“Fancy words for an oath breaking bastard.”

Hostile words lanced down the street, coming from the direction of Avignon’s cathedral. Seven men in armor –knights bearing Viscount Blackwood’s crest on their breastplates– pushed their way through the street. Brushing aside the children of Avignon with armored hands, knocking aside those few who had survived the fires without a care for what they had been through. Liam knew these men in an instant.

Hired knights from distant lands, calloused men who did not fight for honor or glory but for coin. Loyal to the highest bidder, a common occurance in a world where God leads the masses with a lightning bolt. Mercenaries were generally hired to do the dirtiest work, or when you had no one else to count on. Because of this they were perfect for Heir Blackwood’s personal guard.

A man who consequently waddled in front of the knights. He was a rotund man, muscular of limb despite his grand navel. Moreover his armor was of the finest quality, custom forged to accommodate his extravagant bulk. At his side stood a robed man with a staff in one hand, wearing the dark robes of a priest.

Heir Oliver Blackwood, son of Viscount Alexander Blackwood had come to Avignon. Bile rose in Liam’s throat, wanting to join the scum.

Sure, show up after the fight. I can smite them— no, I'm out of mana. Or I was out of mana a couple of hours ago. Ah! WHY! Fury raged in his mind, quelled by Liam’s logic. Heir Blackwood could be judged another day, fighting here only risked the three mages who could save Greenwood. I’ll have to negotiate…

“Heir Blackwood, I thank you for aiding the people of Avignon—”

“Sod off you old faggot. Papa already promised me your lands, these people are mine, you need not concern yourself with their affairs.” Sneered the porcine youth.

Liam’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair. There was treachery conducted in shadows, and then there was open rebellion against the king’s law. This was not the former. Should evidence of Viscount Blackwood’s plot to slay Baron Green reach the king it would be universally seen as a blatant disregard for the laws of succession. In a word, treason.

The king had given the land to Baron Green’s house, he was the rightful heir and the only one who could birth or appoint a new heir. The only exception was if his heir did not possess sufficient magical affinity then the lands would return to the king. Weak nobles were not tolerated, not by church, or by country, or by the people.

Viscount Blackwood would only gain the fief if Baron Green’s entire line died and Greenwood was leveraged against a substantial debt. Neither of these cases were true. Thus attempting to reclaim the land for his son while Liam still lived was conclusive evidence of treachery.

“Hey, fleabag! I recognize you. Come here!” Ordered Heir Blackwood.

Nyota’s ears vanished into her hair, her tail going straight up as she shook with abject terror.

“Heir blackwood, your father ordered this maid to accompany me. In accordance with the oaths of fealty we swore to each other. Leave her be.”

“Shut your whoring mouth Green. Come here cat, or else.” Sneered heir Blackwood, struggling for a moment before producing a red oval crystal from his belt.

Liam knew from Baron Green’s memories what the object was. A crystal attuned to the enslavement collars of the Blackwood estate. With that crystal he had full control over the magic that suffused Nyota’s collar. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry at the prospect of what Heir Blackwood might do to the most important woman in his life.

Judging by the look on Heir Blackwood’s face, the man had something deeply unpleasant in store for her. Practically leering at the maid. In spite of his gaze, or maybe because of it, Nyota stood her ground, not moving an inch. Blackwood’s jaw opened slightly, going slack with surprise. A maid, a nobody, was defying the lord. On reflex Blackwood raised the crystal, channeling mana into it, Nyota’s collar began to heat, mana warming the steel band til it could cook flesh.

“Have you gone mad? You would torture a healer?” Cried Rhendal, rushing to Nyota’s side.

Mana flowed from the collar to Rhendal, some exchange taking place that Liam could sense but not understand. Was this because of my mana manipulation levels?

“Bah, cat’s can’t use magic, she is nothing more than a slave. If she weren’t so dirty I would let her warm my bed.” Laughed Heir Blackwood.

Laughter echoed in Liam’s mind.

Nyota screamed in pain.

“Oh shut up.” Said Blackwood, sounding as if Nyota was the one torturing him.

Any thoughts of negotiation vanished as Liam watched the collar tighten around her neck. Nyota fell to her knees, taking one last gasp of air as the collar began to squeeze the life from her throat.

“If that is all she is to you, then I will buy-”

“I see you care for her Baron Green. Hehe Ha HA! I am going to savor every moment of this. The look on your face as you watch me strangle her is worth more than your entire barony!” Cackled Heir blackwood.

Damn Green. What did you do to make this man hate you so much? Memories of Heir Blackwood rushed into his mind. Oh wait… You fucked his mom. Then his sister… Oh shit Green. His fiance too?! What the fuck is wrong with you! Damnit all! A thought entered his mind, a hail mary, Nyota would be dead in a moment, maybe seconds. He had to act fast.

Liam faceplanted. Actually headbutting the dirt to prostrate himself.

“I have done you many wrongs. I see that now, though it took a bolt of lightning to strike some sense into me. I am sorry. Please my lord. Name your price and I will see it paid. Give me a chance to right the wrongs of my past. To repent of my evils.”

“Your life. And This maid’s life!” Hooted Heir Blackwood, enjoying every second of his dominance.

It was probably the only time he had ever won a fair fight, and it would be the last victory he ever knew.

Time was up, Liam needed to act. Nyota was turning an ugly shade of purple as she asphyxiated. Rhendal stood beside her, his fingers tucked beneath her collar. Smoke rose from the connection and the scent of burning skin reached Liam.

Rhendal’s staff rolled across the dirt, coming to rest against Liam’s thigh.

He was too late.

A whisper from deep within the wrinkles of Green’s brain sparked an idea. This world valued power above justice. With no other options, he raised a finger gun towards blackwood.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I accept your challenge and name magic as the weapon of our duel.” Shouted Liam, picking up Rhendal’s staff.

Mana burned the air, unleashing a spearlike column of fire at Heir blackwood.

The bolt moved at the speed of light, landing squarely on the crystal in blackwood’s hand and shattering it into dust. The man beside Heir Blackwood raised his staff, summoning a wall of earth. Stones swam through the dirt towards him, rising to form a wall that would have protected them both.

If it had been a second faster.

Rhendal’s staff still contained power, raw mana that Liam pulled into himself, his body processed the mana, altering its affinity from fire to lightning.

“Pew.” Said Liam.

Words that had started as a joke were now pronounced with the severity of death. Since that is what Liam aimed to do. To murder a fellow human being in cold blood, robbing the mirth from his soul.

Lightning struck Heir Blackwood, arcing through his metal armor into the earth affinity mage at his side. Liam poured everything he had into that bolt, intending to kill. But he was drained, no blinding light or echo of thunder accompanied the bolt, leaving Liam to collapse once more, landing hard on the dirt road.

Two thuds echoed in his mind, the last thing he heard before darkness took him.

—-

“You killed him!” Exclaimed a mercenary knight.

“I am the champion Arlet. If you remain here you will all perish by my hands.” Shouted Arlet.

Whispers moved through the sellsword knights, apparently familiar with Arlet’s reputation. One of them checked on Heir Blackwood, shaking his head once. Their patron was conclusively dead.

“A true shame that Heir Blackwood challenged a Lightning Lord in magical combat. Even with a second mage he was overcome. That is the story you will take to Viscount Blackwood. Do you understand me?” Shouted Arlet.

Nods came from the knights, lies that Arlet knew would be broken once they were out of his sword’s reach. Then let us teach them a lesson they will not forget. He thought.

Darting forward Arlet thrust his sword between the armor plates on a knight’s neck, severing both carotid arteries. Not pausing to watch the man die, Arlet took two steps and slashed through a second knight’s throat, his sword’s tip snapping under the strain of a champion’s full strength.

He sheathed his broken blade, turning his back on the four remaining knights. They were only mercenaries, chaff for him to slay. For their part they did not pursue him, running to check on the knights Arlet had attacked. They were like Liam, too late. Finding them dead before their helmets were removed.

“Do not make me repeat myself. Tell Blackwood that his son was killed in a duel of honor. We did not want this, but he demanded it and threatened the prize. Heir Blackwood refused an offer of the entire barony. Now begone! Or die here.” Said Arlet.

His voice was quiet, but spoke with the steel chords of a murder. None of the knights needed time to think, they ran, sprinting for the church where they retrieved horses and fled from Avignon. Not even stopping to take their fallen comrades.

“A thousand poxes on the cowards who hid in safety when they should have fought. Mounted knights would have been a match for those orcs, especially with two mages!” Growled Arlet, thoroughly pleased that four of their party lay dead.

Dishonorable blood deserved to be split, drained into the earth where it would be forgotten.

Whispers of shock passed amongst the townsfolk, none spoke well of Heir Blackwood, but both Nyota and Lord Liam lay in the dirt. Consequentially leaving them without either lord to guide them. Mere seconds had passed and two men were dead.

“Why are you standing around! You have your orders, get to them.” Snapped one of Liam’s knights.

—

Liam stirred, waking from his momentary exhaustion. Nyota lay a few feet away, close enough for him to see that she was drawing her last breaths. Rhendal sat on his butt, slave collar resting in his blackened fingers. He sacrificed his fingers to save Nyota?

Shame filled Liam for ever doubting Rhendal’s loyalty.

He was the betrayer of oaths here, not Rhendal. If only he had acted sooner then Nyota –their only healer!– would not be wheezing for air. Liam had taken too long trying to bargain with Heir Blackwood and Nyota had paid the price. In pure frustration he snatched the collar from Rhendal, draining it of mana in the same way he had drained Rhendal’s staff, except this time he went further. Not just draining the mana, but extracting every atom of power from the collar.

“If anyone deserves to die, it is the one who invented this.” Growled Liam, discarding the enslavement collar.

The sage poked it with his staff, pausing a moment before he closed the collar. Then opened it again. One of his eyebrows raised in confusion, not yet grasping what Liam had done.

Liam could not have cared less about Rhendal’s confusion, his mind raced as he brushed aside Nyota’s hair and saw her neck. Third degree burns covered the rear half of her neck, while the front of her neck was a disgusting purple hue. Rhendal’s fingers saved her skin, but not her throat which had collapsed completely. Each breath she tried to breathe collapsed her airway. She gasped for air, tears flowed freely from her eyes.

“Shhhh. I know it hurts. You are going to be just fine Nyota.” Whispered Liam, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He lifted the felinid l into his arms, earning him one of her genuine smiles, wrapping her arms around him in a last embrace.

Despite Heir Blackwood’s death and Rhendal’s intervention the collar had done its bloody work, crushing her neck until the hyoid bone had broken. Without a tracheostomy she would soon suffocate. A long painful death as her body ran out of oxygen. The worst part is exactly how slow it would be, since the windpipe was unobstructed she would be able to inhale partially, reminding Liam of a case study he had once read. Where a patient had asphyxiated over the course of seven hours.

We don’t have another healer! Damn Heir Blackwood! Damn him straight to hell! There has to be something I can do!

Nyota touched his cheek, wiping away a tear he did not know was there, she wheezed, trying to speak through her broken throat.

“Shhh, save your breath, we will get you fixed up in no time Nyota.” Consoled Liam, unsure who he was lying too.

Shit fuck. Okay, think Liam, her airway is blocked, I need to open it up somehow. A tube could be put down her throat… If I had a god damned tracheostomy kit! Okay, that’s out, so I just need to cut into her neck…

Oh who am I kidding! I dissected dead bodies in a lab! This is surgery on a live patient. I have no scalpels and the knives here are about as sharp as a spork! If my hand shakes or the blade slips it could cut her throat open by accident.

I need magic.

Wiping away Nyota’s tears, his eyes fell to his mutated hand. Claws were sharp, he might be able to use one to pierce her esophagus in a precise manner. No, his fingernail was a half mutated mess that he had never attempted to use. Nyota’s claws were far sharper and designed for use, but her hands were weak and what he really needed from them was her magic.

“Rhendal! Where does magic come from? The body or the soul?” He shouted.

Rhendal jumped in surprise, shocked at the urgency of his philosophical question.

“Uhm, what a novel time to ponder arcane mysteries.” He said, stroking his beard and wincing as the skin on his burned fingers flaked away. “Oh bother.”

“Quickly man!” Shouted Liam.

“Well, erm… The simplest answer would be that mana comes from the heavens into the soul, and then we use our bodies to convert mana into our affinities and express our powers.” Mused Rhendal, perplexed by the question.

That was good enough for Liam. He placed his mutated hand over Nyota’s throat and closed his eyes. Racking both of his brains for the right chant. Nyota had sung it more than five times a day since she had first healed him. Despite never having said it himself he knew the words by heart.

"Heaven's grace, a lightning god's decree,

With fervent faith, I call on thee.

Wounds mend, pain's grasp shall cease,

In sacred light, we find our peace."

*Slluuuu POP*

Liam gagged as he felt her bones shift beneath his palm, sliding forward then together with a moist pop. Nyota gasped for air, filling her lungs fully for the first time in several long moments. Several deep breaths followed the first, her blue complexion lightening to a soft tan. She rolled forward, burying her face into Liam’s chest and wept with joy. Mumbling “thank you”s and “I’m sorry”s into his heart.

He made no response, unable to muster the strength to speak for several moments. Oof, I feel like we just pulled two all-nighters and worked out the whole time. How is being this exhausted even possible?

Rhendal dropped his staff.

Wood thonked against dirt as the sage stared at Liam with eyes wider than dinner plates. A healing Lightning Lord had never existed, because it was impossible.