Vespers, The Kalends of June

Hills Overlooking Eastpoint, Bahim, Drum

Kate Rinehart watched from a high branch of a yew tree as Taylor Key’s army stopped at the top of the hill overlooking Eastpoint. She had with her at least five hundred men. She was to quell this rebellion once and for all. It was getting dark, and the men began to erect torches around them. A few of the battalions were beginning to set up their tents already.

As Kate saw all this a familiar rush of battle filled her heart. The urge to dive into the ranks below and cut down the enemy rose up from the core of her very being. She knew that to do so would kill her. She was too wounded, too outnumbered. Taylor Keys could kill her with one challis from her blade. But Kate had never been afraid of death. No, out of all the pleasures of the battlefield, the greatest of them all would be to sacrifice one’s Body and Mind to battle. And yet, though the opportunity presented itself to her so clearly, she hesitated. Why? She herself did not know. In the past when she was faced with the chance to be killed in battle, she did not hesitate to throw herself into it. Take, for example, her battle against Logan in Eastpoint. She was by then already injured and knew that she could very well die in that battle. But that, for her, only gave her all the more thrill. But this time she felt something else other than the thrill. A desperate hollowness, one that she had never felt before.

Why do you fight? This was what the hollowness was asking Kate. She did not have an answer. All this time, it had not mattered.

Kate bit her lip. No, it had never mattered, and should not matter now. She looked back down where Taylor Keys was and realised that she was already looking up at her. Yes, it would be remiss for her to think that the daughter of the Councillor would not be able to Sense Kate watching her. None of the other soldiers had noticed her, however. Taylor gave her an ambiguous smile. Kate steadied her footing on the branch, ready to leap off.

Then Taylor looked sharply away from her, down towards Eastpoint. Kate looked also.

It was Logan Floyd. He was coming up the hill, alone.

The archers that formed a line behind the first few rows of Taylor’s army readied themselves. Taylor raised a hand.

“He is mine,” said Taylor.

And so all of them, Kate, Taylor, and her whole army, watched as Logan made his way up the hill. The only sounds on that hill was Logan’s slow, heavy steps. Eventually, he stopped a few feet away from Taylor. Taylor drew her longblade.

“It has been a while,” said Logan. “Taylor.”

“I did not think I would be seeing you again in this way,” said Taylor, with a smile. “The Lanques Ball is just two moons away. I thought you might have entertained me with a dance.”

Logan smiled also. “The Lanques Ball,” said Logan, drawing his fauchard. “The last one I attended, the wild dog took Lord Thorne’s boots, no?”

“It was his hat, I believe,” said Taylor. The air around them was becoming cooler and cooler. Cracks of frost began to appear on her blade. “Your memory fails you.”

“Perhaps,” said Logan. Sparks of lightning began forming on his fauchard.

“Stand back,” said Taylor, to her men.

They both swung their blades and the air exploded in ice and lightning. They rushed towards each other and exchanged blow after blow. Taylor Keys was trained in the traditional Ramani method of swordfighting, which taught precise, efficient blows. She was on the offensive, delivering blow after blow that Logan defended with the Cyrill school of thought, which was looser, with a stronger emphasis on the rhythm and the path of the blade. Little by little Logan was pushed back. Then Taylor Keys found a gap and sent out a challis towards Logan. He defended with Barrier Connexion.

Taylor raised her eyebrows in surprise. She, too, had not known that he had learned Barrier Connexion. However, Taylor never lost her composure in battle. She followed with the manoeuvre she was best known for. With a double-handed grip, she swung her blade upward, sending out a path of ice that erupted out of the ground.

Logan had faced this technique before. It was the reason he had lost the a friendly duel with her three years ago, the night after the Lanques Ball, the one that featured the wild dog’s attack of Lord Thorne. That was the last time he had seen Taylor.

Logan drove his fauchard into the ground, and when the trail of rice reached his fauchard the ground erupted out into shards of frost and arcs of lightning. Before he could withdraw his fauchard from the ground, Taylor Keys had already closed the gap and had leapt above the eruption. In a single-handed grip she drove her blade down onto Logan. Logan dodged just in time, but the Impact Connexion from Taylor’s blade splayed open the side of Logan’s left arm. Crying out, Logan ripped the fauchard out of the ground just in time to block another of Taylor’s blows. Taylor did not withdraw to strike again. She pushed forward with Force Connexion. Logan strengthened his own Barrier Connexion, but already his left arm was faltering from the pain. The point of the fauchard that was in contact with Taylor’s blade was already turning white with frost.

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“Why do you only defend,” said Taylor, through gritted teeth.

Logan did not answer. All his Mind was directed towards strengthening his Barrier Connexion.

“I am disappointed,” said Taylor. “I thought you would hold out longer.”

With a cry, Taylor pushed forward with an even stronger burst of Force Connexion, and Logan’s Barrier Connexion broke. Logan’s shoulders buckled, and he could not react in time to stop Taylor’s next challis. It tore a wound in Logan’s chest, and Logan was sent hurtling down the hill.

Down and down he went, seemingly forever, until he stopped at the foot of the hill, covered in mud. He could hear cheering erupting from Taylor’s army. Logan let out a deep groan and looked up at the hill, which was already bright with burning torches. He could make out the silhouette of Taylor Keys, standing tall and proud.

He could feel lighting begin to crackle around him. No, he thought. He had to control it. He could not let himself loose, not in front of so many people. But the more the wound in his arm and chest ached, the more his heart pounded. He felt as if he was back in Cyrill Forest, facing insurmountable death, where he closed his eyes and lost himself to the dance…

But no. This was his last chance at redemption. He raised himself up and stood on unsteady legs. He took one step, then another. He went on, towards the silhouette of Taylor Keys. She did not move, just watched him with savage disinterest. By the time he reached the top of the hill Logan had to use his fauchard to support him as he climbed. The cheering of the army had died down into uneasy whispers.

Without a word, Taylor sent out a challis. Logan blocked it. Taylor sent out two rechallis. Logan blocked them too, but the force of the second rechallis sent Logan’s fauchard flying. It landed somewhere back at the foot of the hill.

“I wanted to give my men a show,” said Taylor. “Though it was underwhelming at best, I can at least give them an exciting finale.”

Taylor sheathed her longblade. Then she spread out her arms, palm facing forward. The air around her danced with fragments of frost. Taylor’s men watched in awe as the frost fragments gathered together to form small feathers, which then merged into something resembling two flapping wings. Taylor joined her palms together, and the frost erupted upwards into a shape of a great bird. There were shouts and gasps all across the hill. This was talia, a form of Stone Connexion that channeled the spirit of one of the Lops, an ancient technique that was said to be exchanged for a Stone from the Lops during the First War. However, it was something of a legend and no helia had been able to conjure a full talia since the First War until Councillor Viltik himself, who was able to conjure a bear talia. And yet here was Taylor Keys. Though, it must be noted, it was an incomplete talia, constantly in flux, breaking down and reforming. But it was certainly a finale indeed.

“Die,” said Taylor.

The bird talia shot down towards Logan, opening its beaks in a silent scream. Logan knew instinctively that he would die if he did not fight it with all his strength. He felt the bloodlust, the rage, the senseless killing, rise up within him again. Logan closed his eyes. He saw before him Jack, bleeding out in his hands, smiling. Logan opened his eyes.

The lightning that Logan produced could not be described as an arc. It was more a pillar. It destroyed the talia into a thousand fragments which fell like snow, glistening in the dancing light of the torches.

The next burst of lightning was directed towards Taylor, which she blocked with her two palms. She cried out, and took one step back, and another step. Then Logan could see that her arms were beginning to give way, and that sooner or later she would yield, which would no doubt kill her and half a dozen men behind her. Logan redirected the lightning towards the ground in front of her, which led to an explosion.

Cries rang out from Taylor’s army, but even when the debris of the explosion subsided the cries continued, and if anything began to grow. Taylor turned to look behind her. The ranks had broken at the flank of the army, which faced the Drum Mountains. It was an ambush from Hazel and her men.

Taylor swung her blade across the ground in front of her, creating a wall of ice between her and Logan. She turned sharply to her second-in-command, Francis Gilmore, son of Lord Gilmore, and said, “Go assist with the flank. Take the Councillor’s Guard.”

As the army flurried to rearrange its ranks, Taylor waved her arm and the wall of ice fell down. She realised with horror that Logan was gone.

“No,” she said, and looked frantically around. The hill was already ablaze with the sounds of battle.

She saw him, some distance away, skilfully disarming her men but not killing them. He knocked the blades out of their hands, incapacitated them with a blow with his fist, and then sent them rolling down the hill. He was doing all of this, of course, bare-handed, as his fauchard was still at the bottom of the hill.

Taylor took off, pushing past her men to reach Logan, her violent exhalations fogging up the warm air of the night.

Compline, The Kalends of June

Hills Overlooking Eastpoint, Bahim, Drum

Taylor’s army had yet to set up all of the torches at the flanks, so soon enough her men were plunged into darkness, save for the flashes of light when Hazel’s attacks found its target. The revolutionaries seemed to use the darkness as a cloak, moving in and out of ranks, slicing at the soldiers, then disappearing again. This was, of course, because by this time the revolutionaries were more adept at Connexion than the average soldier. Whenever a soldier tried to set up a torch, they were shot down by Genevieve, the revolutionaries’ finest markswoman, from somewhere among the dark pillars of Drum Mountain. By the time a few torches were finally set up as Francis Gilmore and the Councillor’s Guard arrived, the flank was decimated.

“Fall back!” cried out Hazel. Francis Gilmore was the Leader of the Councillor’s Guard, the most rigorously trained heliaof all of Drum. Hazel would not find it easy to dispatch any one of them, and to face Francis Gilmore she would have to give it her all. And she could not afford to lose any lives.

And so the revolutionaries disappeared into the darkness again. Francis Gilmore, a large man with a pointed beard and a scar running across his left eye, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “They’re heading for our rear.”

The Councillor’s Guard began moving without another word, leaving the soldiers in the flank collapsing and groaning from fear and exhaustion.