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Chapter 20 - Graie
Given the choice of how to spend a late winter afternoon, I would have taken snuggling with Sila under furs in front of a roaring fire at a pub in Sun Stones.
Unfortunately, the Starlaxi seems to think a better use of my time would be ducking around shards of metal hurling toward me after being shot by a woman with a shaved head and a mouthful of silver teeth, bared in what could be a grin or a snarl, depending on a person's perspective.
I'm feeling less than grateful as one jagged shard whistles by my face, tracing a stinging cut into my cheek. I curse and duck again, sweeping with Graystripe. When the woman hisses like a cat and tries to plant her dagger in my skull, I grab her wrist with my free hand and using my sword, flick a chimney-ful of ash into her eyes. My ring flashes in the torchlight as she reels back, the dagger slipping out of her grasp.
Just as I'm bracing to jump at her again, two figures wrestling on the ground skid between us in a blur of fists and knees to the groin. I'm momentarily stunned, just watching as a man with a mangy black mane delivers an aforementioned knee to Samn's groin, who hardly winces and reaches for the dagger that my assailant dropped. The man he's fighting yells something that doesn't make it far out of his mouth before Samn's life-force-controlled sand drives the words and possibly a few of his teeth back down his throat. He wheezes and splutters and thrashes, but Samn gets ahold of the dagger and I snap back to reality.
The bald woman has vanished, so I scan the room for a new target. A lanky man whose limbs swing about like flashing shadows is using balls of water to push Sewif back as the squire bravely tries to get a hit in on his unprotected sides. Water… Something rings in my brain and I notice that the water elementalist's clothes are soaked. Aha.
Taking a half-second to make sure I'm not in immediate danger of being beheaded, I press a finger to my life-force ring in concentration and send a wave of ash at the water elementalist. The gray cloud swarms him and, at my silent command, rushes in to envelope him in a gray shell. I don't wait around to see if the reaction between the water and ash works, because footsteps at my back make me whirl around, sword up, in time to catch the wide swing of young man with ginger hair. He's got a sword that almost looks like true-steel, but I know better: Only kingdoms have true-steel and this boy is evidently an outlaw.
When I block his strike, he snarls at me and swings again. I block again, this time not waiting around for him to pull his sword back for another swing. Instead, I shift my weight to raise my left foot and plant my boot in his chest. Then push back, hard.
He wheezes and reels away. I send a condensed ball of ash into his chest and he makes a choked gasp that gives me the impression he'd been trying to breathe before I drove the air out of his lungs. I'm spared from further contemplating his respiratory difficulties when a blow to my back makes me drop to my knees. Not taking even a moment to process the impact, I plant my hands on the stone and scramble out of the way before whoever slammed into my spine gets a chance to do more damage.
It turns out my attacker is a giant lizard. I yelp in confusion and fear and scramble further, then shove myself to my feet and take stock of the situation. An oversized-lizard summoner. Fantastic. The fat reptile's tongue flickers out and its scaly legs bunch like it's going to leap at me again, but then it begins to shrink… and disappear. Not a very strong summoner, then. I glance up at the man.
The summoner of oversized-lizards is oversized as well, a fact that is brought to my attention when he rushes me, beefy arms lunging in rock-sized fists towards my face. I duck again, swinging Graystripe into the side of his kneecap and scuttling backward like a crab when he roars in pain. His legs buckle, but he stumbles and rights himself, then something crashes into his back in a blur of pale gold and the oversized-lizard summoner faceplants.
A lioness has perched herself on his back and bares her teeth, pulling back black lips to show glittering white fangs inside.
A few curses stumble out of my mouth before I catch myself and realize what's going on. The lioness attacked him? Lion summoning… no. I glance up, dazed, and see Lady Brindellia Faise standing on the edge of the dais in front of the throne, arms spread as if to embrace whoever might come to challenge her. Life-force is rolling off her in such heavy waves that I can feel it without needing to shift into the fifth dimension.
The lioness lets out a rumbly snarl and then leaps off the man's body to crash into a different knight, one Samn was locked in combat with. He goes down in a startled yelp that turns into a wail when he sees that his assailant is about three hundred pounds of fur and fury.
I get to my feet and spare the lizard summoner a glance. He's down, and it doesn't look like he's going to be getting back up soon, so I survey the throne room for a new target, both hands on the pommel of Graystripe in case I get caught off guard.
A flash on my right draws my gaze toward the doors of the castle where Fiyr and Sir Fiace are dealing each other glancing blows, neither getting close enough for a proper fight. The stoat summoner has sprouted long teeth and his eyes have shrunk to hateful beads, marking his traiting, but Fiyr only delivers a couple weak sparks here and there.
It wouldn't matter much if they were evenly matched in steel, but the ex-Shodawes is evidently more skilled and Fiyr's blows are getting clumsier. Why isn't he using his damn life-force? But it doesn't matter, because Sir Fiace gets in a cut on Fiyr's side, who shouts in pain. Whatever reason Fiyr has for not unleashing a storm of fire, it's going to get him killed if he isn't careful. And Fiyr in battle is anything but careful. I don't even bother looking to see if anyone's going to help him, I just take off running across the throne room and summon handfuls of ash to throw in the Shodawes's face.
Clehw nicks Fiyr's arm and hisses a laugh as Fiyr retaliates with an uncoordinated strike that bounces off the other knight's side. I barrel into the stoat summoner's side, not bothering to try to engage him and opt for knock him on his ass as my strategy. The Shodawes doesn't go flying as I'd hoped, but he stumbles back, loses his balance, and then drops to the ground.
"I can handle this!" Fiyr grunts.
I'd slap my forehead if my hands weren't full of ash. "What's gotten into you?! Use your fire!"
"I can't!" Fiyr snaps back, but he sounds a lot less panicked than I'd be if I suddenly found out my life-force was useless. Is he choosing not to use it?
"What do you mean you—" My words are cut off as Sir Fiace leaps up from his position on the floor and throws his shoulder into my ribs.
I almost lose my grip on my sword, but my instincts take over and I throw my free fist into Clehw's face, releasing in time to smear the ash into his eyes and make my fingers collide with his nose at a remarkably painful angle. Shit! No time to contemplate my probably-broken fingers, though, because Fiyr suddenly shoves me out of the way as Sir Fiace's clawed fingers shoot toward my face.
"I can handle this!" Fiyr repeats as I nearly hit the ground but break my fall with my good hand, Graystripe knocking against the stone with a clatter. "Find someone else!"
I struggle to my feet, wincing as I tentatively try flexing my left hand's fingers. Fiyr doesn't elaborate more on his brilliant strategy of letting a Shodawes skewer him out of misguided stubbornness because the stoat summoner is launching another attack with flashing steel in one hand and knife-like claws in the other. Fiyr deflects one blow, but his claws catch him in the stomach.
"No!" I shout, not able to piece together more than Is he trying to get himself killed—that injury better not be too severe—he's bleeding, oh blessed Starlaxi—and tighten my grip on Graystripe, then launch myself at Clehw once more.
"Weak," the half-stoat snarls, fangs bared in a gruesome smile, and an old lesson flashes through my head.
Knights don't kill, Graie, but life or death overrules all else. It's Liyon Hart's voice. Painful memories and bittersweet love for my mentor surge through me. If the choice is death or a broken rule, know that you are too important to be lost for the sake of tradition.
And so is Fiyr, my mind finishes and I pull back my sword, then like an arrow pointed at the heart of a grazing doe, let it fly toward Clehw's neck.
He turns in time to catch my blade in the apple of his throat. His cruel laugh turns into a shout, then a gurgle, and then, when his body hits the floor, a soft, airy crackle. Then nothing.
My hands are trembling, I notice, as they make drops of blood flick off of the blade in my hands.
"Graie—" Fiyr cries, voice twisted in pain. "What—what did you do?"
If the choice is death…
"We're alive," I answer. "Find somewhere to hide, your stomach looks bad."
My voice is remarkably steady. I feel as though some force, maybe the Starlaxi, has lifted away all my feelings and fear, leaving behind just cold reasoning. Let it—whatever it is—last until this battle is done, I pray, glancing behind me at the carnage. Let it last, I need it.
I don't wait to see if Fiyr's okay—there's no time to waste. Dashing back into the fight, I grab a wiry man crossing swords with Sewif by the back of his collar and yank him backward. He wails as he goes down and I drive Graystripe into his leg. His voice grates higher in agony, but I've moved on to a new target, not sparing Sewif a second look.
An outlaw, looking like he's in his fifties, is creeping toward Brindellia from where she stands, almost in a trance, on the dais. I rush him, but before I reach the dais he pulls out a blade and—
Is thrown to the ground when a golden-maned lion tackles him with a feral snarl. I avert my eyes quickly as the man begins to shout in terror and pain.
Guess she can still sense her surroundings while summoning every beast from here to the silver peaks. I'm impressed. The Trace is useful like that.
I hear a shout and turn. A man is being cornered by two prowling lionesses and I conclude that the two I saw were not the only ones that Lady Faise summoned. He lets out a chilling wail as they descend on him, and it draws the attention of the outlaws still fighting.
They take one look at the man being torn apart and flee. Or in the case of one by the east side, realizes he shouldn't have taken his eyes off of Frostialla Fuor and find himself with an arm encased in ice. And then flees.
Someone whoops. I think it might be Samn. Another voice joins him—Frostialla—and soon the throne room is alive with cheers as the outlaws run. I add my voices to theirs, but I can't shake a sinking feeling… like I'm missing something. I glance back at where Clehw's body lies stiffly. I had no choice.
Knowing that doesn't help though. Everything I'd successfully buried after Sir Calew plummeted off the cliffs at Rivier comes surging back up with the bile in my throat. I know there was nothing I could do. It won't make me feel happy about it. The cold reliance on reflexes of the battle fades and I'm left with the same hollow feeling, just waiting to be filled with grief and anger.
I glance around and then it hits me; Fiyr has disappeared. He's not beside Clehw anymore, but I guess I did tell him to get somewhere safe. Healer's wing.
My own cuts that I hardly noticed receiving in battle are now stinging and competing for my attention. I grit my teeth and head for the healer's wing, but pause when I hear voices within and listen silently, standing perfectly still.
"You killed him…" It's Yllowei's croak.
"And I'll kill you too." It takes me a moment to place the voice, but when I do, my eyes widen and I throw the door open.
"Braukkin!" I spit.
The fearsome man is standing with his back to me in front of Yllowei, who is hunched over and staring up at him, wide-eyed and face twisted in horror. I'm frozen, standing in the doorway as she opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a terrible choking sound. Her face goes red, like she's suffocating, but there's nothing… His life-force.
Snapping out of my daze, I rush the ex-king and half-tackle him into one of the cots. He loses his balance and with a confused grunt, topples back onto a bed. He writhes like a snake under me and I can't breathe momentarily as I come to grips with just how incredibly strong he is. He tries to throw me off, but only manages to shove me off the side of the bed a little.
"I can handle this—Graie—fetch Fiyr," Yllowei chokes out.
"What?!"
"Go now!" she snaps, coughing raggedly.
Perhaps it's something in her eyes, or her voice, or how disoriented I am with the entire situation, but something makes me nod, turn, and run out of the room. Braukkin is struggling to right himself again as I sprint through the hallway and up the dais, then yank open the queen's chambers, praying.
"Is the battle—"
"Fiyr! No time to explain," I gasp. "Fiyr, come on!"
He struggles out of one of the chairs, looking puzzled, but I just turn and push past Thorrin who is still bombarding me with questions about the battle and sprint back out into the throne room, hoping against hope that Yllowei isn't dead. I shouldn't have left, I should have stayed and fought and tried to…
But there's no time! I need to get back to the healer's wing. The seconds it takes to make it back to the room stretch into hours, every pace half-stumbled in my haste.
Fiyr's hurrying after me. I can hear him speaking but the blood rushing in my ears is making it hard to hear his words. Finally, finally I'm back at the door of the healer's wing and I burst into the room, fully ready to stab someone.
Instead, what I see takes my breath away.
Yllowei has her spindly fingers locked around Braukkin's wrist and is making an odd sort of low cry. Blood trickles down her cheeks from… Oh, blessed Starlaxi, no…
Where her eyes should be is just… just nothing. Black-red holes, dripping, dripping. My stomach lurches, but the horror's not over.
Before Fiyr or I can react, a ripple of life-force washes over me and Braukkin suddenly screams.
What's happening?
Then his dark, evil, eyes collapse into a fountain of red. His cry reaches fever pitch, then he drops backward and hits the ground with an awful hollow sound when his head falls back onto the stone.
"Blessed Starlaxi…" Fiyr whispers, sounding ill.
That's when Yllowei turns back toward us and her gaze pins itself to me. Her unharmed eyes… unmistakable. An irrepressible shudder comes over me as I stare at her.
"How much did you hear?" she finally croaks.
"You were—you were talking about someone," I manage. "Someone who died."
A long breath goes out of Yllowei like it's been held inside for a long, long time. "Yes. He died," she answers. "I… I will tell you."
I'm not sure I want to be told anything with the tyrant of Shodawa bleeding out on the stone, but all the same, I cross the room and sit on the edge of a cot.
"Before you…" I begin. "Um… is he okay? What…"
"I… I'll get to that," Yllowei tells me, looking at his body as though she reached into a bag expecting candy and found a large spider.
"And you broke the healer's code!" Fiyr bursts out, still on the other side of the room. "You hurt him! Your life-force…"
"Yes. Sit down, Fiyr," she says softly, more gently than I've heard from her.
He does, but doesn't look away from Braukkin's still body.
"Braukkin is my son," she finally admits.
I freeze. "He's…"
"What?" Fiyr finishes, his gaze finally snapping over to Yllowei.
"I broke the healer's code, I know," she says flatly. "And I broke it again. Harder the second time, somehow."
"Who was…" I'm half-afraid to ask, but Yllowei doesn't slit my throat, simply lets out a rusty laugh.
"Sounds like an old story from the time of the Kupua when I… well, no matter. The healer and the king, that's what they call it. The ragged and the broken."
The ragged… the king… "The King of the Night." Raggidier. "You had a son with the king?"
"We were United, boy." She laughs again. "In love. Or as in love as two foolish children can be. And we had children."
"Children?! Plural?!"
"Two died and what remained was not… not the same," Yllowei murmured. "I… hid what we'd done. And then Raggid—Raggidier died. And somehow my life went on with nothing left. You know the rest of it."
I'm speechless.
Fiyr is not.
"Holy shit, what now?!" he demands. "You did this to your son, but he—we need to kill him."
"Probably," Yllowei whispers, and her hands lift, a slight tremor in them, to her eyes. She presses on her eyelids lightly and swallows. "We'll wait for the queen. He does no harm now."
I nod, still unable to find my voice. Her son—he kills children. How do you go on? I've always thought I'd like children in some abstract, rosy future where it's always summer and sickness and starvation doesn't exist, but confronted with this sudden reality of a child growing up to cause so much suffering… I don't know if the dreams are snuffed out, but I'm questioning things.
There's sudden noise from outside; the queen or Sir Cawle must have returned. Yllowei is the first to stand, and Fiyr and I just watch as she hobbles out of the room. Once she's gone I can feel him turn his gaze to me. I look down at Braukkin's body.
"Should we… well, he's… I feel like we should tie him up," I offer, my voice weirdly loud compared to the total silence now that Yllowei dropped that bomb and left.
"Probably," Fiyr agrees and we stand.
I do most of the lifting on the monstrous man, who is extraordinarily heavy, but Fiyr helps me roll him onto the cot. As he bends, Fiyr winces.
"Hey, you alright?" I ask, glancing from him to Braukkin's prostrate body. My voice wavers.
"You…" He takes a pained breath. "You saved my life. Thank you."
I swallow hard and everything feels simple for a moment, remembering the battle and Liyon's words and Clehw as he struck Fiyr and as he no doubt would have struck again while the Thundrian was on the ground. "You know I would give my life for you."
Fiyr is still staring at me, but I can't bring myself to meet his gaze.
"Thank you," he repeats, his voice choked off.
"We should go see what's going on out there," I finally say, pushing myself off the cot. Then somehow, after all these years, I hang back and wait for Fiyr to lead me on.
…
"Thundria," Queen Bluelianna begins. "The tyrant Braukkin and his outlaw allies attacked our castle while Sir Cawle led a patrol on Shodawa after misleading traces caused us to believe they were responsible. Only our squires, ladies of the court, and the knights Sir Sterrip and Harte were there to protect the vulnerable."
I hear Thorrin argue "I could have fought!" to his mother, who shushes him.
Queen Bluelianna only pauses for a moment, but I see her lips twist wryly. "I want to take a moment to honour the bravery of our squires, Duss, Samn, and Sewif. Our knights, Sir Fiyr Harte and Sir Graie Sterrip. And most importantly, our ladies of the court, Frostialla Fuor, Brindellia Faise, Goldanna Flourer, and Speikall Tiall."
I join in the cheer, but I can't help noticing that she didn't tack 'Lady' onto the fronts of their names. Huh. It doesn't exactly matter, though. Whether they're ladies, knights, Riviens, or dragons, I was grateful to have Lady Faise on the battlefield.
"The final thing is… Braukkin has been captured," the queen announces. A few shouts are thrown out, but they die down quickly enough. "Peace. We must decide how to proceed with him."
"Kill him!" my mother shouts.
A chorus of agreements rises from the court. The queen holds up her hand, but she's nodding.
"I feel that… perhaps, his crimes are too great to overlook. If he is left to his own devices… and he were to resume old activities, I don't see how we could forgive ourselves," the queen sighs.
"Wait." The interruption rings from Sir Cawle and dozens of heads swivel to him as he steps forward, pristine Thundrian uniform a far cry from the blood soaked shirts of most of us caught in the fight. "Braukkin's crimes were of murder."
"And other… atrocities," the queen comments, but nods for him to continue.
"How would we be any better if we were to kill him now?" Sir Cawle asks the amassed crowd. "How could we call ourselves better if we stoop to his level?"
What? I frown. We're not proposing stooping to his level and sending Thorrin and Briatte into battle, we're proposing killing him before he murders more children.
"I see what you mean, Sir Cawle, however…" the queen sighs. "Is the danger too great?"
"What about the danger to our kingdom's name?" he answers fiercely. "Who are we to judge his crimes? The Starlaxi alone knows."
No one challenges him openly, but I can feel a certain tension in the air. The court's not happy.
"We cannot kill him. We would be just as bad as him," Sir Cawle insists.
The queen nods slowly. "I understand. Thundrian cannot afford to let him walk free… how can we…"
"There are examples in our history of the kingdoms taking prisoners," Wonn Eie pipes up. The crowd parts to allow her a direct path to the queen. "We could simply keep him where he is. If nothing else, it would let us debate this at our convenience."
Her last words are sarcastic, but the queen nods with the same serious look. "I believe that may be our best move going forward."
I can't help feeling like I should point out that he could still escape. Blinded, but still. If Yllowei can give him that injury, there has to be someone, somewhere, who can take it away again. But all the same, I hold my tongue. Better than turning him loose. The queen might still change her mind and have him killed. The other kingdoms won't be happy about it, for all Tigre can talk of our kingdom's 'name'. King Naitienne especially since Braukkin nearly caused a war between two innocent kingdoms.
"But first, Samn and Duss, please take Sir Fiace's body out for burial," the queen asks. "We will celebrate tonight. Prepare the throne room for a ceremony."
Thank you for reading chapter 20! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!
~Akila