XXVIII. “I COULD CARE LESS.”

  A modest crowd of nobility and staff had formed in the palace courtyard despite the chill pall brought by high tensions and dark clouds overhead. Aichlan was glad to have changed from his formal wear, returning to the oddly comfortable uniform he had lived in for the past several months now. The air was crisp, and the breeze carried with it flakes of snow that threatened to fall in greater numbers. Due to the cold, the fountain had been shut off for fear of the water freezing the pipes, and now served as a seating area from some of the castle's various rugrats. The gardens were shriveled and dead or dying, the perfect setting for the duels he had taken. Before him stood his opponent, the glove tossing Duke of Port Romance readied himself as best he could. He had recruited two of his strongest soldiers to be his second and third respectively. Aichlan felt no fear, even pity, for they had no idea what it was they had been dragged into.

  “You ready Eth?”

  “Of course.” Eth replied; rubbing his hands together as his breath came out in steamy puffs.

  “Have you ever dueled before?”

  “Nae in the manner o’ humans, but I have been in many a mock battle b’fore.”

  Aichlan pulled on his gauntlets, not taking his eyes off the offending noble. More than half of this battle was fought mentally, and his opponent was absolutely terrified. The other man however seemed as calm and collected as Aichlan portrayed himself to be. His standbys were not as overtly menacing as his colleagues were, but their eyes and the way they carried themselves said otherwise. Of all the men and women present at the council, he was the only one who bore the grizzled look of a combat veteran, and could indeed prove to be a challenge.

  “Duels are based on a point system. You gain points by breaching your opponent's guard and landing a hit. They are fought to the death, or to a set point. We are dueling till death, but there is no honor in killing a man with one blow. It must be a back and forth ‘dance’ I guess you could call it.”

  Eth recoiled as if Aichlan’s words were dung on a hot breeze. “That’s asinine. What if ye dominate the blighter?”

  “Then make it last for the spectators.” Aichlan motioned to the crowds gathered on the balconies and on benches around the garden.

  The weather quickly turned ghastly, too cold now for even snow as the occasional ice crystal fell awkwardly from the blanket of grey overhead. More spectators arrived, bringing with them confectioners and warming stations were hastily erected. Duels between nobles often drew crowds, but even Aichlan was unprepared for this, especially given the fact that he was basically nobody in the kingdom. His only hope was that once he felled his opponents, no one was foolish enough to vow revenge or this could last forever.

  “What about the other bloke o’er there, he has four men.” Donough aimed his sword in the direction of which he spoke.

  Aichlan hastily lowered his arm. “Damn it, I hope he doesn’t want a battle royale.”

  “A what?”

  Aichlan looked up to see Maleah wander over with pastry in hand. It was a wonder the woman could eat as she did and retain her figure. It seemed that she had been enjoying her stay, and somehow managed to gain a room in the palace. Aichlan hoped he didn’t ruin this chance respite for his troops; it was well warranted after all they had been through. Far be it from him to allow selfish, petty actions dictate the fate for others.

  “Can you use a sword?” He asked begrudgingly, his eyes wide as the crowd continued to swell.

  “Not really,” Maleah tossed her hair and licked the frosting from her fingers, “why?”

  “Nothing, where is Fiora?”

  Maleah shrugged her bare shoulders in response. The exposed nape of her slender neck was provocative, but her attitude and obstinacy led him to want to wrap his hands around it for other reasons. Aichlan gently pushed her from out of his way as he searched for more of his officers that could wield a blade, but found none. Maleah was a proficient spear fighter, and her style was quite unique, yet that didn’t mean it would transfer well into swordplay. Aichlan wondered who her instructor was, if she had one. Her moves seemed more inspired by dance than anything. If that were indeed the case, she may be able to adapt, however he wasn’t willing to risk her life on it.

  “Maleah, go find me two sword fighters.”

  “Now? The first fights about to start!”

  Aichlan took a deep breath to calm himself. “Why do you fight me at every turn?”

  “I dunno; I like you I guess.” She replied candidly with a shrug.

  Aichlan wanted to be upset, but found such a prospect impossible. “I’m flattered but—“

  Aichlan stopped as someone tugged at his sleeve; he turned to see Rowena standing behind him, dressed for battle. She wore a green belted tunic that exposed a bit too much thigh, stockings that looked to be woven from spider’s silk and leather ankle boots. Her only armor was a pair of gauntlets that appeared to be made of both leather and tree bark, and a flimsy chemise made of some type of woven metal.

  “I would like to fight for you Aichlan, if that is alright that is.”

  Aichlan scanned the crowd for more familiar faces, but upon finding none he relented. “Fine, but you can’t use that bow, or the shield.”

  “Are you still certain you want to go through with this Aichlan?”

  Aichlan turned to see Laelianus standing before him. His hatred rose again as he confronted the arrogant king that had set this whole affair into motion.

  “You bastard! Why didn’t you tell me the Briternica alliance had accepted my army?”

  “Siegrun, I shall have to have words with her…”

  “No! You talk to me, now. What the hell are you playing at Laelianus?”

  “This won’t end well for you Aichlan. The alliance wants to use you as I sought to use the Sorn at Lucien’s suggestion. If you fight for me, you can live, and if you must die then it will be with honor. Renata is dead and Osric is either dead as well or damn good at hiding. Either way you gain nothing by running off into the wilderness. We can fortify the borders of Elysia, Arlien and Duvachellé; slowly squeezing Sorn till there is no place left for man nor beast to hide. Surely you see the logic in this.”

  In fact, the plan was sound, but that wasn’t Aichlan’s mission in life. He was to save the Priestess and slay Osric before he completed his mad ploy. Or so he continued to tell himself every chance that arose. In reality, he had become rather jaded and full of doubt lately. Nothing made sense anymore, not Osric, not the war, and definitely not the nobles who dawdled at every turn instead of actually doing something to return peace and order. It was his job as leader to not let the others he led know he felt this way however.

  “We hunt Osric. We cannot bide our time here, and I will not forsake those who have stood by me for so long.”

  Laelianus regarded Aichlan as one would an idiot, but eventually sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “So be it Aichlan, but do not leave my court a foe. Accept my hospitality for at least two more weeks.”

  Aichlan thought over the man’s offer, his head level, he could now see the consequences of his rashness before. His soldiers needed time to recoup and resupply. Dawn knew the next time they would see civilization again. Not to mention Ashe was with child, she deserved a pause before he dragged her across the continent. The thought of Aichlan’s first born being born in some empty field of Sorn filled him with sadness and regret. Aichlan sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, his rage tempered, if only slightly so. The only remaining obstacle was admitting this to Laelianus without conceding victory.

  “…Your pompous Lords will still be dealt with Laelianus.”

  “By all means, the Duke of Port Romance is no friend of mine, he was one of Dorso’s pets. However, that other man, Colonel Frederic...” Laelianus shook his head as he tsk’d.

  “I’m not backing out.” Aichlan said firmly.

  Lealianus held out his hands in feigned resignation. “A pity, for your sake. I shall be watching with great interest.”

  Aichlan left, curious as to why Laelianus would choose to doubt him now. They may have hated each other to a certain degree, but each knew quite well what the other was capable of. There was no reason for him to attempt to psyche him out.

  “What an ass.”

  “Aye.” Aichlan turned to see Maleah next to him. “What the hell are you still doing here? I sent you to find a sword fighter.”

  Maleah rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff. “And I said that the fights about to start, you aren’t going to make me repeat the whole thing are you?”

  “The more time I spend with you, the more I praise your brother’s saintly patience.” Aichlan muttered in resignation.

  “Whatever. But in all seriousness, what you said back there, about riding by my side. Did you mean that?”

  Aichlan found himself once more struck by how femenine she looked. She was young, and while she had no doubt seen and been party to more than her fair share of violence, there was a certain purity in her expectant gaze.

  “Yes, or I would not have said it. You are lazy, argumentative and crude—“

  “Thanks, thanks a lot…” Maleah waved him off and started to walk away.

  Aichlan grabbed her arm, halting her, his tone and expression softening. “But I also see the concern you have for others and the way you treat your soldiers. You draw people to you, which is likely why you get away with as much as you do.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “…that didn’t make up for the first part, but I appreciate it nonetheless. And Séverin wasn’t always a saint; he learned most of it from… I’ll be back.”

  The glove throwing Duke sent his vassal over to Aichlan and his small circle of allies. Judging by the amount of men on the opposition’s side, the vassal was coming to discuss terms of Aichlan’s surrender or forfeit. Either his officers were loyally following his orders to break camp, or didn’t care about the outcome, but Aichlan was having a hard time finding another swordsman. If it were a free for all as he suspected he would be at a serious disadvantage.

  “My lord, I bring word from Duke Léon of the Port of Romance. He has conceded this first battle to Colonel Frederic.”

  Aichlan laughed aloud. “Has he now? Cowards shouldn’t be allowed to even wear gloves if that is the case.”

  “If that is all…”

  “Yes, I have no complaints. However, I would like to know the colonel’s terms of battle before we move forward.”

  “One on one, three substitutes, five combatants. The weapon will be swords and nothing else.”

  Aichlan spat and waved the vassal away. The good news was that it was not a free-for-all, the bad news was that this colonel must have something up his sleeve if he thought to challenge them to single combat. It would be five on five, if one person were to be on the verge of death, he could save them with a substitution.

  “Eth, Donough.”

  “Yeah?” Eth replied as Donough silently nodded his head beside him.

  “No flames, fight to kill disregard what I said earlier. Rowena.”

  “Yes Aichlan?”

  “I want you to go first, throw him off balance and gauge his men’s strength.”

  “That doesn’t make any damn sense! Why send this lass out to ‘er death? How will that accomplish anything?” Donough exploded.

  Donough crossed his arms, taking great offense to Aichlan’s tactics and put him on the defensive. Aichlan didn’t know how this would accomplish anything, but he knew it was expected for him to send in the burly Donough or the short tempered Eth, and he could not lead as it was considered unfashionable. Rowena was his unexpected factor. Hopefully it would work to his advantage.

  “That may be so, but I can think of nothing else.”

  “You’re the General, part of that is not having to admit your faults.” Eth interjected, squashing any further debate.

  “And that’s why you’re second in command. Rowena, are you ready?”

  The young woman was obviously confused, unsure if she should be offended, or afraid for her life that Aichlan was willing to sacrifice. “I suppose…”

  “Good, now if only Maleah can return in time with our last man then this can be underway.”

  “Are the combatant’s ready mi’lords?” the judge called from before the fountain.

  Aichlan’s opponent merely nodded; his face as stone, unconcerned for the entire event. Aichlan ushered Rowena towards the fountain. Her opponent was a gangly man, his face thin and his body seemingly devoid of fat. He stroked his mustache as he slinked into the arena, drawing the thin rapier that had become prominent in Duvachellé in recent years. Rowena unsheathed her own sword strapped to her back, the runes glittering in the winter light as a gust rustled the last of the foliage from the trees. The man smirked and taunted her in Elysian.

  “I am afraid I don’t speak frog sir.” She calmly replied.

  “And I don’t speak much savage, whore.” He spat in accented Aes Sidhean.

  He took up a fencing stance, his arm behind his back as he cut the air with gentle swirls and seemingly lazy slashes, most too fast for human eyes to register. Rowena twirled her own blade, and looked to Aichlan for direction.

  Aichlan nodded for her to proceed. “The challenger has the first move Rowena.”

  In the blink of an eye, she darted forwards, moving like a stiff gale to close upon her opponent.The crowd gasped as her opponent played on her momentum as he deflected her blow, slipping past her. Rowena stumbled as he scratched the back of her thigh drawing blood, taking a bow to the crowd as she recovered with a handspring back into attack position. Aichlan clenched his fist and placed it to his mouth. He had barely been able to track her movements, meaning this nobleman was no pushover.

  A sudden gust shook the dried up foliage from their branches, and with it Rowena became a green blur to tear across the courtyard. Her opponent raised his guard, momentarily stunned as she went into a barrage of fluid strikes. She whipped her deceptively light blade with an apparent reckless abandon, though in actuality each strike was calculated and with a purpose. The crowd gasped once more as the tide so quickly turned, and the young elf flitted about her stunned opponent like a leaf dancing on the wind. She hammered at him with the intensity of an ocean against a rocky shore. In her hands, the sword became a painter’s brush, wielded with equal grace and fluidity. The nobleman attempted a riposte twice, but the lithe elf managed to contort and flex around his strikes and lash out with her own blade in one fell movement. Her opponent was left back pedaling as he struggled to deflect the blows slung at him.

  Unable to retreat any further, he pushed back in an attempt to knock her off balance, but it failed as she back flipped and handspringed to safety. As she touched down on one foot, Rowena used the second to kick off the ground again, resuming her flurry of elegant strikes. Aichlan watched with interest, he was constantly being surprised by the skill of his rag-tag band. If she continued as she did, Rowena could likely one shot the entire enemy team.

  Aichlan looked away from the spectacle before him as Maleah jogged over, heels dangling by their straps from her mouth as she hiked up her dress with one hand, and held a bottle of champagne in the other. Behind her Fiora and Alice chased breathlessly. Aichlan was pleased that Maleah had followed his orders, but curious as to where the steady stream of liquor was coming from. Fiora slowed to the stiff walk of military officers as she approached.

  “At ease Fiora,” he waved brusquely, taking his eyes off the fight for but a second. “Now is not the time for formalities.”

  “I would beg to differ Aichlan.” Indignation flashed across Alice’s electric green eyes.

  Aichlan looked over Alice curiously, she had a slight sunburn and her boots were caked in red dust and soot.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Vergas.” She replied offhandedly. “Now pray tell how the hell is it that you get involved in a duel as soon as we reach civilization again? This isn’t going to interfere with our accommodations now is it?”

  Aichlan snarled; Alice’s tongue had become increasingly loose when addressing him. While she technically held a greater station than himself, it was common decency to afford military leaders a certain level of decorum and respect, particularly when addressing them before their subordinates.Though admittedly, he did nothing to curb the trend, it still annoyed him to no end. It certainly didn’t help that she was being so unnecessarily cryptic regarding her whereabouts. Vergas was months away, how could she have gone there and back in the span of a day? The woman had a special status with him, this was no secret, but she could be a bit more discerning as to the where’s and when’s.

  “Shut up Alice…” he shot back, a bit delayed.

  “Captain Miroshnik has apprised me of the situation General; I am at your disposal.”

  “Very good, but no one will be ‘disposed’ so long as I have a say in the matter.” Aichlan’s gaze lingered briefly on Maleah’s heaving chest as she clutched the bottle to them. “Maleah, where do you keep finding liquor?”

  Maleah attempted to hide her bottle behind her back. “Uh…”

  “Be sure there is enough for everyone.” He replied with a grin, crossing his arms over his chest in the face of another chill breeze.

  Rowena slashed, cutting her opponent deep across the midsection. He immediately clamped his hand over the wound, holding up the other in surrender.

  “Respite! Respite!”

  Rowena charged in for the kill, either unsure of the man’s meaning or not caring.

  “Rowena! Halt!” Aichlan shouted. “Let him go, he has the right to three substitutes.”

  Rowena skidded to a stop, her blade poised to the trembling lord’s throat, a look of utter contempt on her face. Aichlan let out a sigh of relief, if she killed him he would have had to give a life in return, something he would have been unable to do. She withdrew a handkerchief and wiped the blood from her blade and threw the soiled cloth at the man’s feet as he limped away. A nearby cleric embraced the Dawn to perform a healing, and Rowena in turn returned to her corner.

  “Titania taught ya well lass.” Eth said with uncharacteristic admiration. “Ye almost fight like a true guardian o’ the forest.”

  “Thank you Eth, you flatter me.” She blushed and avoided eye contact in the face of Eth’s unexpected praise. “But… my form is still rather poor.”

  “The fact that ye see yer own faults is a sure sign of a warrior.” Donough folded his arms over his chest, attempting to keep his fierce mien as he offered the young woman kudos. “Try an’ stay on yer toes though; yer particular style is that o’ the leaf dancers. Ye must be as a leaf on the wind, floating and light as the air that carries ye. I saw that ye planted yer feet when ye ran oor upon landing.”

  Aichlan was curious as to how Donough knew so much about the Alfheim martial arts, even more curious as to how he noticed fault in the young woman’s near flawless performance.

  “Sounds like ballet.”

  Donough turned to Maleah, his disdain for the woman evident in his expression. “A what?”

  “It’s a type of dance;” She replied, oblivious to his expression of contempt, “I incorporate it into my own fighting style. I wanted to be a dancer, when I was little, but ended up following my brother into the military instead.”

  “Aichlan,” Alice stepped forward and tugged at Aichlan’s sleeve. “You didn’t answer my last query, with regards to this foolish machismo endeavor and our current living situation.”

  “No Alice, we shall remain for a fortnight before continuing our march. Now please, I’ve much to do.” Aichlan turned his attentions back to his fighters. “Rowena, I want for you to rest for the next match. Eth, Donough, it is between the two of you; which one of you fights next?”

  “Only two weeks? Surely we can extend our stay a little longer…”

  “Alice, if you wish to stay I would encourage it and make sure you get treated as your status entails, but now is not the time.” Aichlan shot back and turned his attention back to Eth and Donough.

  “How dare you? I would never abandon my friends as such! I only ask because I have found—“

  Aichlan turned to Alice, holding up his hand to silence her. “Alice, I could really not care less. Do what you will.”

  “Sir…” Fiora stood, mouth agape, torn between defending her friend and going against her commander.

  Maleah fiddled with the cork to the champagne bottle, finally prying it off, spraying everyone with foam and fizz as she nearly dropped the bottle in surprise.

  “What the hell? What is this shit?!” She put her mouth up to the still overflowing bottle. “Gross.”

  Despite her admittance of distaste, she continued to drink it. Aichlan bristled, clenching and unclenching his fist to abate the shame and embarrassment at his subordinate’s display. The entire court of Marquez had shown up for this duel, and all eyes were on the upstart cur from The Order as it was. He had never managed to make good court appearances, but none were as disastrous as this.

  The hurried movement of several of Laelianus’ aides caught his attention as they scurried through the crowd towards the king and his advisors. Aichlan watched as Laelianus dismissed his aides and summoned his closest military officers. Several men took off running through the crowd, a messenger approached Aichlan’s opponents, and whispered in their ears. The Duke of Port Romance looked briefly relieved, then blanched again as he swooned, his second catching him in his arms.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on around here?” Maleah asked through gulps of champagne.

  Aichlan nudged Eth and beckoned Maleah with a flap of the hand.“Maleah, gather your men.”

  Maleah paused, a question already on her lips, but swallowed it and carried out Aichlan’s orders. “…Right.”

  One of the colonel’s aides ran over breathlessly. “Lord Aichlan,”

  “Yes, the duel is postponed, I understand.” Aichlan looked past the man as more nobles hurriedly left. “Where is Laelianus?”

  “His majesty is in the council chambers…”

  The man seemed quite offended at Aichlan’s use of the king’s name in such a common manner; perhaps he wasn’t completely aware of the situation.

  “Fiora, Rowena, gather your troops. Eth, with me.”

  “And what about me?” Donough sheathed his sword and stroked his goatee in consternation at being left out.

  Aichlan turned and backpedaled for several steps. “Find Órfhlaith and Enyo; be ready, though I know not for what yet.”

  Aichlan was already halfway across the courtyard, leaving Donough to accept his tasks as Fiora and Rowena went about their own. Still upset at being ignored, Alice shrugged off Fiora’s hand and stormed after Aichlan into the palace.