[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 16]

I don’t want to go.

His arm ached, his static exertion having been held up overlong; the object of holding her hand in his making his arm burn and ripple in the lightning pinpricks of stillness. Her breathing had long slowed to the steady rhythm of sleep, yet Climb could not break himself from her. Little pains had accumulated across his whole body, his senses filled with itches born of the mind, plate pressing into his skin, and the compression of flesh that came with sitting as he did.

I miss her warmth, the way she held me in her sleep. How does she manage to get her hand so soft? It feels like silk. I hope my hands aren’t too rough. Embarrassing, I’ve let them get calloused. It's hard to avoid that when training with a sword. I think I forgot this, at least a little bit. The heat, the softness. We had to stop when she was… what, Eight? She’s fifteen- no sixteen, now. Gods, it's been eight years since then?

Climb blinked, cocking his head slightly as he tried to swallow that gulf. It was vast, memories of years past seeming both proximal and anything but at the same time. Horribly decayed and yet somehow vivid. It did not figure to him, feeling himself slip unwillingly into a haphazard acceptance of the subjective. Once more in his life, he found a thing without disrespect to the contradiction.

Eight years. It’s hard to believe it’s been so long. She would grip me so tight. I would always need to turn to my side, the only way I could sleep comfortably. She would pull herself in so close, my neck would always be slick in the morning from her breath. I would always sweat so much, too; I don’t know why it didn’t bother her. Those nights are long gone. What she said earlier, can it be true? Can she really love me?

He cast his gaze to his left, peering as much as he could at what was beyond her window. The glass stole much of its brilliance, as did Renner’s bedpost and objects on her nightstand silhouetting it, but he spied the starfield beyond. The smattering of light, the pinpricks weaved in patterns unchanging since the dawn of man in this world. He knew what the scriptures said on the celestial; how every star was the labor of the Gods, hints at the great beyonds fated for those of his kin. He had made up for his error the last time he looked up, teaching himself a little of the astrolabe, although he could find no patterns he knew in what slivers he could see through her window. The heavens robbed him of his purpose, always a little of himself leaking into it, and a little of it leaking into him. It was beautiful. He gave a sharp exhale, arresting a chuckle in his throat before it would emerge from his lips.

Gods above, of course she does! The bed I sleep on, the room it's in; those were gifts from her. This armor too, one of her requests to the Blue Roses through this campaign she’s conducted, and she still pouts about not being allowed to pay for it. How couldn’t she be in love with me? Of course she does! She fights everyone around me to treat me well. She continually pushed Jelka to let me train alongside his men, to get at least some combat training as her bodyguard, if not proper bladesmanship. She lets me live in the palace as- as a no-blood. She taught me to read, and got Yelta to give me an education. Every meal I’ve eaten for the last ten years has been because of her. She picked me off the streets. I live because of her. Of course that’s love. Am I blind?! How daft am I?

He smiled, struggling to stave off the bitterness that had consumed him earlier. His eyes were still wet, the remnants of ill-suppressed tears that had come earlier in the depths of his turmoil. He closed his eyes, feeling his eyelids flutter and tense. He fought to move his tongue around in his mouth, it dry and adherent. To his surprise, he succeeded. He felt stupid, but in a way he found no disquiet in.

The third Princess- no, the Golden Princess! The finest of the Ryles! A-and the fairest too. The same princess who has done so much for the people, who fights repeatedly in the arenas of politics for their welfare. Who defends adventurers and monster hunters to the court. Who coordinates the effort to shatter the criminals of the nation, to destroy the trade of Laira; no, who started that effort in the first place. She who freed the slaves. Her highness is in love with me!

This time when the laugh came, he could not bay it back, merely negotiating his release down to a chuff. His eyes opened, he suddenly afraid that he had woken her in his disvigilance. Renner did not stir, and he counted himself lucky for it, not wishing to pull her from her sleep. His eyes wet again, tears not of anguish, but of mirth. He put his right palm to his face, his smile growing fuller.

Princess Renner loves me!

Moisture streaked across his face, tears breaking free from the nooks of his eyes. He blinked his eyelids to wick them and looked at her hand. Its alabaster stood stark against the pitch of the nocturn. He had seen the sight of it so many times before; so often at the commencement of prostrations, bows, genuflections, he would catch her hand in the downstroke of his motion before his gaze fell entirely to the floor. Now it seemed a sight anew, something he was seeing for the first time. He was struck suddenly with a realization.

She always keeps her hands clasped whenever I bow. Most of the time, she stays still, though not always. It's rare, but she’ll twitch slightly. She tries to pull her hands apart, like she wants to reach out to me. Is that what that is? That’s… cute.

His face twitched slightly, rolling that thought over in his mind. There was something he could not place about it, another thing out of reach. Fragments of thoughts drifted to the forefront but did not resolve. It took him some time to realize it, the concept finally reaching him.

She can’t let herself reach out to me. She has to maintain her bearing as a princess. She has to keep herself formal, an appearance in the eyes of the court. I suppose she hides parts of this even from Lakyus, or at least tries too. The way she blushes whenever Lakyus mentions me... it feels nice, but she can’t give more than that. She can’t speak to me, give me anything more than a touch in passing.

He swallowed, this time in actuality. Time seemed to slow, no longer a second experienced for a second passed. His chest welled, and he found it harder to breathe. He steeled himself and slipped his hand away, her grasp offering no resistance, now limp and strengthless in her slumber.

We can never be together. There’s no chance of it. I guess I’ve known that all my life, but that it hurt her too? We can love at a distance, but that is it. I think I understand why you want me to come with you when you get married, why you wish to keep me by your side. It makes sense to me. So much more makes sense to me now. I’ll be there, I’ll never leave you. I know I’ve promised that before, but this time is different.

Climb let his left arm fall to his side, the burning in it finally abating as he let it ease. The air was sweet, and he filled his lungs with it. These moments were few for him - only in the depths of his training did he find such similar qualia - but he felt truly happy to be alive. It was tinged by the pain of knowing nothing he could do would ever draw him closer to his mistress, always his most precious wishes remaining out of reach, their realization simply impossible. It was forlorn, but there was joy in it none-the-less. Climb’s emotions took on new colors, ones that he had yet to know.

I can’t be with you princess, but I can at least be yours.

He sighed, and stood. Looking back to her, he saw the outline of her body, framed by the twists and turns of the covers. He could not see her face, she having burrowed it in her pillow, and in any case it was to dark. He could see her hair, it splayed haphazardly on the cloth around her. His smile regained a little of its life. He turned and made his way out of her room. Opening her door gently, he entered into the sitting space. A sudden terror gripped him.

Gods, what if one of the maids sees me?!

He quickly shot his gaze around the room, scanning it swiftly. No one was there. His heart rate had exploded, and more out of instinct than any danger to his person, he had welled the aura in his body. The release was simply unpleasant, but this was luck. Had he spent a moment longer in his search - a moment longer building such forces in his body - he may have actually hurt himself.

Yes, I am definitely dull.

He admonished himself, although this time in a looser way, and closed her bedroom door with as much care to silence as when he had opened it. It sealed, he turned and strode across the room to the exit to the corridor, still moving somewhat softly. He opened the door to the hall, still nervous someone would take notice of him and find him suspicious for being in the princess’s room at night. He turned to the spot just right of the guard, preparing to give an explanation for his presence. To his surprise, there was no one present.

What? Don’t tell me they forgot to put a knight on station. I know the royal guard is busy, but still, this is something they should have done. A night like this when the palace is filled with visitons is when defense should be at its strongest.

Climb clicked his tongue, he fighting his indignation down to an annoyance. The lights had stayed lit, meaning that some candlelighter had already passed through the space and somehow not informed a guard that there was no one present outside of Renner’s room.

I’m sure there are plenty of men on his highness Zanac… and Barbro. They wouldn’t let those tasks slip, would they? Gods were the Royal Guard getting lushed earlier too? I didn’t see if they were, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Do I go speak with Jelka?

He felt an odd resolve. Attempting to speak with Jelka was something he ordinarily would have never considered doing. However, now, to not do so felt negligent. He was forced to pause himself before he let his thoughts run any further.

No. I’ll just handle this myself. If he wasn’t willing to deploy a man to her side, there’s nothing I could do to convince him. I’ll just watch her myself tonight.

Climb sighed, heavier this time. This was not out of relief, but a more unwelcome resignation. He was tired, but he knew that even if he attempted to go to bed, he wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she wasn’t safeguarded. His mind quickly ran through what he had on him, making sure he was ready for the long night to come.

Sword, proper one too. Guess the quartermaster wouldn’t dare shaft me tonight. I have a gambler’s dagger, too. Healing salve. I suppose that’s all I really need. Still, I’m too tired. Tried this last month and she got worried sick. Actually, I’m hungry and thirsty too, and I need to pee. I’ll do that, and come back. Surely there has to be something left. Still, it’s late. Is it already after midnight? It might be. If I’m lucky, there should still be some of that bird left, though I doubt it. Ah, do I have any of that gum Retha handed out?

Climb passed his hand through a thin slit in his armor, digging through his pockets, combing his fingers past lint and the occasional spare hair. He brushed against a lump, pulling it out and removing a few severed threads. It was sticky, and he popped it into his mouth. It was bitter, and worsened the dryness of his mouth, but he powered through it. Within a few seconds of chewing, it warmed and became pliable, he more easily manipulating it with his tongue. His mouth began to buzz, wherever runoff saliva from it ran aliting in a fuzzy sensation; pinpricks not unlike those from his stillness minutes prior. He cracked his neck, something in the alchemy vanquishing his weariness, like fog burned off in sunlight.

Better, feel awake. It must be phlostiginated or something. Actually, I wonder if it's made from that stuff she was drinking this morning. Has a kick to it. If it stays like this, I should be able to stay till the day shift. Still should find water though.

Climb turned to the right and started walking, making his way to one of the side spaces off the great hall, a small ancillary refectory for some of the palace staff not deemed fit to eat in the main expanse. Typically, after banquets like tonight, there would be enough left for the knights to take their fill; even scraps for the guards to pick from. The corridor was silent.

I suppose all the maids are in the other parts of the palace. I should take in the quiet while I can.

Climb reached the end of the corridor, turning left around the elbow. The hall he walked down now was forty paces long before it split off at a three way junction, the only two egresses before that being into the former two rooms of Lulara and Vena. Renner’s was the least of these, tucked away at the end of the hook of the hall. Windows spanned the space to his right, running the entire length of the corridor. Climb saw someone on the other end passing through the junction, but the candlelight was dim. He walked, casting his gaze outside.

It is really dark tonight, I can't make anything out.

He tried his best to spy anything in the pitch, but there was no chance of it. The light of the hall dimmed his view of the stars, less than an eighth as brilliant. Climb sagged slightly, but there was nothing to be done about it. The sound of footsteps other than his own drew his eyes forward again. The person, now distinguishable as a male figure, had turned down the same corridor Climb was in.

Must be trying to shortcut the main thoroughfare. Wonder how busy it still is. There’s a good chance everything is still lively. Get the feeling a few of them will stay up till the daytime. I know nights like this can get rowdy, but this much? I suppose war is coming early this year. They can’t help but be stressed.

They drew closer, now only thirty paces from each other. The gum had all but dissolved in Climb’s mouth - not stable to begin with - and he started to feel energized. He evaluated the man in front of him. Blond, hair cropped short to the head, taller than Climb, thinly faced. He was in full plate armor, although it was not filigreed. Climb spotted a shortsword. Whoever he was, he was clearly a knight.

Who is that? He’s a knight, but I don’t recognize him from the nightwatch. Is that… Barbro’s man? Name was… Adjutant Teloran, I think. Odd. I didn’t recognize him.

They both moved closer, catching each other's eyes. They both glared at each other; Teloran bearing a harsh countenance, Climb carrying equal scorn in his face.

How can you support that traitor? Surely you know he’s in league with Eight Fingers; been by his side when he’s received payments. How can you stay loyal to him when he’s not loyal to the kingdom? How could you stand by someone so vile? Her highness loves this country, but him? He has to hold some contempt for his master, how could he not? Maybe it's just cynicism. Barbro is the crown prince, after all.

Climb clicked his tongue, doing his best to bay his anger back. He broke his eyes away, looking at the ground. He traced his eyes across the fringe of the carpet, seeing how it overlapped the tile. The hall was four paces wide, the carpet that traveled from end to end covering the center two of which. A few slim and stout tables lined the hall, serving as no more than stands for the occasional trinket or vase.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

I have a much finer mistress than he has a master. I couldn’t imagine it. Barbro is… is a fucking idiot. How could he think of collaborating with Eight Fingers, much less to kill Gazef?! It's wrong! It’s absurd! Why is he fated to be king?

Ire over brimmed in Climb’s soul, and he started to evaluate Teloran closer; not raising to meet his eyes, merely evaluating his armor. Even if not compared to Climb’s, it was dull. It possessed no decoration at all. Even from a distance of now five paces, Climb could tell it was scuffed.

Did he forget to take care of it? How can you be so lax? Gods, ‘servant like master,’ no? What sort of laziness has to overcome you? I suppose you’re like him in many ways, just as dull. Just as much of a fool. Agh! I can’t let myself get so worked up. I have to guard her tonight, I don't want to be stewing in myself hour after hour. It's simple, I just need to get myself to the hall, quench, sate, and relieve myself. I can do that.

They both took a step forward, both shifting to their right to avoid each other. Climb caught Teloran’s dexter hand twitch. They passed each other abreast, striding past without incident. Climb broached a realization.

Wait, I know why I didn’t recognize him. He’s not in what he wore earlier, that’s his practice armor.

Teloran continued walking. Climb stopped dead. He could feel every beat of his heart, every strap of his armor imprinting into his skin, every cold bite of the air whenever he pulled a breath in. A sense of low dread built in his chest, hollowed, emptied, and tight.

What is he doing in his practice armor here? The tower is on the opposite side of the palace.

Climb, face frozen and mouth slightly agape turned around slowly. Teloran’s back came into view, and soon after Climb spied him, the sound of footsteps cut off. Teloran stood still for a moment, before turning around himself. His expression had lost all trace of anger, replaced only by nervousness.

Why is he here?

They stood there, staring at each other in complete silence. Awareness of his own body flooded Climb, the feeling of his muscles twitching slightly. Teloran reached his right arm carefully and deliberately across his body. He drew. Climb could not believe the sight. What he was seeing was unimaginable. It took him an instant to realize what had happened, but the decision to respond in kind was made preconsciously. Climb drew too.

He’s between me and her highness.

Any suppression of his frustration left him, disbelief ebbing away, consumed by a white-hot rage. They both slipped into forward stances, holding their blades and pointed against each other.

Gods above he’s between me and her! Think! Fucking think!

Climb’s body ignited, his energies surging. His manipulation of Ki was raw, vortices of energy welling and bursting in his body. Flesh rippling under his skin, his back nearly spasming. Every single one of his muscles twitched, teeth clattering from the convulsions of his jaw. Teloran made no move, a clear anxiety in his eyes.

I can’t get around him and stay out of each. I’ll rush him! I’ll rush him the fuck down!

Climb’s legs exploded, charging forward. He swung a flat swing wildly, Teloran with a desperate parry, forcing him to shift to his right. Climb tried to break around him while he could, but the carpet threatened to slip out from under him. He nearly lost his balance, and before he could regain it, Teloran countered with an upswing, their blades scraping against each other. Climb pulled from reach just in time, but Teloran stepped in, pressing his advantage. They were both deeply inside the measure of their opposites’ broadswords.

This is bad!

Teloran slashed from the side, their blades meeting and bouncing off each other, the reverberations of the strike swiftly muffled by the strength of their grips. Climb tensed his legs to leap back, but realized if he tried, the carpet would slip. His movement was badly hindered. Teloran thrusted, but Climb evaded, pivoting his body in time to avoid the tip of the blade. The air thickened, Teloran trying to exploit Climb’s poor position with a strike laced with the ephemeral. He hit at Climb’s flank, arm being too high to bear the blow, but his blade bounced off in a shower of sparks. The mithril had held, reflecting the aura Teloran had poured into the strike back into the air with brilliantly radiating motes of metal. Climb counterswung, but Teloran attempted to jump back. The carpet sheared and gave way, Teloran falling over backwards, his feet sliding into Climb and knocking him off his.

Idiot!

Teloran’s eyes went wide, in complete surprise of the ground falling out from under him and his opponent. Teloran hit the ground first, Climb landing on top of him a moment later - a tremendous clamor that rattled them both. Climb had tried to catch himself with his sword, causing it to torque out his hand. They were face to face, the smell of Teloran’s breath causing Climb’s nose to curl. He brought his right knee up swiftly and wrenched a dagger from his greave. He stabbed at Teloran’s face, but Teloran blocked with his left arm and threw Climb off of him. Climb crashed against the tile, catching and dragging his lost blade along, screeching as it rent the floor.

My blade is under me!

Teloran pivoted, half leaping at Climb with his knife, Climb swinging his arm in time to catch and deflect the blow, emptying Teloran’s hands. Teloran slipped from his side and fell prone completely, Climb trying to end his life with a downward stab of his knife a second time. Teloran braced himself, right palm flush against the ground, and broke backwards, Climb’s knife snapping as it struck the tile. He swiftly wrent his blade from under him, the pair of them scrambling to their feet, neither wishing to continue such a close engagement. Climb had rushed forward, and as the windows bearing the black of the knight once again filled the right side of his vision, he knew he had successfully interposed himself between the princess and the danger.

I did it!

Both back on their feet, they both thrust their blades outward, both remaining outside of the reach of the other’s. Teloran tried to step forward, but his foot nearly snagged on the carpet. He stopped and kicked it to his right, Climb doing so in turn to his left; an odd moment of truce as they vanquished their mutual foe together, it bunching and furling to the side. A bead of moisture rolled down Climb’s forehead, his left eye twitching as it nestled into the texture of his orbital. His body was covered in sweat, his hair slick with exertion. Climb allowed himself a moment of thought.

Do I scream? Surely I’d draw someone.

Teloran stepped forward. His height was such that Climb entered the reach of his blade before he could bay teloran with his. Climb was forced back, taking a retreating shuffle. Teloran took a second step, just as small. The tip of his sword was close, and Climb was forced back a second time. Climb’s body still surged with power.

If I call for help, he’ll tell whoever comes that I drew first. They wouldn’t believe me if I said otherwise! Who would believe a no-blood over a knight?! They’ll side with him!

Teloran tried a third time, but Climb twitched his blade, knocking Teloran’s off axis. Climb shot forward again, pouring his focus into the edge and loosing a flat leftward strike. He whiffed, the slash catching nothing but air. Teloran attacked, a rapid downstroke of his blade. Climb again parried, deflecting Teloran’s blade and sending it wide. Teloran pushed in, thrusting a desperate riposte. Climb jinked to the side, dodging the tip, and shot a counter-riposte of his own. They were both forced apart again. Jerking back, the wetness on his face broke from his orbital and reached his mouth. Only then did Climb perceive that it was not sweat, but blood.

But why doesn’t he?! No, that would prevent him from- from harming her highness! He truly intends to- to… agh!

Climb shook with rage. He had never felt such fury, such indignation in his life. Every tendon in his body strung tight, every strand of flesh twitching. He hated Teloran; a sort of deep, true hatred he had never felt before. He thought what he felt for Barbro before was hatred, but his ire then was a pale shadow of what he felt now, scorched away and forgotten by the blinding heat of his soul. He wanted desperately to charge forward Teloran, to bridge the gap between them and rum him through. It took every fiber of his being to hold him from a blind dash.

I’m going to protect her. I need to protect her.

Teloran shuffled to his left, trying to force climb to pivot round to circumvent him. Climb shifted with Teloran, not giving a finger length back. Sweat covered his face, his left shoulder guard smeared with red. He looked nervous, eyes darting round, snagging in the space to Climb’s left. Teloran shifted back to his right, Climb again transposing himself. Looking back at his opponent’s armor, he realized that the foul of the shoulder guard was not Teloran’s blood, but his own.

I must have split my forehead open on it when we fell. What a fucking fool he is!

The pain of his wound flooded into him, feeling the cold air sting against what had been exposed below the skin. It was intense, moreso of a wound than any he had sustained in recent memory. Climb’s control of his body faltered, some agitated Ki he had let his grip slip from blowing through the walls of the veins in his nostrils. Two thin streams of vitality streaked from his nose, staining his face further. The metallic taste in his mouth grew stronger, the acrid flavor of iron driving away any other sensation.

That salve, I’ll- I’ll apply it after!

Teloran lifted his foot to attempt to shift back to his left. Climb followed, but Teloran suddenly shifted directions and charged forward. His blade was vibrant with outpouring power. Climb dodged right, but did not evade in time. The tip caught his armor at the edge of his left oblique and smote it, a burst of luminescing shrapnel flying in all directions. Shards of mithril embedded in Climb’s left side, the rest scattering and pushing away Teloran’s blade before it could pierce deeper into him. He nearly slipped from his feet, catching himself against the frame of a window with a shout of agony.

Gods above, it hurts!

A spout of blood shot from the wound, escaping through the twists of his pulverized left flank. Teloran recovered from his reel, reversing his blade back towards Climb in a slash to that same sunder. Climb couldn’t raise his blade in time, its position too distant, out of instinct raising his left hand to block. Teloran’s sword slipped between the index and ring fingers of his gauntlet and sunk into Climb’s hand, splitting it to near the center of his palm. Climb cried a second time, breaking away from the wall to the center of the hall, nearly keeling over from the raw pain. The wounds fogged his thoughts, but not before he realized an anathema. The windows of the hall were to his left.

He got around me!

Teloran leveled his blade to re-engage, standing in a taller stance than any point prior. Climb barely managed to raise his, but he could not hold it still, and he leaned to his left. He tried to brace himself with his wounded hand to his thigh, but the wetness of it caused it to slip. Climb rushed in, slashing desperately. Teloran parried. Climb slashed again. Teloran parried again. Climb tried to render a third, but the swing of his arm drove a jagged piece of shrapnel deeper into him, causing him to nearly fall to his side. Climb hissed a cry between his teeth, in overwhelming suffering.

I need- I need to get back around him.

Climb’s blade was low, and Teloran jabbed with his sword, filled with more effervescent æther. Climb could not dodge in time, and it landed true at Climb’s right shoulder. It did not pierce, its contact with Climb’s armor producing far more polluted sound than the previous bangs of Teloran’s empowered strikes. Only then did either of them realize that the tip of Teloran’s blade had been shattered when he breached Climb’s armor initially. Worse, that the damage had just been far greater by his thrust. The front third of his sword blew to pieces, a long and straight piece pirouetting end over end before clattering to the floor. His visage had been shocked mouth agape, completely unaware of the sure risk he was rolling against.

I’ll run you through!

Climb tried to burst forward, yet as soon as he tried to wrench his feet from the floor, fell off balance and was forced to stop. The throbbing in his side was too intense. Teloran’s face, having been dour and scared up until this point, shifted. His mouth, not yet closed from his previous mistake, curled upward. It did so until he wore a wry and disbelieving grin. To Climb’s horror, Teloran simply took a step backwards, then did so again. Climb tried to follow, but his movements were shallow, and he couldn’t lift his feet from the ground.

No- No this can’t be happening!

He steeled himself against the pain, and took a step forward with his blade leveled. He felt broken metal slice his insides some more, cutting into the more important cavities of his body. When he tried to take a second however, he nearly collapsed. Teloran continued to move backwards, his short pace outdoing Climb’s staccato fits forward. Climb to take a second step, and then a third. The distance between the two grew, each pace Climb took streaking the floor with more of his vitality. His whole left side from abdomen down was stained red, as was his face, his left foot scraping the floor with every advance. Climb could not catch up.

“No…”

Climb’s voice was weak, his words cut off by the grating sound of air taken in harsh breaths. He tried to arc his sword, succeeding, but only to the barest force. Teloran dodged back, his pace building. Climb accelerated his, hovelling faster and gritting through the pain. Exhaling was met with sharpness to his side, some piece of slag having burrowed itself under a rib. He couldn’t help but keep his chest full, but this robbed him of full breaths. Teloran’s smile started to grow stale, his eyes losing some of their light as they looked on Climb with increasing disbelief.

I’m not… going down. Not while you’re still up.

Teloran stopped and adopted a defensive stance, looking increasingly uncomfortable as Climb approached. They were now only ten paces from the corner that led to Renner’s room. Even though his sword had been cropped short, its measure from Teloran’s body was no less than equal to Climb’s, such was his height. Even through the haze of his mind, Climb could tell he was baiting an attack, lest Climb simply stagnate and bleed out.

I’m… going to protect… Renner.

Climb roiled his energies, building everything he could into a gyre of ephemera. He forced his veins open, channels growing wider and faster, blood flowing swifter between all the parts of his body. He bled faster, but he did not care. His insides resonated, his power beating in time with his heart. He cascaded everything that remained into his arms, and his legs. He drove his body forward, closing the gap as best he could. The shard jammed behind his ribs broke loose and was driven far deeper into him. His legs faltered, catching themselves and twisting out from under him. His blade was out of reach of Teloran. Climb half-screamed, half-roared, swinging his sword leftward in a wide and wild arc. He torqued with such force that his arm dislocated, pulling from its socket. It passed by Teloran’s neck, before striking and breaking the window to his left. Climb fell in that direction, his blade-arm hooking around and out of the shattered remains of the glass, barely keeping his sword in his grasp as it dangled outside the palace.

No!

Climb knew he was done for. He had wiffed his last chance to slay Teloran, and now lay exposed to a counter attack, one Teloran would surely make mortal. He had failed as Renner’s bodyguard, and for all the agonies that gripped his body in this moment, none compared to that shame. He turned his head weakly, expecting to see the incoming flash of steel reflecting the candle flames of the hall. To his confusion, Teloran was standing exactly where he was a moment prior, unmoved. A thin red line drew across his throat, so slim as to seem a trick of the light. It thickened, near-imperceptible bumps in its constitution growing into drops, then serving as the stems of streams. They grew fatter, more blood fonting from his neck. He tried to pull in a breath, but he could do no more but gasp. His left hand shot to his throat as he stumbled back, trying to wick the flow away. It did not stop.

Climb wrenched himself from the window, pulling his blade arm and sword, Teloran struggling to arrest the flow. He tried to press his hand into his neck, stepping further back as he did so, Climb had the sense to wrench his attention away and apply a healing substance. He reached into one of his pockets with his left hand, wincing at the force against his wound, removing a small tin. He thumbed off the lid, it warbling as it struck the ground. He scooped some of the paste inside into his palm, a soothing sensation wherever it touched. The flesh of his hand began to knit; soon, the rest of his wounds too. A horrifying sucking noise as his blade arm pulled back into place. Looking up to Teloran, he saw his adversary was still struggling to bay what had become a flood. It did not stop.

Teloran, now flush against the far wall of the elbow, struggled to stand. He began to wave side to side, dropping his sword. He shot his right hand to his side, trying to open a pouch on his waist. He fumbled it, his hand shaking so violently he was unable to snap it open. He leaned to his left, his left hand too wet to brace. He slipped off his feet completely, trying to catch himself on one of the stout tables of the hall. He struck it with force, and both he and the vase on it careened to the carpet. Teloran tried to fight himself up, bracing with his hand and trying to rise, but couldn’t, the torrent from his neck flowing completely unabated. Climb looked on stock still, feeling paralyed by subsuming fear and sick fascination. He had seen those who would soon meet their fate, and those already had lost their grip and fell into the earth, but he had never seen a man slip from life to death as it was happening. Teloran’s hand gave way, and his torso fell a short distance before halting with a dull and quiet thud. It did not stop.

It took Climb a moment to realize the gravity of what had just happened. He had just killed a Knight-Officer.

What have I done?