Moments

Moments is an Erien setting story, by Terri Pray.
Artwork by Samuel Pray, created using Daz 3D, Filter Forge and Photoshop. 

Don’t move. When you’re safe, stay there, don’t let them see you. No matter what you hear, what you see, you must obey me in this and remain hidden.

She could still see the power glimmering behind those calm silver tinged eyes as her mother had issued the order. Calm, strong, determined and beautiful, those words and so much more described her mother. A mother she had argued with time and again, only to find out that mother or not, she was the Queen and would be obeyed - especially by her only child. Authority that commanded her on three different levels. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t disobey but Goddess, how she wanted to ignore those words. It would have been so easy to dart back to her parents, draw blades and fight. Yet she’d been forced to give her word, to obey her mother and leave, escape, run like the child they still believed her to be.

Shouts rang out from the beach. Cruel laughter, screams of pain,wood cracking as the ship died under the onslaught of flames, and more sounds, steel on something that she couldn’t identify. Dancer’s body tightened, muscles taut as she fought to hold position, her gaze fixed on the fire claimed form of the ship. Tears stung her eyes, blinding her in the moment that she let them spill, but didn’t dare to wipe them away from her face. Movement would only draw attention their way and with attention came danger, injury and the potential of death.

Only when she believed it was safe did her right hand moved to the hilt of the dagger she wore on her hip, the movement a slow, careful, calculated one. If they moved toward her, she had to be ready. A dagger wouldn’t be enough to save her life, but she could also use it as a focus for a spell, to gather the shadows and form them into a weapon, a trap, something that would help her to survive the moment.

Magic came at a price but it was one she was willing to pay, at least this time around. The spent energy replenished, in this case, quickly enough, leaving her ready to use her abilities again should the need arise.

Her gaze never left the men and women on the beach, though they made no move toward her hiding place. In truth they hadn’t left their spoils and the burning wreck in at least two candle marks. Not that she would allow herself to grow complacent. She’d been trained too well for that to happen. Yet the need to strike out, to claim their lives and take vengeance for the pain they had caused, pushed at her to take action. It itched beneath her skin, stinging her nerves until she was forced to focus on her breathing, letting the tension ease a fraction at a time.

The killers danced, moving across the sand in wild abandon, their feet marking new patterns in the blood soaked sand. Blood that had come from her family and friends even as the sun sank, casting patterns of burnt orange and red across the cloud heavy sky. The smell of burning wood and death saturated the breeze that carried across the beach, teasing at the loose strands of hair that had pulled free from her single heavy braid.

I won’t fail them. Her family, her people, her promise to her mother. She had to succeed, survive and make it back home. Nothing else mattered, not even her own pride or desire for revenge. Bugs crawled across her skin, digging under her still damp clothing, triggering a fresh wave of itching. Sand, sweat, gnats, salt and nerves all combined to claw at her nerves but still she didn’t move. She couldn’t, not without defying the final orders issued by her parents.

She blinked again, trying to clear her vision. She wasn’t going to cry anymore. Tears were for the weak. You didn’t cry in the midst of a battle, you barely even paused to wipe away the blood of your enemies mingled with your own sweat. Only doing so when you had a moment to spare or the fluids might interfere with your ability to fight.

No, warriors didn’t cry.

At least not where they might be seen.

Live. Survive. Return home. Nothing else had mattered to them when they had shoved her in the direction of her warrior Guardians. It hadn’t mattered that she had wanted to remain, to fight along side of them, they’d wanted her to leave. To be the coward and run, hide, not stand scream in the face of death.

Now they were gone.

Her mother, beautiful, powerful, with long red blonde hair held back in a tight braid, cheeks marked with blood and ash, her jaw set and gaze fixed on their attackers. No fear. No doubt. Only the sure knowledge that she had to hold the line until her daughter was safe. Twin daggers at the ready even as she screamed her defiance at their enemies.

Her father, flawed but strong. Bright blue eyes and a quick smile, laughter that had carried her through some of the dark times and a warm hug that had held her up when she’d stumbled. He was a warrior in his own right, something she’d witnessed again when Hawk had pulled her away from her parents. In that moment he’d turned and winked at her, his long sword in hand and his teeth bared in a hungry smile.

Sword. Her mother had lacked a sword. That weapon, one her family had wielded for generations, had been passed into the hands of the senior Guardian, with strict instructions not to place it in her hands until they were safe. No, not they, her. The daughter. The only legitimate child. The only one acknowledged by both grove and Goddess alike - and the one the attackers had been sent to find. Or so Hawk had told her before they’d run, before the majority of the attackers had reached the ship. He’d recognized something about the force, their colors or the cries. She was the target, and death would not be the fate they had in mind. No. A marriage as a means to claim the island they called home.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, sucking in between her teeth, her gaze focused on the remains of the ship. Tattered, burning sails moved in the wind, though only half of the main mast remained. Figures moved in front of the burning wreck, men for the most part, though there were some women among those who had attacked the ship and all but wiped out both passengers and crew. Any spoils had been dragged onto the sands, and more than one of their attackers had opened a keg of ale or helped themselves to wine as a part of their celebrations, adding to the maelstrom of movement. Light glinted from the tips of blades, laughter and blood curdling howls carried on the air, though thankfully the screams of their victims had ceased some time ago. Had others survived other than herself and the bleeding, silent man who lay behind her?

If so, where were they?

Would she be able to find them? Would Hawk allow her the chance to look?

No, his priority would be returning them both to the Isle. 

“They will be gone soon, Dancer.” Hawk’s low voice reached her ears. “There’s nothing left for them now and our tracks were covered. Come back here, please.”

Of course they are, you made me cover them up. Magic, a subtle spell, just enough to return the sand to normal, wiping out any traces of their passage though the time it had taken to cast the spell had cost them both something that could never be replaced.

Tony. Sweet, over protective, always smiling Tony. Gone now. One of the many lives claimed by the attack. The man she had planned on marrying, despite protests from Hawk and an outright ban from her mother. He was her guardian, or rather guardian in training. It wasn’t unheard of for a guardian to marry their ward, but it was very rare indeed. Her mother had, for a short time, been involved with one of her three guardians, long before she’d married the man who was Dancer’s father. Nothing had come of that, no child, nothing long term, but plenty of memories that had brought more than one smile to her mother’s face.

A relationship, a time in the grove, a Beltane lover, all of these were acceptable but a husband - less so. But she loved him. Had loved him from the time he had been brought into her life as a guardian in training when he’d barely been more than fourteen. Now, at nineteen, he was dead. His blood feeding the sand like so many other friends and family members.

Had loved him. He’s dead. Gone. I can’t bring him back. Not even the Goddess can bring him back.

Her Tony. Beloved. Trusted. Calm and considerate, barely willing to steal more than a kiss, despite her attempts to persuade him otherwise. No, he’d been sweet, loving and had wanted to wait. So they had waited. Now it would never be. No wedding night, no Beltane blessing, no dancing around the fires with him, sharing mead and more. Only memories of a few kisses, of holding hands and whispered promises. The ring, she didn’t even have her ring anymore. It had been lost, snatched from her hand in the desperate flight from the ship. It hadn’t been much, just a simple band of silver with a small piece of amber in a filigree basket.

Lost to one of their attackers. Stolen, just as he’d been stolen from her.

Blue eyes, blond hair, and an innocent smile. Too innocent for this world. She knew that now, had known it from the start if she wanted to be honest with herself. He’d hated his hair but had loved hers. Candle marks spent with him untangling her braids, unweaving the strands and finger combing it. Fire. Living fire, that’s what he’d called it.

Blaze red, flames, the mark of the Goddess if the legends were to be believed. Her mother hadn’t been a full chosen, but one of the bloodline, keeping the throne until the next true born came of age.

Had she known?

“We’ll be able to move soon,” Hawk spoke, his voice soft but not a whisper. He was too smart for that, a whisper would carry, just as a hiss would. Better so soften tones and not have your words carry beyond the ears you intended them for. “But I need you back here, Dancer. Now.”

Dancer didn’t look back at him. She didn’t want to. Not after the way he’d dragged her away from the fight. Anger remained in the pit of her belly, a sullen, still hot coal that refused to cool. Yes, he’d done the right thing, she’d accepted the order - reluctantly - but it didn’t stop how she felt.

Being childish.

In all fairness she was still a child in the eyes of many, but that was an excuse and she knew it. She’d been trained better than that. Her entire childhood had been dedicated to school, training, everything that would help to prepare her for her role as Queen upon the death of her mother. Something she had assumed would be years from now, decades, when she was ready to take the throne. Not when she was sixteen.

Today was supposed to be my birthday.

It was still her birthday, just not one she would ever want to remember.

Defying Hawk any longer made no sense. She didn’t need to watch the killers that closely, no, they’d be able to see and hear any approach from the cover she’d settled Hawk into. In all honesty, she’d moved to the edge of that cover because she hadn’t wanted to be near the man who had dragged her away from both her family, and the cooling corpse of the man she loved.

Don’t think about that.

Too late. His open, staring eyes, slack lips and blood pooling in the sand. The light gone from his eyes now and forever.

Dancer swallowed hard, forcing the wave of fresh grief under control before she eased back on her belly through the undergrowth, slow, careful, stopping anytime she thought she’d made a sound, or there was a drop in background noise. She wouldn’t be the cause of them being discovered, even if she had to take a full candle mark in order to make it back to Hawk.

Her last remaining guardian and a man who was injured. Badly injured by the smell of blood that reached her nose, another thing they would have to take care of before they attempted to move from the precious cover they currently used. Gods alone knew they had been lucky to find this spot.

He made me leave my family, abandon them once and for all. Why should I care if he dies or not?

Because he was family as well, he’d been obeying the orders of the queen - her mother, he cared for her, protected her and had been her primary trainer since the day she had taken her first wobbly steps. He’d pushed, forced, bullied and praised her through training, always seeking improvement, never letting her grow complacent. Though she had magic at her fingertips, he’d forced her to learn how to use weapons skills, fighting, agility, and most of all, her mind.

The greatest weapon a warrior had was their mind - or so Hawk had told her time and again.

Emotions battled against common sense even as she turned her attention to her sole remaining guardian.

Hawk watched her, his dark brown eyes narrowed on her form as she turned to look at him, moving from her belly and onto her feet, crouching as she moved closer to him before settling down onto her knees by his left leg. He didn’t speak, though his face was lined with pain and a gray tinge marked his skin. Blood matted his close cropped hair from a gash on the top of his head, but that wasn’t the one that worried her - at least not since he’d reassured her that he showed no signs of real damage. It was nothing more than a shallow gash that bled heavily for a time. No, the sword he’d taken in his left thigh was her real cause for concern.

“Look at me, Dancer.”

Her jaw set but she turned just enough to meet his gaze. “We let them die. We saved our own damned skins and paid for that with their lives.”

“No, we obeyed the orders of the Queen.” His gaze narrowed, voice cold. “It had to be done.”

“No, it didn’t and now she’s dead. I could have saved her, if you’d just let me - if she’d… she’s gone. They’re all gone.” Her throat tightened, fresh tears threatening to spill even as she blinked furiously. No tears. No more public tears. She’d made herself that promise. “We should have stayed, argued with her, done something to help them, but we ran. Like cowards we ran.”

“Yes, they’re gone but that doesn’t change anything. When it’s safe to move we’ll make our way out of here and begin the journey home.” His voice never faltered, remaining cool, detached even as his gaze held hers. “We withdrew on the orders of our Queen, our commanding officer. There will come a time when you have to issue an order that someone else disagrees with, but you will still expect that order to be followed.”

Dancer bit back a growl as her hands clenched into tight fists. “I know.” It didn’t matter that he was right, that she had been taught better. This was her mother! I want my mother back. I need her. I’m too young to be without her. No child should bury a mother so early. Except there wouldn’t be a burial. The burning ship was a pyre for both her parents.

No father to stand at my wedding, sword drawn, ready to strike if my husband proves false.

Only Hawk remained to stand in the place of family, friends, and loved ones. A sworn guardian, a warrior who would stand at her side but also willing to take her life should the darkness claim her. A terrible duty that only two guardians in the history of her family had ever been forced to follow through on.

“Let go of the anger, Dancer.”

“How?” That wasn’t all she wanted to say, but anything else that came out of her mouth would have made the situation worse. “I don’t even have time to grieve! I want to - damn you - can’t you give me time to grieve?”

Grieving meant tears, that would be done in private, not where someone else could see her.

“Do you want to add the ‘it’s not fair’ to your wailing, or are you done with the whining, Dancer?”

The harsh words sliced through her deeper than any blade. She inhaled deeply and looked away. She wasn’t whining. Was she? Dancer turned away from him, soft trembles running through her body as she looked down at her stained leathers. Leathers her father had gifted her with a day ago. Matching boots, leather pants, a jacket and the soft off white linen shirt had all been presented to her the previous night. Black leather, now marked with sweat, blood and salt water. The right leg had a slight tear, but that she could fix. Maybe. Or pay someone to fix it, if she had enough money.

She reached back, rubbing at her neck, at the coating of salt, blood and sand only to shift the heavy silver torc she wore about her neck. The symbol of her rank, her acceptance by both the throne and the grove alike, and yet right now all she wanted to do was tear off the thick silver and throw it away. Yet she couldn’t. No matter what she felt, how angry, how many tears clawed at her eyes and throat alike, she couldn’t abandon the torc and everything it meant.

It’s not fair.

The thought jolted her. Goddess, yes… she was whining.

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her chin but didn’t look at him, not yet. She couldn’t. Hawk knew her too well, if she met his gaze he’d somehow know that those ridiculous words had echoed through her mind. “You’re right, I’m better than this.”

“Don’t be sorry, change the action.” Hawk’s voice softened. “It’s been a long day, you’ve been through more than anyone your age should have had to face. These are the moments that define who we are, Dancer. What you do now, how you choose to react when faced with all of this, will leave a mark that you will carry for the rest of your life.”

Dancer glanced back over her shoulder, blinking hard and fast. She wasn’t going to cry. Wouldn’t give into it. Not now. Not ever. “We need to get your leg seen to. I can’t do much more than I already have unless… there’s the one spell.” A spell she’d only used twice before, but it had worked. “It would allow you to get back on your feet, I’ll just need a little time to recover from it, that’s all.”

“No, you’re not going to use that. Not on me. I won’t put you at risk.” Hawk shook his head and reached out to touch the bandage on his upper thigh. “The kit. It’s a small one but should have a needle pack.” He grunted, the sound a low one as he shifted his weight. “You’re going to have to sew it, and get some of the green salve on it.”

“If we have any,” she grumbled but pulled over the small canvas pack. Green salve, there was another name for it, but the fact was green salve was easier to remember than the three part name the healer had given it. The spell would be faster but it would weaken her for a time, yet surely that was better than being stuck with a companion who would barely be able to walk, even with the salve?

Do it, use the spell, deal with the consequences later.

No, she couldn’t do that. Hawk had a trick up his sleeve, one he would put into play if he believed she might try to use her magic on him. The guardian to ward order, a compulsion spell that would lock her in place, forcing her to follow through with a simple command, but it would be enough to snap her control over the magic.

Damned stubborn man. I need him on his feet.

“We do, I packed that bag so I remember - for the most part - what’s in it. We have the green salve and some of the black salve. Should been a needle kit and a small bottle of ice-spirits. Should be enough in there to get me on my feet.”

Ice-spirits - that would help. With all of the dirt and ash they’d been forced to move through, crawl through in some cases, cleaning the wound had the potential to be a nightmare, but with the spirits they would be able to kill infection - or so the healers had drummed into her. Dancer smiled, pulling out the small bottle, wrapped in thick raw wool to reduce the changes of the bottle breaking in transit. Once that was set aside, she added the pot of salve, needle kit and bandages. A quick glance into the bag sent a chill down her spine. The bandages she’d pulled out where the only ones in the pack.

“We don’t have any back up supplies, Hawk. What’s in this bag, and what few things we both have in pouches and pockets, are all we have to hand.” Dancer struggled to keep her voice calm, even as fear clawed its way into the pit of her stomach. “I have some coins with me but I doubt that will get us very far.”

“We’ll find help once we’re on the road, Dancer.” Hawk explained as he shifted and touched a pouch on his belt

 “Should be able to buy horses, or at least one horse. That will make things easier. There was a fishing village on the other side of the point, and farms not far from the coast, between those two we’ll find the help we need.”

“I know,” but would the people they found be willing to help them? This wasn’t their home and their attackers - they’d be searching for them. For her. “Fine, let’s get this done.” A wound, an injured older man, and a teenage girl. Weeks from home, by sea, maybe longer as she didn’t know how much magic her mother had poured into the sails, and the odds of them having enough money to make it home were somewhere between slim and none.

“The Dragon Throne, your mother signed a treaty with them several years ago. They will help us.” Strength and confidence carried through his words. “Have faith, we will manage. The Goddess will protect us. You’re her chosen, the heir to the throne and the one recognized by the grove.”

Would the Dragon Throne help them? What if they were behind the attack. Why would the Goddess protect them when they were so far away from their home? Her mother, after all, had turned down a suggestion that the prince - Rhodan or something like that - join their houses through marriage. No, that wasn’t how it worked on the Isle. No arranged marriages. That went against the wishes of the Triple Faced Goddess. How could such an attack take place within the boundary of the Dragon Throne unless the royal family was involved, or had at least agreed to turn a blind eye to what was going on?

“Fine, we get this wound dressed and then we move.” She inhaled slowly, releasing the breath after holding it for a count of ten. “This is going to hurt,” she warned before reaching for the bottle of ice spirits. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“I have faith in you,” Hawk tensed, his breathing changing as she worked.

Dancer glanced up and then returned her attention to the wound, stripping away any cloth, though some had stuck to the flesh. Cold sweat washed over her body when she looked at the wound. Deep, torn flesh and muscle. She wasn’t a healer but the look of it - she wasn’t skilled enough to deal with this.

Her hands trembled even as she poured a small amount of the ice spirits on the open wound. Her guardian didn’t make a sound, though all color drained from his flesh, leaving him pale and shaking. His scent changed, a subtle shift into pain and fear but she didn’t mention it. He had his pride and she wasn’t about to tear that away from him.

Odd, not long ago she’d wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain she’d felt at the loss of her family. Now she was willing to defend his pride. Hawk was right. It all came down to moments in time. Decisions made and acted upon, instead of reacted to.

 “Alright, we’re almost done, just a little more.” She frowned at the needle, already cleaned with the spirits, and threaded it on the third attempt. “I can’t promise that this will be neat.” Sewing, she’d only managed it a couple of times and only then because Hawk had insisted all warriors needed to be able to take care of minor repairs. Using that limited knowledge to sew up a wounded leg wasn’t something she’d expected.

“You can do this. Breathe through it, focus on the stitches, not on the material.”

Not on the flesh, the muscle, the blood. Goddess have mercy, I have to do this. I can do this.

Cloth, not flesh. Leather, not muscle. She repeated the litany as she worked, securing the stitches in place, keeping them as small and neat as she could despite the fading light. Her hands didn’t shake, her breath didn’t hitch, all she knew in those moments was the feel of the needle in her hand. Only when she tied off the last stitch, cleaned the needle and tidied up the kit did she realize it was over.

With a quick shake of head Shadowdancer, heir to the Isle, pushed aside the last of her doubts and soothed the green salve over the wound before wrapping it and securing the bandage in place.

“It’s not perfect but it’s done.” She lifted her gaze, meeting the pain clouded eyes of her guardian.

He took a shuddering breath and wiped one hand across his brow before he spoke again. “Thank you, your highness. Now we move, they won’t leave the beach until dawn, and we’re going to make the most of the darkness.” Hawk confirmed, waiting only long enough for Dancer to return everything to pack and secure it with the single buckle before he held out a hand. “We do this together.”

For a moment, a heartbeat, she hesitated. Doubt, fear, uncertainty all washed through her mind and then vanished. She couldn’t do this alone, she needed to find a way home and for that she needed Hawk. Not just the guardian, but the friend, the second father, and the only person she knew in this strange land. He hadn’t betrayed her, he’d chosen to comply with the final order of his queen. He hadn’t dismissed her grief, he’d pulled her up short for acting like a child when she was on the cusp of being an adult. He’d done his job and no matter her pain, she couldn’t - with a now clear mind -  find fault with his actions.

She offered her left hand, bracing to take his weight as his larger, stronger hand slapped into hers, fingers closing around hers even as she tightened her grip and pulled her companion to his feet.

“Together.”

Sworn to Serve

Sworn to Serve is an Erien setting story and continues on from last week's post - His Boots. 

Artwork by Samuel Pray, created using Daz3d, Photoshop and Filter Forge.

This isn’t what I signed up for. Selena closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her thoughts before she smiled, opened them again and took hold of her brother’s arm. “Have faith in yourself, brother. If you can’t have faith in yourself, have it in me. I won’t let you do this on your own and I won’t let them tear me from your side.”

“I know that, Selena, and I’m grateful for that, for everything you’ve done to help me, to support me through this. You lost a father too and yet you’ve put all of that to one side in order to support me.”

A promise made, one she would always keep, no matter the cost. “We’ve kept them waiting far too long as it is, let’s get this over and done with and then we can deal with the rest of the problems.” Problems that began and ended with Veren. She sighed, nibbled on her bottom lip and did her best to portray the expected image, that of the concerned younger sister, unsettled and still grieving over the loss of her father. It wasn’t that she didn’t grieve, far from it. Like Richard she’d loved their father, but channeling that grief and all of the emotions that came with it, was the logical thing to do, at least as far as Selena was concerned.

“I should assign you a body guard, at least until we know what’s going on and who is behind it.”

Selena smiled. “Oh Richard, you can be so over protective at times. I’m not at risk, I’m not in the line of succession.” Unless you die. Would Richard see the risk? No, not with what was going on right now. He had too many other things on his mind. Relieved she urged him down the corridor, forcing the relaxed appearance into her steps. Whatever happened she was ready to deal with it.

Even if her brother might believe otherwise.

Torches and lamps flickered along the corridor as they walked, their steps muffled by the thick rugs that had been laid out over the cold stone. Faded colors and newer rugs were laid by side, each one varying in size, design and color. Perhaps, in a place like the Dragon Throne castle, the rugs would all be of a similar design or be a mixture of longer rugs that had been woven for the castle, designed solely for use in one or more of the corridors, but here things were simpler.

Father didn’t believe in spending money on trimmings. Especially where so few would see them. He’d paid attention to the great hall, the guest rooms so people would be comfortable, but their own rooms, there he used older pieces, rugs that might be a little worn, because appearance didn’t matter to him.

Noise filtered out from behind the closed, heavy wooden doors. Doors bound with black iron, the wood dark from age and smoke from torches and lamps. Voices. She could make out voices but not the actual words, or the individual people. She glanced at the two guards, one on either side of the closed door, and nodded, searching their faces for anything they needed to be aware of. One of the men, his hair grizzled beneath the leather helmet he wore, gave a near imperceptible shake of his head.

Safe. At least for now.

Selena tugged on Richard’s arm and drew him to a halt before she moved in front of him and turned to meet his gaze. “We need to make sure you’re presentable.” She brushed her hand down his tunic, straightening the cloth and the belt both. Soft cotton, a rich red color, trimmed with silver along the hem and neckline. New, as were a few others in his trunk these days, this one had been completed by the seamstress only two days ago, especially for this event. This moment where he would stand up and take their father’s position before the assembled throng.

“I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are. Now, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, straighten your back and shoulders, and focus.” She tugged a little more on the tunic, making sure that he looked presentable.

“Fine, but I don’t want to do it.”

“I doubt our father did either.” She patted fingertips against his cheek. “Buck up, it will all work out regardless of what you believe right now. You can and will do this and I will be right there. If you feel uncertain, look for me.” She couldn’t be on the dais with him, that would cause problems, but she could stand close by and keep an eye out for any problems that might arise.

Not might. Would.

“Yes, I know, and the guards are there.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Not that I’m a slouch in the sword or dagger department.” He touched the hilt of his dress dagger.

Thrown weapons, if there was an attack in the hall it would be with a throwing dagger, cross bow bolt, or something of that nature. It wouldn’t be up front and personal. Better yet, poison, but she’d taken steps to prevent anything of that nature from touching him before they’d left the room. “Put your gloves on, and remember, don’t eat or drink anything that’s offered to you. Not without having it tested first.” She touched the ring on his left hand. “Touch the gem to the food or drink, it will vibrate if there’s poison.” The ring, it had cost her a fifth of her savings, but if it kept Richard safe, then it was worth it.

“Where did you get this from?”

“We can discuss that later, after you’ve taken the oath.” She nodded toward the closed door. “Let’s get this done.” She stepped to the side, clearing the path to the double doorway.

Richard blanched, swallowed hard and looked at the door. A single bead of sweat formed on his top lip and Selena resisted the urge to wipe it away from his skin. Funny, he was the older sibling, but her desire to protect him and care for him continued to be an important and undeniable part of her life. Father would be amused.

Maybe he would be, but he’d also approve. She was, without a doubt, the strongest of the pair, with skills her brother knew nothing about. Their father had seen that, channeled those skills and seen to it that she had access to the right tutors so she could continue to learn. Skills she had focused, honed and now knew that she could call upon without thinking about it, all without her brother knowing about it.

“Stay near the guards, little sister. I don’t think I could handle losing you as well.” Richard gave a wane smile, worry creased across his brow before he touched the double door. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Selena smiled and followed him into the chamber.

Conversation died as they walked into the large room and began the walk down the center toward the raised dais with its single, ornate, high backed chair, lit by a four torches that hung on the wall behind it. The chamber was one of the oldest rooms in the castle and it doubled as a feasting hall on special occasions when the smaller dining hall would not accommodate everyone who had been invited. If things went well, there would be a feast seven days from this point to celebrate the induction of Richard into the position of Lord Balvane.

All she had to do was keep him alive long enough to complete the ceremonies.

Four guards followed them through the hall, two stopped at the base of the steps and two more followed Richard up onto the dais. Selena eased to one side of the room and moved to the far left hand side of the dais, half behind one of the curtains that hid a side door into the main body of the castle. A door she quickly locked, sliding a bar across the door to prevent anyone from coming in behind her. She nodded to the guards who positioned themselves on either side of the throne like chair, they were both men she trusted, men she knew would place themselves in danger in order to protect Richard.

Selena looked back at her brother, watching as he stood for a moment in front of the chair before he sat down, hands resting on the carved arms of the chair. Despite his fears he looked every inch the Lord of Balvane, one of the twenty-seven lords that answered to the Dragon Throne. There were baronies and duchies along with knight’s fifes, but the twenty-seven lords were among the oldest families who owed their fealty to the throne. Legend had it that the lords were descendants of the men and women who had founded the kingdom alongside of King Elhard and his dragon, Agate.

“This day we come to swear fealty to Richard, the new Lord of Balvane,” a tall man, with gaunt features, in the black and white robes of Cosmas, god of Order, stepped up onto the steps leading up to the dais. “Richard is known and named as the eldest child of Balvane. In the name of Cosmas I proclaim him of sound mind and body, ready and able to wield sword and shield in defense of his people, and as such he is suitable to claim the title left vacant by the death of his beloved father.”

A soft, low rumble vibrated through the room, a mixture of uncertainty and assent.

“Would any here dispute his right to claim the title?” The priest held up a scroll, rolled and bound with a silver ribbon and heavy seal. “If there is one who would speak, let them do so now, knowing that Cosmas frowns upon those who bear false witness, or seeks glory, for this is a position of power and responsibility that will lay heavy upon the shoulders of the one who takes up this burden.”

By rights no one should have spoken in this moment. Tradition dictated that the question be asked, then a moment of silence before the priest took the next step in swearing him in.

“I would speak!” Tall, arrogant, with muscles that tightened and rippled beneath the plain tunic and hose he wore. Dark hair, caught in a pony tail at the nape of his neck, whispered over his back and a neatly clipped beard drew covered his chin but his cheeks had been shaved clean.

“Name yourself before the gods and know that they are listening.” The priest inclined his head, the scroll still held in his left hand.

“I am Veran, natural born son of Darian, former Lord of Balvane.”

There it is, the first public claim that he is of our blood. She eased out of the shadows, taking a half step so she could keep a closer eye on the man. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment before she opened them fully, tapping into the magic that was a part of her bloodline. Perhaps magic was the wrong word, as she could cast no spells nor could she weave any wards, but she could see when others were gathering power in order to use magic themselves.

A low rumble moved through the crowd.

“Before witnesses you claim a blood connection with the family Balvane?” The priest pushed for the declaration.

“I am the eldest child of Darian Balvane, born out of wedlock but of his blood nevertheless.” Veren lifted his chin as he turned to face the room. “Natural born, but by the laws of succession I still have a right to be considered as the next Lord of Balvane.”

“And your proof of blood kinship?”

Something rippled around around Veren, it was small, subtle, barely there but it existed nevertheless.

“Father had planned on making an announcement but he was found dead before he could step forward and name me as one of his blood.” Veren announced, his words carrying through the room and with it the soft ripples of power.

Persuasion, he’s using a persuasion charm. She felt the tug, the pull on her senses but her own protections flared softly into life, repelling the attempt even as the ring she had given her brother did the same thing, protecting him from the subtle magic. She had told him about the poison detection but not this, he would have asked far too many questions and she wasn’t in a position where she felt comfortable or safe letting him know all of the secrets she held onto.

If he’s turned everyone else in the chamber, then… She swallowed. Hard. Even the guards had been touched by the magic. How could she protect…she frowned, her gaze moving to the priest. A deep frown creased the man’s brow and it too a moment before she realized he’d felt and repelled the spell. A priest. One with the ability to lift the spell from the rest of the room.

She took a step forward, gathering her will around her, but all she had the ability to do in that regards was protect herself against subtle spells. An all out attack, one blatant to everyone around her, would be far more than she could handle. She knew that one all too well.

The priest shifted his weight, turning just enough to catch her out of the corner of his eyes. The nod was barely precipitable, even to her, but it was enough. He knew what had happened and would lend his assistance.

“I would ask the good people gathered here to honor my father’s wishes in…”

“W-wait.” Richard called out, the word marred by a stutter.

Veren scowled and turned to look at him.

He doesn’t understand why Richard isn’t being hit by the compulsion. Where had Veren learned to spell cast?

The same magic she had access to had become something far more in him - which meant he was blood, wasn’t he? No, it doesn’t mean that, it means he has access to magic. He can cast spells, I can’t. Panic flared and eased in the same heartbeat.

“Brother, what ails you?” Veren took a step toward Richard, expecting the priest to step to one side. “You look ill.”

“Nothing ails me,” Richard coughed and shook his head, clearing his throat before he continued. “You ask those here to honor my father’s wishes, yet provide no proof. How can we know this is what he wanted when neither myself nor my sister heard anything from him. Nor is there anything in his office. Not so much as a hint of a mention in his journal, which all who know my father would know he kept faithfully.”

She expected the ripple of magic this time, and braced for it, praying that the ring would do its job and continue to protect Richard.

It swept over Richard, focused on him but the edges of it touched Selena. She closed her eyes, keeping her thoughts clear as she stood there. She couldn’t back down, couldn’t let the magic move her from her chosen path. She was stronger than this but still the spell beat at her, tearing at her defenses. Her vision blurred, pressure build within her mind and then - as quickly as it had struck - it was gone. She rocked on her heels, shaking her head to clear it.

“Will you not support me, brother? Will you fail to follow the wishes of our father?” Veren stopped, frowning at the priest who still stood in his path. “Step aside, man. Let me go to my brother and help him through this moment.”

“No,” the priest didn’t move.

Richard swayed on his feet, one hand pressed against his left temple. “I don’t feel…”

“Step aside, my brother needs my assistance.” Veren growled, closing the gap between himself and the priest. “Move. Now.”

“You do not have the right to walk onto the dais at this time.”The priest replied, his voice calm. “I will not step aside.”

It all happened so fast that, on looking back, Selena was grateful for her instincts.

Veren moved, drawing his dagger from its sheath on his hip. The priest brought up his hands, a shield of protection cast and settled in place before Veren struck. The blade slid off the shield, but the force of the impact was enough to send the priest tumbling from the steps with a startled cry.

Richard shook, still affected by the wave of magical attack. The two guards remained stunned, locked for a moment by the persuasion spell even as Veren bounded up the steps toward his brother, the dagger still in hand.

“They will not help you, brother. But you will help me.” Veren flipped the dagger, holding it out hilt first to Richard, a wave of magic following his words. “Take it and do what is best for all of us. End your suffering, leave the care of your sister in my hands and say goodbye to this world.”

Richard groaned and held out his hand, the movement slow as he fought against the pressure of the spell. Even with the ring, with the entire focus of the magic on him, he couldn’t fight what was happening. His hands tightened into a fist only to open, his palm up, ready to accept the dagger.

Selena struggled against the final pull of the spell and darted forward, slamming her entire body weight into Veren. As one they sprawled, tumbling down off the dais until they hit the floor with a combined yelp of pain.

“Bitch!” Veren hissed, twisting beneath her. “Stupid, ignorant bitch!”

She didn’t waste breath on a reply. With a clenched fist she struck, gut punching him with every ounce of strength she had. She straddled him, punching down a second time as she kept one eye on the dagger, still held loosely in his hand. The blade had bitten into his skin, blood seeping across his palm as he struggled beneath her.

“Stop her! She is a traitor!” Veren screamed, but he lacked the ability to focus. Without focus there was no spell and those in the hall stood there, blinking, some of them shaking visibly as natural defenses kicked in, giving them a chance to fight back against the persuasion spell that had claimed them. “Restrain her!”

No one moved.

“Little bitch, I don’t know how you avoided the spell, but I’ll find out. I’ll break you!” He hissed, twisting the dagger in his hand.

Time slowed. The blade now pointed in her direction, the grip tight enough to whiten his knuckles. She tensed, weight shifting, all of the lessons, years of training, kicked in. She didn’t think; she acted. As he thrust, she blocked and slapped his hand aside, the blow enough to cause him to yelp. Pain. She was aware of the pain in her hands from the blows she’d struck but that didn’t stop her. She didn’t care if she broke bones in her hands, wrists or arms for that matter.

With the second blow she knocked the dagger from his hands, sending it skittering across the cold stone floor.

Noise built up around them, voices as men and women began to pull free from the lingering affects of the spell. As long as she kept him from being able to focus, she knew he wouldn’t be able to release another spell. No matter how skilled a magic user the man was, he needed focus in order to use his ability and something told her, from the way he had resorted to physical attack, that he wasn’t among the more powerful mages. That gave her an advantage, even if it was a small one.

“You can’t win,” he growled, arching up from the floor, shoving her back with a hard push from both hands.

Selena hissed between clenched teeth, letting the force of his attack rock her back. She went limp, not fighting the momentum of the strike, instead she turned it into a backward flip, coming back up to her feet, her weight balanced equally as she looked down at him. “You’re a liar and a traitor. A magic user, twisting the minds of those around you to force them to bend to your desires.”

“You… you lie!”

“No, she does not.” The shaky voice of the priest cut through the growing noise.

Veren turned, his jaw tight, face pale save for twin spots of color in his cheeks. “You are mistaken, how could I use magic? I’m no mage!” He turned to look at the men and women in the chamber. “She has confused the priest, perhaps even corrupted him!"

“I swear by Cosmas, that I am untouched by the corruption of magic, despite the attempt by Veren, self proclaimed true born son of Darian Balvane, to use a persuasion spell on all within this room. When others fell beneath the spell, only myself, Richard Balvane and Selena Balvane stood untouched from the first wave of magic. I, in the name of the Lord Cosmas, do swear that Veren attempted, by the unlawful use of magic, to corrupt and control all within this chamber.” The priest lifted his head and voice alike, taking care to make sure that his voice carried through the room.

“No! Tha-that’s a foul lie!” Veren protested.

“You know it to be true.” Selena advanced on the man.

Veren backed away one step, then a second, his body tensing with the need to escape. Panic colored his features, fear stripping him of common sense as he looked around the chamber. “This wasn’t meant to be this way. I am the rightful lord. You all know this. You were ready to support me before this…” he waved a hand in the direction of Selena, “this woman stepped into the business of men!”

“Do you claim that a woman has no right to speak in this chamber? Despite the laws of this land and our King?” Richard broke free of the remaining hold created by the spell, his voice calm and cold. “Do you name yourself above the laws that govern us all?” Her brother inhaled, shaking his head clear of it all. “This man used magic on us all, search your memories, look past the magic that has left your minds fogged, just as I am now having to do. We were bound by magic and he then attempted to use that same magic to remove me from this world.”

Veren stammered but nothing beyond intelligible sounds made it past his lips.

“Seize him,” Richard ordered.

Selena rolled out her shoulders, working out the tension that had grown from the fight. Though it had been brief in nature, Veren was a good seventy or more pounds heavier and now her body began to alert her to the aches created by the conflict.

“You have no right,” Veren protested, backing away from the two guards that hadn’t stepped up onto the dais with Richard. The two who had taken position with their future lord, and were now free of the spell, tensed ready to move if their colleagues needed assistance. “I will not be treated like this.” He continued to back away but even as she watched, Veren’s left hand moved to the soft leather pouch on his belt.

Hair rose on the back of her neck, instincts screaming a warning even as she shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to act.

Veren snarled at the two men, his hand tightening on something he’d withdrawn from the pouch. Magic rippled in a wave of energy around the traitor even as he tossed black and silver dust into the air, the spell triggering the moment he released the energy. A spell she had encountered before.

Blinding!

Selena turned away just in time, hands covering her eyes, the heels of her hands blocking out light in the moment before the spell ignited.

Crack!

The sound rang out through the chamber, panicked screams mingling with cries of protest as the spell struck every man, woman and child who hadn’t taken steps to protect themselves.

She coughed, spitting out the bitter taste of the spell infused powder, opening her eyes and blinking rapidly when she was certain that the last of the spell had been spent.

“He’s gone,” the Priest informed her, his voice pitched low. “I felt his exit a breath after he cast the blinding spell.”

He was gone, but they hadn’t seen the last of him. Whatever reason he had for targeting her family wouldn’t have vanished with the casting of the blinding spell. Nor would a man of Veren’s nature willingly turn away from what they saw as their prize. No. He’d be back. Sooner or later there would be another attack and she would be there to prevent it, even if her actions today now meant she’d have to explain to Richard exactly who and what she was.

“What happened?” Richard’s voice, touched with fear, cut through the air.  “I can’t see.”

Other’s took up the cry, proclaiming their lack of ability to see, but the only one who mattered - at least to Selena - was her brother. She nodded once to the priest, knowing he would begin to settle the room, allowing her to focus on Richard.

“Selena?”

“I’m here,” she confirmed.

“Why can’t I see?” The panic flared and eased within the space of a sentence.

“A spell, it will pass shortly.” He wouldn’t be content until she reached him and he felt the touch of her hand on his arm. “Let me help you, brother.” Head held high, Selena Balvane, sworn sword in the service of the house Balvane, turned and walked up the steps to attend her duty to her lord…