The Blademistress
In his quarters, high atop Swanton Keep, Lord Aeryk stood behind a large, wooden desk and read the report. A short, cloaked man stood across the desk from the Master Mercenary, his cowl hiding his face and his unease. The infiltrator shifted his weight slightly; Aeryk's eyes shot up and leveled malevolently at him.
"You are sure this information is correct?" Aeryk asked in a low voice that bore only a hint of emotion.
"Aye, m'lord. All that there is to know is there," he said, motioning to the report in his master's hands. Aeryk knew the infiltrator's loyalties lay with the Shadow's Guild, but he also knew the man's loyalties lay more specifically with the leader of the guild, Lord Cresil. And not least of all, every member of the guild knew that the best way to gain power in Camelot under Emperor J'nar was to be master of the information.
"What of her family?"
The infiltrator paused before speaking. "She was born to a celt woman who died in childbirth during the invasion." He had been caught and would have to give up more information.
"And her father?"
"Unknown." Aeryk cocked an eyebrow waiting for the man to continue. "Apart from nebulous stories and rumors as to his heritage, the father is assumed dead." Aeryk eyed the man for a few tense moments then turned his attention back to the parchment.
"Very well, you may leave." The infiltrator saluted and quickly backed out the door. After a few breaths, Aeryk followed, his eyes not leaving the report until he reached the door. Opening it, the dark fighter motioned to his two guards. With a gesture to his throat he pointed down the hall where the spy had left then once again closed his door. A moment later the infiltrator's death cries echoed in the distance. Aeryk took little notice and read the report one last time.
"Abaigeal," he scoffed as he threw the paper into the fire. "Father's Joy, indeed."
Abaigeal thrust open the door to the training room in a rush. Her wavy brown hair was a mess and she was fighting it with a course brush.
"You're late," Rayne stated off-handedly. Abaigeal returned the admonishment with a grunt and smirk.
"I can think of one or two reasons why, Älskling."
Rayne nearly choked. The endearment was tossed his way just a little bit too loudly for his comfort. The elf glanced at two norse warriors nearby. The two men were sparring with swords and shields and had taken no notice of the exchange. Rayne scooted close to Abaigeal and cleared his throat. The young blademisstress strained to see what he was motioning towards while continuing the battle with her hair.
"No one heard," she shot back gruffly.
Abaigeal was annoyed. That much was obvious to Rayne; probably her hair, but more probably something else, and even more probably his fault. Women were women no matter where they were from and of what race they were a member. Rayne had seen his share of beds in many parts of the realms and he had come to know one immutable truth about his lovers: the very fact you have to ask is the reason for their anger. Abaigeal finished with her hair and tossed the brush aside.
"I don't like the walk of shame," the half-celtling finally whispered. "Especially after last night," she added with a pout.
Rayne mischievously quirked an eyebrow. "Oh. Why's that?"
He was going to do it. He was going to make her say it. Abaigeal would be annoyed if it was not one of his more endearing traits.
"You know!" she whispered loudly. "It was…special."
"How so?"
"D-different." Now Abaigeal was getting annoyed. Rayne smiled and let her off the hook.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Melamin." Abaigeal blushed. She did not understand the Elvish tongue but the way he said it gave her chills. "Perhaps you would like to continue it this morning?" Abaigeal blanched. This time she glanced at the other two fighters to make sure their conversation was not overheard or at least the context of which was not understood.
Rayne winked, took out his blades and began to place a covering over the leading edges. Abaigeal watched with curiosity. On each side of both swords, Rayne fitted long, thin pieces of wood and secured them with leather straps. The coverings protected the blades and any who might be struck by them. Abaigeal wondered why he bothered. She was long past this stage in her training; she had not used them since she was a child. Rayne handed her a pair for her falcatas.
"What are these for?" she asked uncertainly.
"To be safe," the elf replied. Abaigeal examined them then looked up to see Rayne securing a black blindfold over his eyes.
"What in the realms?"
"To make it dark." Despite his blindfold Rayne strolled up to his pupil and whispered in her ear: "Just like last night." Abaigeal's face went crimson. This was getting too much even for her. She secured the coverings to her blades which were surprisingly light enough not to throw off the balance of her weapons. Hesitantly she placed her own blindfold over her eyes…mostly.
"All the way, please," Rayne instructed. Abaigeal tilted her head up and peeked under the blindfold wondering how he could tell she was cheating.
"Just a guess," her teacher replied to the unasked question. Rayne took a few steps back. "It's time to try a different technique, Abaigeal," he told her as she pulled the blindfold down fully over her eyes. "I believe you are ready for the next step on the Path of Harmony." Abaigeal heard rather than saw him ready his blades. She furrowed her brow in disbelief and awkwardly held up her own twin blades.
"You're serious," she stated more than asked. She had never known her instructor to joke about lessons, but this was bordering on the absurd. Rayne took a swipe. Abaigeal heard his movements: the rustle of his clothing and the sound of his blade as it cut through the air. She tried to block it, but had no idea where it was coming from. The young blademistress found herself on her rear almost immediately.
Abaigeal grumbled and peeked under her blindfold to see her instructor's hand out to help her up. She begrudgingly took it.
"Are you sure you're not cheating?" she asked.
"Test me." Abaigeal made a subtle rude gesture, one she knew would get a response. Rayne stared at her unresponsive from behind the blindfold for a moment. "You made a rude gesture, but I cannot tell what." The elf grinned. Abaigeal was satisfied. Pulling her blindfold securely over her eyes she entered a defensive stance. Again, Rayne attacked.
This time was different. This time Abaigeal was ready. Without her eyes she had to rely on her ears. The first two swings of the elf's blades were easy to deflect, but Rayne kept coming: a third time, then a pause. Abaigeal's heart raced. Rayne attacked again, and she parried each blade again. Laughing, Abaigeal jumped out of range and pulled down the blindfold. Rayne stood before her smiling.
"Excellent!" her instructor congratulated. "You've learned that you must use more than your eyes. Attacks can come from anywhere. Rely on your eyes and you will miss half the battle." Abaigeal was elated. She replaced her blindfold and lunged at her instructor.
Rayne and Abaigeal danced across the room working their blades with incredible skill. Without her vision to distract her, Abaigeal found openings in the elf's defenses she had never realized existed. But when she had Rayne on the defensive, he retreated and changed his tactics putting Abaigeal back on heels.
And so it continued: both blademasters vying for dominance in a test of raw skill. Each time one of them gained the upper hand and went in for the kill, the other would turn the tables putting them on the defensive. Back and forth the lovers sparred. Abaigeal found a new passion in her education, and Rayne unleashed his skills fully.
Until this moment Rayne had held back in his role as Abaigeal's teacher but the time had come for her to learn what it meant to master of the Path of Harmony. The elf blademaster waded in impossibly close to his student with his blades slicing in a vicious cross cut. Abaigeal, with her eyes still covered, yelped and leapt back but Rayne did not relent. The elf spun around and nearly caught his student in the side. Even with his blades covered the hit would have been painful.
Abaigeal was kept on the defensive by this new strategy for quite a while. The young woman began to sweat with the excursion of evading each attack, and she knew she would not be able to keep it up for much longer. Then Abaigeal remembered the first lesson: breathe.
Calming herself, the Half-Celt Girl of Huginfel cleared her mind and concentrated on her remaining senses. In her mind the world slowed enough for her to search for the opening: the counter to Rayne's attacks. And she found it.
When Abaigeal knocked his left blade aside and scored a hit, Rayne's heart swelled with a pride he had not felt in years. He knew the only reason he let her blade connect was because of the protective covers shielding each other from the honed edges of their blades, but he was elated none-the-less. But now was not the time to stop.
Now nearly evenly matched, the pair fought to a standstill. Their battle grew fierce; their movements intense. When the standard fighting techniques did not work, the two combatants edged ever closer to each other until intimate contact was unavoidable. Abaigeal swore she could feel Rayne's lips near her face more than once and she nearly lost her concentration.
"You're a daring man, elf," she mocked jokingly. Rayne said nothing, but began to push Abaigeal towards the other side of the training hall. There the two norse warriors stood waiting. When Abaigeal was close, Rayne snapped his fingers. It was time for the next lesson.
With no cover protecting his blade, the first warrior swung at the young woman's head, but Abaigeal sensed the attack the moment the norseman's muscles twitched. She ducked just in time. Even with the added distraction she deftly parried Rayne's continued attacks. The norseman continued his task opposite the elf instructor and lunged at Abaigeal. And each time Abaigeal ducked or parried his attacks. Satisfied, Rayne signaled the second warrior.
With her eyes still blindfolded, Abaigeal hardly noticed the two additional opponents. The young blademistress no longer saw the world as a person normally would; she resided in harmony with it and each attack was as obvious to her as footsteps in fresh snow. Abaigeal parried and evaded the attacks from all three directions. Even with the inelegant use of their weapons, Rayne knew that, combined with his own attacks, the norse warriors were a true test of Abaigeal's concentration.
Rayne could see her face relax. Abaigeal's crimson lips parted slightly, allowing her to breathe freely. Her legs danced gracefully between her three opponents. When one of the norsemen made an error she disarmed him without consciously realizing it. Rayne feared she would injure the man and stepped in to intercept while he retrieved his sword. The elf decided it was time to show Abaigeal exactly what she was capable of.
Rayne quickly discarded the protective cover on his blades. Abaigeal heard the strange sound of the light wood hitting the floor but did not know what it was until the sound of Rayne's naked blades alerted her to danger. However by then Rayne's plan was already in motion. With impossible precision the elf blademaster sliced the blindfold from Abaigeal's eyes. When the cloth fell away she nearly screamed.
"Rayne!" she cried when she realized she was battling not only her teacher, but two burly norsemen who seemed rather irritated that a blindfolded girl was besting them in battle. The half-celtling looked to her master for guidance but received nothing but his blindfolded, stoic face.
"No mercy!" he commanded, but Abaigeal was not sure if he was talking to her or the men behind her.
Her heart pounding, Abaigeal knocked Rayne's blades aside and dived towards one of the norse warriors. Surprised, the man raised his shield to block the series of blows that followed. His companion tried to assist him, but that was exactly what Abaigeal wanted. With little effort she twisted the second man's blade from his grasped then leapt straight up to avoid Rayne's swipe at her legs. Then Abaigeal aimed a kick directly at the unarmed man's chest. When he brought up his shield in defense, the force of the blow sent him flying back.
With one norse warrior out of the way, Abaigeal worked her still-covered blades on the first man. Shocked that his companion was already down, the man was a quick defeat. Now all that was left was the elf.
Abaigeal crossed her falcata catching their coverings and flinging them aside. Now with her blades free she pushed her teacher back with a flurry of blows as her anger subsided. She had realized what Rayne had done, but she still did not appreciate the surprise. Abaigeal decided to teach him a lesson. Her attacks became unconventional and Rayne worried that her anger was making her clumsy. However when he tried to disarm the young blademistress, Abaigeal locked his blade with both falcatas.
Rayne held fast to his right sword and Abaigeal tried to pin him to the floor. The seasoned blademaster came down hard with his left and forced Abaigeal back, but she created the opening she wanted.
With her own deft precision, the young woman turned her left blade over and swiped up to cut Rayne's blindfold from his own eyes. Only then did Abaigeal leap back and watch her teacher's reaction.
The elf simply stood there grinning at something behind Abaigeal. Panting – her blades still at the ready – Abaigeal turned to see her aunt and uncle. Romana stood next to her husband – her mouth agape in shock – but Liam simply grinned at his adopted daughter for a moment then began clapping proudly.
For the rest of the day, Abaigeal demonstrated her prowess with the blades and basked in the admiration of her teacher and family. After an intimate celebration in the dining hall, Abaigeal excused herself for the evening. The young blademistress looked at her hands as she walked to her quarters.
"I did it," she thought. "I've become a Blademaster like my mother." The young half-celt thought about her parents. Would they be proud? she wondered. She wished she had known them. She did not even know what they looked like except for descriptions of her mother's beauty…and her father's love for her. Abaigeal opened the door to her quarters and was drawn from her contemplation by a tall figure waiting for her.
Standing by her bed in his full leather armor and hands resting on his weapons was her teacher. Rayne pulled his hood back and smiled.
"I'm sorry, Abaigeal. I didn't realize how selfish I was being. Perhaps you would allow me to stay the night?" The elf had barely finished his question when Abaigeal pounced on him.
"Yes!" she cried and kissed him. Rayne fell back onto his lover's bed and Abaigeal began tugging on the clasps of his armor. The elf blademaster chuckled and unbuckled his scabbards letting them drop to the floor.
In their chambers on the other side of Svasud Faste, Romana watched her husband disrobe and reminisced about their younger days in Hibernia. She had fallen in love with Liam long before he had even noticed her. At least that is what she thought. Liam's affection for Abaigeal's mother was well known amongst the citizens in their hometown of Connla, but Keeley was a free spirit and could not be tethered. Liam still pined for the girl but it was tempered with the reality that she was not meant for their tiny, isolated village.
And then there was Romana: Keeley's closest friend. Growing up the two girls were inseparable and Liam could not help but notice the tall, blonde Romana. Where the petite Keeley was adventurous and unpredictable, Romana was grounded and confidant which Liam found irresistible. However because the two women were such close friends Liam dared not disrespect the proud Romana by coming between their friendship. But after the death of their mutual friend, Liam and Romana were bound by their shared grief and their responsibility to Keeley's orphaned daughter.
Romana looked at her husband and wondered what their lives would have been like if Keeley was still alive, if her foreign lover had never appeared, and if Albion had not swept across their land.
"Are we…" the celt woman hesitated, "Are we doing the right thing, Liam?" Liam, her husband – the light of her heart – discarded his shirt. Before he could don his night clothes Romana remembered another reason why she had fallen in love with the sandy-haired celt. Like Rayne, Liam was lean and muscular. He was not particularly tall. In fact Romana was a hair taller than her husband. Liam had always been beautiful, and now at over forty winters old he had grown ruggedly handsome. Even after years of marriage she still desired only him, the woman thought. Liam smiled warmly at his wife and sighed.
"I don't know. I pray we are." Liam approached his wife who was sitting on their bed and pulled free the clasp that held her hair in a tight bun. Romana's long blonde hair fell across her shoulders and back. "At least she will be able to protect herself"
"Maybe." Romana was worried. "Are we putting her in more danger by training her to seek out war?"
"War is here already, love. It will find her whether we want it to or not." Liam hugged his wife and ran his fingers through her hair. Romana stopped her husband from covering his chest with his gown and held him close. Savoring his smell and the feel of his skin on her check, Romana pulled Liam down for a kiss.
Abaigeal rested her head on the reclining elf in her bed. The longing between her thighs had been sated and now she got to keep her man all night. She knew Rayne could sneak out while she slept; out the window if necessary. The important thing is that she did not have to leave him or her warm bed.
That night Rayne had tried to turn their tryst into another lesson, and when Abaigeal realized what he was doing, a fierce glare from "the girl with the temper" put an end to it. Now in the afterglow of her climax, Abaigeal nuzzled the Rayne's neck until she saw the tattoo on his left breast. The young blademistress traced her finger over the markings: three crossed blades. She had noticed it before during their "naked times" but she never had the chance to ask him about it.
"What's this" she asked indicating the tattoo. Rayne looked down.
"The folly of youth," he replied. Abaigeal slapped him playfully.
"No, seriously! Tell me."
Rayne grinned. "It is the symbol of the Blademaster," he explained. "Was," he added. Abaigeal understood the reason for the hint of sadness in his voice. She examined the design closely.
"Why three blades?"
Rayne glanced at his pupil. "When a Blademaster of Hibernia reaches a certain level," Rayne paused, "they can wield a third blade."
Abaigeal propped herself up. "Why have you not taught me this?"
Rayne brushed her cheek. "I fear it is not something I can teach." Rayne pulled the naked woman on top of him and rested his hands on her hips. "The third blade is not a physical blade; it is magical. It comes to those who have achieved true harmony with the world, and even then it fights for the Blademaster only when they are most in need of it."
Breathless, Abaigeal let the words sink in. "But how do you control it?"
Rayne looked deep into her eyes. "When they are calm and at peace, the third blade becomes an extension of the Blademaster. Wielding the ethereal blade becomes as natural as wielding the two that you carry with you all of the time."
"But how…?"
"Abaigeal I cannot teach you." Rayne sighed and stroked his lover's tummy. "I wish I could." Abaigeal took Rayne's hand in her own and placed it on her cheek. The subject was the source of sadness that much she could tell, but she felt owed an explanation.
"Have you ever conjured a third blade?"
"Aye, when the fates demanded it."
"Could my mother?"
"That I do not know."
"My father?"
On the other side of the Three Realms, Lord Cresil stared at Lord Aeryk from across a large round table. As an infiltrator in the Guild of Shadows, Cresil had been J'nar's most trusted lieutenant. The cabalist had risen through the ranks of the guild with Cresil's aid. The saracen infiltrator had double-crossed and assassinated many men and women in Albion to aid his master's cause. When the invasion of Hibernia was complete – J'nar's capstone achievement – Cresil was gifted with a place at his master's side. But that honor was shared with Lord Aeryk even though it was Cresil who had been instrumental in J'nar's rise as Emperor of Albion.
Cresil never understood Aeryk's power or why J'nar kept him in their circle, but the infiltrator harbored extreme distrust of the man, and more than a little jealousy. While Cresil oversaw the Guild of Shadows and directed J'nar's operations, Lord Aeryk had been sent to Oceanus and the lands of Atlantis to collect artifacts of tremendous power. J'nar had allowed Aeryk to keep many of the artifacts against Cresil's advice. He had warned his master that Aeryk was not to be trusted. He was, after all, a mercenary.
J'nar, cryptic as always, assured Cresil that Aeryk was necessary. But Cresil knew little of the man. Lord Aeryk was physically impressive; most likely of Highland stock. Using his network of spies Cresil knew Aeryk to be completely loyal to J'nar. Even though he wielded two blades he was a mercenary in name only. And those two black blades that Lord Aeryk wielded always gave Cresil pause. One of them – a sword like no other – had been found deep in Ashen Isle of Atlantis, the other expertly crafted to match in weight and balance and imbued with powerful enchantments of its own. Cresil feared what other artifacts the man had at his disposal.
But it was the mercenary's mysterious past that concerned Cresil the most.
Lord Aeryk continued to stare at the saracen across the table. His stare was made all the more menacing by the deep scar over his left eye. Cresil could not help but shift uncomfortably. Finally his discomfort was ended by a familiar voice.
"Lord Aeryk. To what do we own this pleasure?" J'nar emerged from the darkness flanked by two mages. Cresil and Aeryk both turned and kneeled before their master.
The ancient Avalonian cabalist was feeble – hobbling forward with his staff bearing much of his weigh – but he still carried himself with an air of tremendous power. His robes were ornate but much of the color muted, and therefore his allegiance to any one school of magic was indiscernible. But it was the evil mage's eyes that instilled terror in all who met him.
Through decades of dabbling in the darkest of magical arts, J'nar's eyes had turned completely black. Now his eyes looked like murky pools of pitch: glistening, but hollow. Many who met him thought the old mage was blind, but J'nar could see more than most mortal men. J'nar now cast those black eyes upon the man who had summoned him.
"My lord," Aeryk began as he stood back up, "I have found the location of the stolen relics."
"One, single location, my friend?" J'nar approached the table and smiled. The skin on the ancient cabalist's bald head appeared to protest the very act.
"Yes, my lord." Aeryk placed a large scroll on the table and unrolled it to reveal a map of the frontiers. Cresil eyed it suspiciously but remained silent, waiting to see what the emperor's enforcer had to say.
"Ex-cellen-t," J'nar's voice was a mixture of course stone and slime to all those who heard it.
"My spies have informed me that the forces of Midgard and their allies are keeping them here." Aeryk pointed to one of the Midgard frontier keeps. Cresil could stay silent no longer.
"Impossible," the Saracen stated in a low growl. "Without the relics residing within their frontier, their powers are useless to them." J'nar grinned, but Aeryk ignored the comment.
"What do you propose, Lord Aeryk?" J'nar asked almost gleefully. The mercenary fighter traced his finger from where he first indicated all the way to another mark: the secondary Midgard keep.
"The frontier keep is well guarded, but a small force could enter and retrieve the relics with little trouble," Aeryk paused before explaining the rest of his plan. "A diversionary force attacking the other frontier keep will draw defenders away from the relics making the task a simple one." J'nar remained silent, appearing to contemplate his servant's words. Cresil, too, turned the plan over in his mind for many moments before breaking the silence.
"What kind of force could possibly convince them to abandon the defense of the relics?" Cresil barely hid the disbelief in his voice. Aeryk turned to the Master Infiltrator.
"An invasion force." Aeryk focused his one good eye on his rival. J'nar could not help but cackle.
"Good. Good!" the cabalist murmured as he looked up from the map. "I take it you wish to infiltrate the keep and retrieve the relics yourself, my friend?" he asked turning to his Master Mercenary.
"Yes, my master."
"Very well. Begin your preparations at once, Lord Aeryk." With his master's blessing, Aeryk bowed and left the room. J'nar studied the map for a time before his second-in-command spoke.
"I don't trust him, my lord." J'nar's smile never left his face as he dismissed his mage escorts and signaled Cresil to follow him as he walked.
"And why not, my friend?"
"I have received no such intelligence, my lord." Following two steps behind his master, Cresil chose who words carefully. "And we do not have the force for an invasion of Midgard at this time."
J'nar chuckled again. "You heard our friend, Cresil: it need only be a diversion. See to it personally," the Avalonian turned to his lackey, "Lord Cresil."
The saracen stood as his master disappeared into the shadows. Cresil nodded slowly then turned and walked the other way.
