Hilda brought up her shield to deflect the blade, then summoned her favorite hand-and-a-half sword. If Kendra wouldn’t back down, Hilda wouldn’t either. It was clear this would only end in more spilled blood, and it wasn’t going to be hers.
Anita reflected another attack from her brother, then one from Willem. The men both dodged, but they couldn’t advance without trouble.
In a flash, Firth was at Cynefrith’s side, helping her up. She didn’t seem badly injured, so she’d probably just been stunned. One of the knots of stress loosened in Hilda’s belly.
Kendra shouted at Hilda, her scream laden with power, but Hilda braced herself against it. She blocked the follow-up stab, then caught Kendra’s side with a slash, drawing blood. With a grunt, Kendra jumped backward, but then she was in Cynefrith’s striking range, and the Beohur of Death lashed out with her own sword.
Kendra barely leaned back far enough to avoid Cynefrith’s blade. Firth closed in from the other side to flank her.
Stomping on the ground, the Beohur of Love screamed “Back!” with such power it sent Cynefrith, Firth, and Anita tumbling away. She spun back to Hilda in time to block the Beohur of War’s blade, but Hilda slammed her shield into the side of Kendra’s head, stunning her, then slashed the taller woman’s wrist, forcing her to drop her dagger.
When Hilda tried to finish the fight, however, thick vines wrapped around her arms, dragging her away from her target. Their thorns punctured her skin, making her wince with pain.
“It’s time to stop this madness,” said Maeve, Beohur of Plants. It was she who held the other end of the vines. Beside her stood her sister, Dorothea, Beohur of Animals. Dorothea’s talons were fully extended, and her lips curled into a low warning growl, revealing sharp fangs. It was only natural they would side with their mother Kendra against their brother Wymond’s killer.
Then the rest of the Beohur reached the square. Celia, Beohur of Travel and Firth’s daughter, teleported next to him, as she could anywhere connected to her by road. Geffen rode in on a massive wave, which his sister Sara turned to ice as she slid along behind him. Leif, Beohur of Fire, threw a fireball at Hilda, only for it to be bounced back at him by Anita.
Lastly, there was Ryland, who reached the center of the square with one leap. He landed next to Kendra, cracking the tile underneath him, and leveled Gritte’s tip at her.
“Only one Beohur will die this day,” said the king of the gods. Another knot in Hilda’s belly undid itself. Her father was here to defend her.
“I think, Father,” Willem said, gaze locked on Hilda, “you mean that only one more Beohur will die today.” Clouds rumbled behind him, as if to underscore his threat.
“Ryland,” Kendra said. “Please. She killed Wymond. She did this to me.” She gestured to the bloodstains spreading across her dress. “She’s too dangerous to live.”
“You’ll just let her off because she’s your daughter,” Leif said, and a chorus of assent sounded among most of the gathered Beohur.
Ryland shook his head. “I swear I will be impartial. What would you do, kill me to get to her?”
Dorothea ran a claw along the bottom of Hilda’s chin, just light enough not to draw blood. “Some of us won’t have to go through you. We’ve got her pretty well vulnerable right here.”
“No,” Cynefrith said, “you’ll have to go through us.”
The grip on Hilda’s arms loosened as the vines withered and rotted away. Before Dorothea could make good on her threat, Firth was in front with a grip on her wrist and Celia was behind with an arm around her throat. Anita took position next to Ryland, ready to stop any attacks on Hilda from the rest of the Beohur.
“You’re courting war,” Kendra said. “Would you rather one more death or a dozen?”
“I would rather none,” Ryland said. “You are the one courting war. Set aside your grief and use reason.”
“My grief is all I have left!” Kendra shouted. “The warmonger has taken everything else from me!”
“Then let us try her!” Ryland stamped Gritte’s butt on the tiles, cracking them further. “The humans invented mob justice, not we. Beohur should be above rash action. You are not your grief. Just because it is louder than reason does not mean it is the only thing you can hear. Let it be one voice among many.”
“Many? You don’t want there to be many voices. You want there to be yours and hers.” Kendra knelt to retrieve her stiletto. “You don’t want to soften my grief, you want to silence it.”
“If I truly wanted to silence it,” Ryland began, “I wouldn’t--”
“Quiet!” Kendra screamed. Stepping forward, she stabbed at Ryland’s chest.
Ryland blocked it with his hand, the blade stabbing through his palm and poking out the other side. “I told you, I do not want a war.”
“Then step aside.” Kendra pulled her dagger back and stabbed at Ryland again.
This time, he caught her wrist. “I will not.” He squeezed, the cords in his wrist stretching against the skin, until she gasped and dropped her weapon. Then he kicked it aside, sending it skittering far across the square.
Maybe now that Kendra had been disarmed, Hilda hoped, this could all be over.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
It was a bad day for hope, it seemed. A gust of wind swept Anita aside so Willem could throw a bolt of lightning at Ryland. It struck him in the chest, making him release Kendra and stagger back. Only his incredible strength let him keep his footing.
Ryland settled into a combat stance, holding Gritte before him. “Do you really want to do this, Son?”
“Of course not, Father.” Willem spat the last word. “But I’ve seen things. Things even you, with all your wisdom, couldn’t comprehend. Selador needs a king who takes action.” Willem held up a hand, and a bolt of lightning struck it, the energy coalescing into a crackling javelin.
“Who would be that king?” Anita asked. “You?” From her robes she drew a pair of sickles, pointing the crescent-shaped blades at her brother-in-law. “A spoiled brat with less than half his sister’s value?”
“You of all people call him spoiled?” Dagwin asked. “No, Sister, I see what’s happening. Look at everyone defending Hilda. You’re the outsiders, the overlooked, the ones detested by the humans. Who likes the passing of time? Who likes being on the road instead of next to their hearth? Who likes death, or war? Justice is invisible except to the unjust, and the moon is but a meager reflection of the sun. You aren’t defending her because we’re being cruel. You’re defending her because if enough of us die, maybe you’ll finally have something useful to offer the humans and the Elvar.”
“I’m closer to the humans than you’ll ever be!” Anita shouted. She lunged for Dagwin, who drew his bright golden greatsword. Then they were dueling, trading back and forth between magic and melee without missing a moment.
Dorothea bit and clawed at Cynefrith, who blocked and dodged, keeping one hand free to wither away the plants Maeve sent at her.
Kendra loosed her dress’s belt, unfurling it into a short whip with a sharpened end. She snapped it out toward Ryland, wrapping the weapon around Gritte’s haft, but with a yank, he hauled her and her weapon toward him.
Leif, Geffen, and Sara charged Ryland, borne on flames, waves, and ice respectively, but Firth and Celia appeared in their way, Firth holding up knuckle-dusted fists and Celia gripping her steel-cored quarterstaff.
Holding out the lightning javelin, Willem lunged toward Ryland, a strong tailwind speeding him along. Hilda launched herself forward, but she knew she wouldn’t arrive in time. So as she ran, she pulled back her arm and threw her sword. Her brother dodged, but he had to halt his charge to do so.
With a growl of annoyance, Willem tossed his javelin. Hilda dove between him and Ryland, stretching out her shield to intercept the attack. An electric jolt seared up her arm and through her shoulder.
“So that’s how it is,” Willem said. “Keep Father alive so he stops us from executing you. Well, that’s fine. I can deliver justice myself.” His mouth curled into a smug smile.
So began the Second War of the Beohur. Passion battled wisdom. Life battled death. The sun dueled the moon. The elements fought time and space. And the siblings of storm and stress set out to resolve their rivalry once and for all.
The fight stretched for hours, raging back and forth, but eventually someone had to be the first to die. That someone was Leif. He tried to stab Firth, but only hit the Beohur of Time’s after-image. The real Firth punched Leif’s temple with his knuckle dusters, folding time back in on itself to multiply the force of the blow. Leif’s skull cracked and his neck snapped.
Celia was next. With Firth focused on Leif, Geffen and Sara teamed up to trap her. Geffen filled the area with ankle-deep water, and when Celia teleported, Sara froze it. Celia tried to teleport into solid ice, crushing her feet and giving Geffen and Sara a chance to stab her. Her body hit the icy tiles a second after Leif’s.
Firth’s scream of sorrow was eclipsed by Anita’s scream of agony. Her brother used beams of light and fire to keep her distracted while he got close. He then tackled her, flaring his already hot and bright skin enough to cook a normal Beohur alive. Anita could only absorb and reflect so much of the heat before she eventually succumbed.
Dorothea fell to Cynefrith’s skeletal blade when she tried to keep the latter from focusing on Maeve. Dorothea tackled Cynefrith, sending them both tumbling across the square. The Beohur of Animals got in a few good gouges with her claws, but then Cynefrith’s withering touch drained her enough for the bone sword to finish her off.
Losing herself to rage, Maeve threw more plants at Cynefrith than she could wither. Cynefrith slashed and rotted the thorny vines, but eventually, one got past, its spikes digging into and deepening her already painful wounds. The next vine found her neck, green slowly turning to red as the Beohur of Death lost her lifeblood.
Full of grief over his daughter’s death, Firth threw himself at Sara, delivering blow after blow to her icy breastplate. She poured all of her power into regenerating it, but enough punches finally broke through her armor, and Firth’s next one broke through her chest.
Firth’s assault wasn’t without consequence, however. In her dying moments, Sara chilled the air so much that even the Beohur of Time was too slow to dodge the giant wave Geffen sent crashing into him. Cold, dizzy, and stunned, Firth was unable to avoid Geffen’s blade.
Kendra fell next. No one would be able to survive battle with Ryland forever, not even Hilda, but the Beohur of Love put up a strong fight. After every blow, Ryland asked her to yield. After every blow, Kendra refused. Gritte caught up with her before despair did.
Maeve shrieked and charged Ryland. Seeing an opportunity, Dagwin also rushed him, aiming his beams carefully so as not to hurt the Beohur of Plants. But Ryland was too strong, and not even two opponents could overpower him. One of Dagwin’s beams hit him in the shoulder, but he deflected the next one with the flat of Gritte’s blade, sending it boring through a carnivorous plant Maeve had summoned to attack him. Ryland blocked the next beam, and the next. Flustered, Dagwin stepped a hair too close, and with a lunge from Ryland, Gritte found its mark.
Willem screamed himself raw upon seeing his beloved die. Lightning flashed out in all directions, but especially at Hilda. At the same time, Geffen came sweeping toward her from behind. All it took was a well-timed dodge and the rage-filled lightning crackled through Geffen’s wave, slaying the Beohur of Sea.
Then there were four. Maeve threw poisonous needles at Ryland. Hilda tried to step between them, but winds dragged her toward Willem. She rolled in midair and threw her shield at her brother, letting his own wind speed its flight. It caught him right in the chin, and he sprawled onto the tile. Hilda hit the ground next to him.
She was up first. Standing over Willem, she leveled the tip of her sword at his throat. “Yield.”
“So arrogant, Sister.” Willem grabbed the blade of her sword, sending a furious electric shock through it. Hilda’s muscles tensed. She dropped to the ground once more.
Willem flipped his sister’s sword so he held it by the handle. This time, the point found its mark.
“I wish you hadn’t done this,” Ryland said, pulling Gritte from Maeve’s body. At least some of the Beohur of Plants’ poison had hit its target, as the king moved slower than usual and his hands shook.
“I wish you hadn’t made me,” Willem said. “But it’s done now. We can stop fighting.” He dropped Hilda’s sword next to her body.
Ryland continued his approach, step after step. “You arrogant child. You helped start this war. You do not get to enjoy the comfort of its end.”
Willem’s eyes widened with panic. He reached back down for the sword, but Gritte found its mark, stabbing cleanly through his neck.
With a groan, Ryland sat on the edge of the fountain to await his death. His tears and blood flowed freely. Now that Willem had been slain, the clouds were dissipating.
Ryland, King of the Beohur and its last survivor, looked up at Selador’s bright and calming sun as the life drained out of him.
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