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“Honor Hawksley,” Arlade smiled, moving to keep Si between him and the knight. He glanced at Sir Givens and Bremer. “And friends. I must say, I’m usually so good with numbers. I was positive only four knights made it here and one of them was dead. Yet I left three knights to die in there and I find another two out here. What is your secret?”
“This is the end for you,” Gillen intoned.
The scream startled them all. Gillen, Tergin and Bremer glanced at the shop but quickly turned their attention back to the four in front of them. Even Arlade seemed slightly taken aback before his smile widened further.
“That was certainly the end of your Blue Knight,” he chortled.
“Yren?” Bremer gasped, her bow wavering.
“Concentrate, Brem!” Her father chastised her tightly.
Arlade looked around Si, taking a closer look at the First of the Third. The three moved slowly, giving ground as the two knights and one archer stepped towards them. His eyes narrowed. Hawksley was standing but favoring her right side. Her right arm hung there unnaturally – and there was a steady stream of blood dripping from her right hand. It appeared as though something had cut through at the elbow joint of her armor.
Her face, too, was gaunt and bruised and there was a cut down the left side of her face, though it appeared shallow. Her armor was dented and dirty in places. Her sword, however, was held calmly in her left hand, the blade steady. So, she was hurt – but not badly enough to stop her.
His gaze turned to the knight beside her. He held a bloodied long sword of a blue hue in his right hand and a blue dirk in his left. For a moment, he wondered what the fascination was with blue in the chaos-ridden town but shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. The knight had seen better days and his steps were halting. No blood poured from his armor as from the First’s – but he was hurt, probably badly.
The archer had an arrow notched and her bow drawn but there was uncertainty in her eyes. She was afraid – afraid of hurting the princess, likely. It would be enough.
“I must say, Honor,” Arlade sighed. “You’re looking a bit the worse for wear. I’ve already got what I came for so there’s no need to have me and my troops kill you as well. Why don’t we call it a draw? I’ll take off with my spoils – and you take off with your life. Everyone’s a winner!”
When Gillen was silent, Arlade shook his head. “No? Well, you can’t say I didn’t try to spare you.” His face turned stony. “To me!”
Arlade had made it to the south side of the shop, just beyond the narrow alley between the two buildings. Two teams of his Irregulars surged forward from the alley, placing themselves between the knights and their master.
“You see, Honor Hawksley, I’m always prepared,” Arlade chuckled. “Kill them, then torch the town. Oh – crucify the archer. We need someone to tell our tale – and make sure no one is foolish enough to intercede in our affairs ever again.”
Arlade was in mid-chuckle when a nightmare of blue flame suddenly appeared between his Irregulars and the First of the Third. Arlade couldn’t control his shock! The Blue Knight’s very armor was burning around him and in his hands he held shards of blackest night. Across his chest, lay the sigils of Deia in deepest burgundy and Kyr in darkest purple. Arlade made the mistake of looking up – and found no face waiting for him. Instead, only bright blue orbs of burning fire blazed beyond the burning helm.
Arlade was without words, without thought as the burning knight effortlessly swung the shards of night through the air. Si stumbled a step back, bumping into him and Stell was backing up on the other side. At first, Arlade thought the burning knight’s movements were ritualistic or perhaps just threatening. Only when the ten members of his Irregulars fell lifeless into the dirt did he begin to comprehend. The Blue Knight had just killed ten of his men effortlessly, in mere moments.
Arlade had no words as the teams of Irregulars fell. His mind refused to grasp what had just happened. It was impossible – yet another impossibility in a sudden deluge of them. What the fuck was this man? Or was it a man? Had some Wizard conjured a demon made flesh? Could such a thing even be done?
He shied away, trying to push his mind back to the task at hand. It was a difficult task, his brain trying to process that it had just seen ten men killed in less than as many seconds. He swallowed hard as pieces of the team’s metal swords clattered to the ground.
“Gods!” Arlade gasped, his face rising from his fallen men. “What in chaos’ unholy name are you?”
The burning knight didn’t utter a sound, just set those slivers of night which he held like swords into what Arlade recognized as a ready position. It wasn’t until that moment that Arlade realized those shards were actually the black swords he’d coveted.
“Qualan! Kill them all! Now!” Arlade screamed. He backed away, tugging on both Si and Stell.
The mage had been watching from across the lane, waiting, biding her time. The team around her had started across when they’d seen the two knights and the archer closing on the blacksmith shop, but she’d held them back. She wasn’t certain what had occurred in the shop across the way though the clattering noise had stopped a while ago. She thought she’d heard Arlade’s voice, however, so it was likely the man had done what he set out to do – or was interrogating those inside to find out where the princess was.
She’d watched the hulking woman and slight man exit the shop and nearly called out to them, to warn them of the knights and archer. The sound died in her throat as Arlade stepped out, confronting the three. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the interplay and she tried to decide if she should join Arlade or wait to make sure everything went as expected.
Then the Blue Knight happened. Gods, but she could feel the surging power coming from the apparition, more power than she’d ever felt at one time before. It roiled off the knight in waves, eldritch power licking up and down the armor in a lover’s caress.
And the swords! She’d never felt their like before, power beyond reason literally drinking in all of reality around them. It was like they weren’t really there yet they were pulling every ounce of energy around them into the void they represented. There was power there, power like she’d never even heard of before. Power beyond anything she could even comprehend and it filled her with the twin sensations of darkest fear and deepest desire. If she could have such power; if she could control such power.
She watched as the swords drank in the life of the Irregulars in front. They moved effortlessly through the air they profaned by the very nature of their existence. Nothing stopped them, not steel or flesh or cloth or bone, they rent through it all as if they struck nothing but smoke.
For a moment, she cowered, unable to get enough breath to speak, let alone move. Then, she heard her name, heard Arlade call for her to kill them. For a second, she thought about turning around, thought about running from that fearsome knight with his other-worldly weapons. In the end, though, she knew she could never run far enough to be safe from Arlade.
She called forth the fire, pulling it directly from the ground beneath her feet. Fire from Earth – completely illogical and yet the fire she conjured was hotter than anything she’d ever felt. She pulled the eldritch energy and pooled it between her outstretched hands, a glowing ball of eldritch fire – blue fire, she noted ironically – building between her fingertips. As the spell completed, she focused on the one for which it was bound – the burning blue knight with his midnight swords – and released it.
She began the spell again, began pulling the fire from earth again. She knew nothing could stop that mass of burning fire, was relieved that the world would be rid of the towering power which had been the blue knight. The ball of fire began burning anew between her hands – when the spell sputtered and died, the mage’s attention lost as she beheld the impossible.
With a wave of the mighty shard of night in his right hand, the burning knight batted the fiery ball away, causing it to blast a small section of the road ten yards distant.
It was beyond belief. The spell was unstoppable. There existed no shielding spell, no counter-spell, no eldritch power which could stop it. Yet, the burning blue knight had done it without thought, without consideration. Effortlessly.
She quickly summoned another and sent it after the first, her heart pounding loud in her chest. She was perspiring, not from the heat but from the fear of what she’d witnessed. The fear of what might happen if this ball were batted away just as easily.
It was. The knight wasn’t hurrying, was walking towards her as if marching in a parade. Sedately. Inexorably. The ball of blue fire reached him and he batted it away again, this time with the sword in his left hand. There was no panic, no hesitation in his step. He had no fear.
“Kill him!” Qualan cried, stepping backward.
The team guarding her stepped forward but she had no delusions they would be able to stop him. She only hoped they could delay him long enough for her to get away. As they moved forward, she turned down the street and fled after Arlade and the two Irregulars who were themselves running down the southern road.
Yren could feel only the burning of his limitless rage and unending hatred. He reveled in it, reveled in the way the twin fires burned through his other emotions. He’d lost so much, lost so many people. His mother. Two fathers. Two sisters. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t go on losing everything. There had to be a reckoning!
He was that reckoning. He was the end of all pain. His eyes followed the mage as she ran. She’d tried to hurt him, too. She must end. Everything must end. He could no longer stand to feel all the pain of his life.
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