chest plate, the blood gushing out of her belly, can see the blood pouring down her side, merging with the rain and the mud and spilling out onto the earth. But at that moment, she lifts up her hand, pain tracing itself across her face, contorting it, but she reaches out to me—and she touches my foot.
I'm wearing these little green slippers that go with my dress. They're very thin, and now they're completely mud-soaked, so when Charaxus touches my foot, she's touching my skin and curling her fingers around my heel.
“Now,” she growls.
And suddenly, there's power. Raw, pulsing, electric power pouring through me. I realize in that moment that Charaxus is lending me her energy, her power, so that her sword will respond to me, and in that exact same instant, it does respond. I'm lifting it, lifting it like it weighs absolutely nothing, and Charix takes a few quick steps toward me, raising his sword above his head, his face contorting into a leer of sadistic pleasure, because he's about to murder someone.
But not today.
I lift the sword, and because Charix expected it to be leaden, expected me to be completely unable to lift it, he is not prepared, not prepared at all, and because he's moving so quickly, he can't stop his trajectory.
And as lightning and thunder arc across the sky, roaring, the storm above us powerful and potent and completely magical (I'm convinced), King Charix of Furo falls onto the blade of the sword.
And it cuts right through him.
His face contorts, but now it's not contorting with pleasure but with rage, blind, animalistic rage as he staggers back, as the blade slides out of him, and I'm left holding Charaxus' wickedly glittering sword as Charix—with blood dripping down his side—hefts his sword and takes another swing at me, this time aiming for my neck and head.
I ran him through—why the hell is he still coming for me?
I lift up the blade, and I parry his sword, but just in time. I can feel the power thrumming through my
hands, can feel the sword helping me (it's a really odd sensation, like I have complete control over my arms and hands, but someone else is helping me make those decisions in my own head—like the sword itself is sentient in some way. Weird, right?). His sword shings through the air, coming at me from the other angle, and I lift up Charaxus’ blade, and I block it.
I can't move, really. If I step backward, there's Charaxus, and if I step anywhere, she won't be touching my foot, and I am highly aware of the fact that this is the only thing keeping us alive right now, her hand on my foot, filling me with her power. But out of the corner of my eye, I see Virago break away from the men holding her tightly, and then she's grabbing for her sword in the mud at her feet.
She lifts it up, and the blade is shining in the lightning as she turns, swinging it wide. The black-armored knights take a quick step back, but then Charix is roaring at them.
“Stand your ground, men!” he bellows. “It is but one knight!”
“Two!” shouts Calla, tripping one of the knights neatly with her foot and taking his sword from his sheath in one lovely, elegant move. And though the sword is very, very difficult for her to lift (her brow furrows with strain, and her arms shake, because that sword is not bonded to her), she manages to use it against the next knight who comes for her, hitting him in the back of the head with the pommel as she neatly sidesteps his rushing bulk, moving aside in one graceful motion as he falls, unconscious, at her feet.
“Three,” I manage, lifting up Charaxus' sword again as Charix begins to take out all the rage over his day really not going as he'd planned...on me. He begins to bang his sword down over and over again as I hold up my own sword, trying to keep his strength from pushing me backward. Over and over again, he beats it down, treating the sword like a club he’s trying to use against me, but I hold up Charaxus' blade, and somehow the energy keeps thrumming through me, even when my arms start to shake.
Charix still bleeds, his blood rushing out of his open wound and leaking down his side, the mud devouring it eagerly at his feet. But still, even with the wound, even with the bleeding, he still comes for me.
And there's murder in his eyes.
The lightning at this point is almost constant, the storm roaring around us so much that I'm wondering if we're nearing the eye of it, and I'm wondering exactly how much magic played a part in creating this storm. Because this is no normal summer storm. This is a storm full of power, a storm of roaring winds and rains and thunder and lightning at such deafening and blinding levels that it's all I can do to concentrate on holding the sword and keeping Charix from killing me… Because the storm raging around us is something out of legend.
I hold up the sword, my strength failing me, and I can feel the source of the energy pouring through me beginning to lessen, too. Charix takes another step forward, and I have to take a step back—I have nowhere else to go. But I step back, and the back of my sodden dress, the backs of my legs, are against Charaxus now. She's holding my foot with fingers that are growing looser with each passing heartbeat. I chance a glance down at her, and I see that her eyes are closing.
She's dying.
The sword is starting to feel heavier in my hands. Virago is trying to get to me, and so is Calla, but we're all surrounded by so many different knights, and their one goal is to kill us. They're trying their absolute best to do this as Charix rages, beating his sword down on mine. Virago and Calla are not going to reach me in time.
I have to do this myself.
And, in a moment, I'm not going to be able to.
I've never held a sword in my life, other than that one time with the Boston Beast—or, should I say, the Goddess Cower. I don't know how to use swords, and I've watched a million movies involving them, and about a million more sword fights at Renaissance festivals, but watching and doing are two completely different things...
But somehow, at this moment, everything standing against me doesn't matter.
Virago is there, and she needs my help. The love of my life is trying to get to me, is battling so many more men than is fair, struggling, thrusting her sword and parrying and smashing it down right and left, and still managing to look elegant and graceful as her feet complete a sword dance that is breathless to watch, in the tiny glimpses I've caught of it. She is not wounding anyone but making them all fall unconscious, just like Calla is. They’re not killing the knights, though the knights are trying to kill them.
I need to help Virago.
I need to help the love of my life.
And that means I need to get to her.
And Charix is in my way.
Charix wants me dead. There is an evil spark in his eyes, in the way he's smiling as he uses his sword like a club, not displaying a hint of the artistry that Virago and Calla are using to fight against the knights. Instead, he is brutish, trying to thrust his strength against me because I'm smaller than him.
I flick my gaze to Virago. And somehow, through the whirlwind of blades, through the swords and armor and life and death...she sees me. Her ice blue gaze, in that instant, cuts through everything else, and it finds me. And I find her.
We lock eyes, and as I feel the power weakening, as I feel Charaxus' hand begin to slide down my foot, her eyes closing, the power ebbing and leaving me...
I lift my sword.
Charix was bringing his sword around again to my right. By lifting my sword now, my right side is completely exposed If this doesn't work, his momentum will follow through, and his sword will slice through me. But I put everything I have into this one movement. I lift my sword, and I step forward, feeling Charaxus' hand completely leave my skin. It's gone; her power is gone, her energy leaving me in a single instant. In that second, it's just me lifting this sword that is much too heavy for me. But I'm already in motion, already stepping forward, already thrusting forward, up...and in.
The sword goes straight through Charix and out the other side. He crumples into me, and then we're both falling into the mud together. I lay there, stunned, as he vaults over me from his momentum, and he falls into the mud beyond me.
Charaxus, Charix and I are in the mud, and around us, a battle rages on. But as I scrabble up, trying to find Charaxus' sword, a hand reaches out, and fingers curl around my ankle.
I turn back, my heart in my throat, half-expecting it to be Charix, but it's not: it's Charaxus.
And she's holding something out to me in her black-gloved hand.
“It's the shard,” she whispers, blinking back the rain, her lips pale as she uncurls her fist and drops the shard into my hands. “It's ready,” she says, and then she slumps a little, back into the mud.
It's ready? I stare down at the shard in my palm.
This is the shard that can create portals. As I stare down at the little sliver of glass, I see lightning reflected in its surface.
I give a quick intake of breath and stare up at the sky. Charaxus reflected light onto the shard to get it to work.
The only light source I have...is lightning.
I glance around. I'm not exactly sure what Charaxus had planned. A retreat? Yeah, a retreat sounds pretty damn good right now. Because while Charix fell, that doesn't mean he's not going to get right back up again, like he's trying to now, pushing himself to his hands and knees in the mud with a snarl. Calla and Virago, as elegant and amazing as they are at fighting (Calla, by the way, is completely badass), are vastly outnumbered. And the knights are starting to push them back to back. They're doing well, their swords are flashing blurs, even with the magic making it difficult for Calla to lift hers, but it's only a matter of time. They are outnumbered. They will fall.
The lightning flashes again overhead, and I turn the shard in my hand, wiping the rain out of my eyes, concentrating the reflection of the lightning on the shard, and the reflection onto the ground in front of me.
The lightning flashes, is reflected...and, in a heartbeat, a portal is opening. But this is not like any of the normal portals I've seen open before. No, this one is ve
ry, very different.
Because there is a hole in the ground, a wide hole of white, pulsing light.
And it's spinning like a very fast whirlpool.
And it's beginning to tug at me.
Virago and Calla leap back from the knights at the same moment that I realize that Charaxus did something to the shard. It opened a portal that would take anyone nearby with it, a portal with its own power source and gravity.
This means that I need to get away from the portal if I want to get away from Charix and his goonies.
And I need to do it right now.
But saying and doing are two completely different things, and as I try to take a step backwards, I can feel the suction of the whirlpool portal pulling me in. It's tugging at me, pulling at my arms like a dangerous undertow.
“Holly!” Virago yells over the roar of the storm, over the roar of the portal tugging at me. She's holding tightly to Calla, and together the two of them are trying to reach me, but Virago is gripping the banister of my porch, and she's holding out a hand to me. “Let go of the shard!” she shouts.
I uncurl my fingers, and in that moment the shard goes zipping out of my hand, arching through the air toward the portal.
Charix moves past me, grappling toward me, but, like the shard, is pulled inexorably toward the portal, too. His face is equal parts rage and equal parts fear as he tries to clamor toward me, but he can't quite manage it—and then he's pulled down through the portal.
Almost all of the black-armored knights—including the giant champion—are through it then, and the portal is pulsing with a strange blue-white color now, pulsing every heartbeat or so. It's going to close. I feel it in my gut. It's going to close. It's almost over.
I'm backpedaling as fast as I can, but the portal is tugging at me so strongly, I'm beginning to feel like it's impossible to fight it. I fall to the ground, start to crawl backward, back toward the house, back toward Virago and Calla, each holding out their hands to me, their faces stricken.
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