Two successive slashes, swift in their ending of the confrontation. Piercing through the light armor on Brymoor’s chest, Artowen carved an X shape. The final cut severed the pendant from his neck.
The Lord Prince fell back in a geyser of red. Artowen readied himself, prepared for another reprisal, but nothing came.
Brymoor coughed, then partially opened the only eye that was not completely obscured by blood and injury. “My pendant,” He said in a pained whisper.
Artowen sheathed his sword, then grabbed the fallen memento and placed it into the man’s unsteady hand. Artowen closed the man’s unmoving fingers around the object.
“Well met, Promised One. I have strained my deity too much. I cannot recover from a wound such as this. Victory is yours, and with it, my death.”
“Is there nothing you can do?”
“This is righteous penance for doubting my teacher. For all the things I have done.”
A rush of footsteps on the hardened dirt of the courtyard. A pristine blue dress marred by the blood of a warrior. Brodwyn put her hands to her brother. A faint glow appeared.
“Your Grace…” The Lord Prince murmured.
“Focus your deity, there is only so much I can do as my touch on the world will wane.”
An external healing ability, the same as her brother’s, only affecting the outer world instead of her own personal one. Artowen had heard of such things when it came to twins, and at least in this case, the rumors appeared true.
Brymoor held his keepsake tightly. Eira had mentioned it when the full discussion of their plans had commenced. An item from their mother passed to Brodwyn, but she then gifted it to Brymoor. That was the only piece of jewelry the man wore, barring formal occasions when it was necessary to display wealth. But even then, he would wear it, an item that did not bear the regality of royalty.
Artowen was thankful he had not accidentally shattered it in his final barrage. Brodwyn became winded and ceased her activity, but the bleeding had been stopped. One of the guards was missing; she must have sent him for a healer.
There was a large rift in the family before him. Some of the problems he could see or infer, but there would be many that were hidden. They were not speaking even now, barely acknowledging each other’s existence. Despite that, Brodwyn did not want Brymoor to die and had come to his aid. Perhaps this was the start of true healing.
Still, there were tasks that Artowen needed to accomplish. He stood over Brymoor. “You lost the duel, Lord Prince. By all rights, I could have taken your life. I still could.”
“What do you want?” The injured man replied through heavy breaths.
Artowen reached his hand outward. “Come with us, Brymoor. We could use your strength and skill.”
“What are you saying? I tried to kill you.”
“Having more members of the band be royalty would be helpful, not to mention you’re adept at politics. Most of all, Cwach trusts you. It should put him at ease that you can keep an eye on your sister.”
“I could stab you in the back, take vengeance for my defeat.”
Artowen chuckled. “You’re not like that, Brymoor. You’re my precious rival. Become our friend!”
The hand lingered in theair for a moment as the Lord Prince eyed it. The man laughed, then winced at his pain. Slowly, he took Artowen’s outstretched hand.
Royce watched the scene from the sidelines, the King of Zernau still by his side. He had not taken a look at the old man yet, but knew his own face was showing the joy of faith reprised.
“You will get your promise of troops,” Cwach hissed, “But I do not see the need for you to take my bride. I will not allow it.”
“Your Majesty must keep your word. Besides, without a political hostage, there is no reason for Zernau to become a part of the alliance. An easy walk back.”
“You doubt my promise?”
“You are already trying to weasel out of your loss; it is an easy assumption. Besides, it appears that the Lord Prince will be joining us. Your Majesty need not worry for Queen Brodwyn’s safety.”
“After his performance here, I’m not so sure. You speak confidently for someone I could have killed. You and that Promised One. I should have done it from the start.”
“Empty threats.”
“Brymoor will leap at the chance for it.”
“I’m not so sure.” Arty was already helping the wounded get off the cold ground. The lended shoulder was like that of a friend of many years. “Some animosity might remain, but they have forged a bond through combat. It is not something that we onlookers can understand.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The King snickered.
“Being a calculated leader is all well and good, Your Grace, but like anything, it has its limits. If you had been less complacent in your binding of us here, then we may have had no path forward but to acquiesce. I’m blessed that your desires are so readable. Perhaps next time you will not assume the thing you want will always be there, and take swifter, firmer action.”
Royce began walking toward the center of the courtyard, not waiting for a reply from the forlorn King. We will continue to have difficulties with him, I know. Cwach’s only weak points are in front of me, and before long, he will find a way around them.
The man was a traitor to Drajin.
But one they needed.
Different, but similar to the King of Bardoo and the King of Lenda, though those two were easier to bribe to their side.
“Good work, Arty,” Royce said.
The golden grizzly cub smiled brightly at him.
“Good try to you, Lord Prince.”
“You’re not going to gloat?” Brymoor replied in a tone that reminded Royce of a housebroken animal.
He chuckled slightly. “No. I knew you wouldn’t defeat Arty, but you truly are a skilled warrior, far more so than I.” Royce then turned toward the Queen, and their eyes met. “Best pack your necessities. I have a feeling we will leave on the morrow.”
She did not respond, but held his gaze firmly.
The composed facade he had been putting forth finally shattered as he blushed and broke eye contact. “I know you did not want to leave, that it feels horrible to have all agency stripped from you. But for now, think of it as a brief stay away from your husband. Besides, you’ll get to spend some extended time with your teacher and Eira.”
More silence, but slowly, Brodwyn’s blank expression transformed into a smile.
Day was only hanging on by a thread, the echoes of the bright sky now only murmurs of orange on the edge of the horizon. Emerii sat in front of a roaring fire.
This was not her camp, however. Surrounded by the Uxsons they had forestalled, she was completely in enemy territory. Despite not speaking their language, she could fully feel their frustration at not being able to continue forward or retreat towards their home.
The only person who did not seem bothered by any of it was Frieda, who sat across from Emerii with a satisfied grin as she hummed and kicked her legs like a content child.
How long would this farce continue? If Emerii could levy a compliment to her rival, it was that she kept a tight rein on her soldiers. Despite their dissatisfaction, none had raised a word against Frieda or openly slighted her.
Over the sounds of the two opposing groups, horse hooves resounded through the night. Emerii beamed. Finally, they would be reprieved.
“I suppose our time together is coming to an end, one way or the other.” Frieda got up and began walking toward Eira, Mav, and Idwyn.
Emerii sighed, then followed.
The thunderous sound continued to get louder until the Drajin parted for the messenger. They quickly dismounted and handed Frieda a letter.
As the Divine Hammer read it, Emerii shared her sight so she could as well. The tension she had been holding released all at once.
Frieda let out a shrill laugh, then discarded the paper in the direction of Idwyn, who caught it. The Divine Hammer then turned and barked an order at her soldiers.
“Did they succeed, Idwyn?” Eira asked.
Mav was rubbing his hands in an exaggerated prayer.
“Of course. We can return to Znseruff now,” A slight smile formed on the Truthsayer’s features, but it did not appear as a full one of satisfaction or relief. Her classic, ominous smile.
Frieda bowed deeply to the Band of the Promised One. “It has been an entertaining day, and it was wonderful to see you all again. Unfortunately, I doubt we will see each other again until channao. Until that time, good health to you all.” As she passed Emerii, she whispered, “Hone your skills, o battle mistress of Welkia.”
Frieda strutted off, hips swaying into the night. That woman always knows how to frustrate me.
Now was not the time for that; her faith in her chosen friends had once again been rewarded, and with the other members of the band, she shared a smile and a loud cry of victory.
Unlike when they had made the King of Bardoo bend a knee, the Band of the Promised One made a swift exit from the Zernau capital. Spurred on by the growing tensions, Artowen knew. Still, he had hoped that once the issues had been resolved, things would settle, but it appeared to be quite the opposite.
Though Cwach had not retaliated, there was a fear he would change his mind and take on that risk. As such, the morning following the decisive duel, they all departed.
If not for the twins’ healing efforts, Brymoor would have been in too horrid a state to tag along, but luckily, that was not the case.
New friends added to their cause. The Dradris Kingdoms were like their own relations, growing closer and shifting. Eira was not mended, only receding back to her shell of what she used to be. While she may be happy with the company of Brodwyn, Brymoor’s journeying with them was already hurting the atmosphere.
That statement was true for the Queen of Zernau as well. Their familial relationship was strained to say the least, still avoiding acknowledging the other’s existence. Am I too optimistic in thinking that they are healing?
He knew they would overcome, however. Any conflict within or outside. After crossing blades with the Lord Prince, Artowen could trust him and knew the effort Brymoor was beginning to show. In the coming months, that would be important.
Every Dradris Kingdom had now agreed to the alliance against the Uxsons. That meant no more raiding among themselves for the time being, as the details were fully sorted through.
Not quite a united people yet, but they were growing closer.
However, their band was as one in desire to protect their people.
Royce, their trusted tactician.
Emerii, their strongest warrior.
Aunt Idwyn, their guide.
Mav, their chipper, stalwart friend.
Eira, their unshakable veteran.
Brymoor, their royal politician and skilled soldier.
Brodwyn, their support and healer.
Artowen, their leader. The Promised One.
It was midday now, and they had long passed the walls of Znseruff. The sky was clearer than ever, and the heat signified a change.
Trapped within the palace as he had been, Artowen had hardly noticed the shift. Now, where they were located, he understood. The lack of the oppressive white. The budding plant life before him. The scurrying of small animals, the flittering and humming of birds, the roar of larger beasts in the distance.
Scents of life awakening.
And no longer the chill that reached his bones.
When the fifth season arrived towards the end of summer, when the purple sun rose, the Uxsons would begin their invasion proper. Their major and final war.
Many tasks had to be completed before that.
Spring was now upon them.
They were running out of time.
