The tactic could work. Even as I rushed towards him, boots crunching grass, I believed it fully. Lingering doubt and the ntal fog that clouded dissipated as I focused on him, leveraging every injustice, every cruel word, every snide, backhanded remark.
Almost casually, he hefted his sword in a slow, casual arc, completely telegraphing the first downward diagonal swing. In the morning light, his blade caught the light, as if coated in oil.
He started with a simple kata.
And so far, at least, he hadnt noticed.
I manipulated the water coating his steel, pouring mana through the weave, until the clear coating flash froze opaque, dimming the shine.
There was a flash of doubt a split second before our swords t. His cool blue eyes shifted from to the altered surface of his untempered blade. But Id already shifted, and instead of trying to hit him, I was aiming for the blade itself. Roaring fla hotter than any forge collided with the frigid ice of the north.
And as the adage goes, ice sunders all.
King Gils blade exploded into shrapnel and shards that whizzed through the air in a sphere, the solid, sturdy-looking tal reduced to ruin. In that brief mont, wonder flitted across his face. Which of course, was when I transferred all the montum from the run, spared by the shattering sword, and drove my demonic arm into his gut.
Because whether by divine gift or aberrant biology, Id learned from our first clash that the King of Whitefall had an iron jaw, and had no intention of making the sa mistake twice.
He grunted from the impact and bent forward slightly, a manic gleam in his eye. During the exchange hed caught my sword arm and now held it with a vice-like grip. My turn.
Shit.
Before I had ti to think, let alone counter, I was airborne and inverted; the sky zipping by beneath my feet.
Then I was splayed on my back, panting for the air that was knocked out of . A dent in the back of my armor pressed up into my spine, and I called to the wind, forcing a torrent through my mouth and down my impact. After a mont, the contractions ceased. But I kept taking small gasps of air, feigning incapacity. Belatedly, I checked the xescalt gauntlet and found several gems were cracked, others outright crushed, the delicate mana pathways carved into the surface disabled from the damage.
How? With his gods damned hand?
King Gil stared down at , more irritated than anything else now that the dust had settled. A less than ideal outco. Soday soon, boy, we will need to discuss the difference between a marathon and a sprint. With that, he raised his heel above my head. Unlike before, the movent was asured and controlled. Still more than enough to knock unconscious.
I feigned weakness until the last second, looping strands of air through the back of my armor, forming an aegis behind my back.
His heel plunged. I empowered the spell, using the now frictionless back of my armor to scoot upward. There was a ringing impact, and a considerable dent where his boot struck my chest plate. I snared his foot, wrapping my arms around it.
What
DO IT! I shouted.
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Imdiately, a blunted arrow struck just above his ear, with pinpoint precision. The kings head snapped to the side, and slowly, hatefully, he turned to look for the shooter. And found far more than one. In the distance, on top of the walls, at least a dozen bows were held taut. With a collective twang, they were loosed.
The King covered his face with his gauntlets and instinctively tried to turn away. But I put every ounce of strength I had into holding his foot in a vice-like grip, and the trapped foot and misplaced movent were enough to send him tumbling to the ground.
Archers! Cover his majesty! One of his personal guard lingering by the exit shouted.
Several responded imdiately rushing forward, shields held before them. Theyd have him defended in short order, and after that, hed be after in earnest.
Thwip Thwip Thwip
Or maybe not so short order. The bulk of the blunted arrows were still aid at the king. But I watched bemused, several absurdly well-aid arrows ricocheted off railings, urns, the fountain itself, and despite carrying a fraction of the speed forward, found their way to the honor guards hidden faces and helts. Several fell from the unexpected impact, others forced to route around them.
I spared a glance to the top of the wall, to where Aetherya stood atop a palisade with two of her best shooters.
My first thought was that it seed like sothing of a waste. It must have taken countless hours of repetitive shooting to achieve this level of accuracy, and anything but the blunted tips of skirmish arrows wouldnt bounce so predictably. Despite that, this single seemingly pointless ability waylaying the kings guards was buying significantly more ti than Id have otherwise. I nodded to her.
Aetherya responded by firing an arrow that nearly parted the skin from my cheek, the resulting clang sending a rushing guardsman crashing to the ground.
Right, gotta move.
Predictably, the black shields were almost entirely focused on protecting the king rather than attacking his son. A few took errant swipes at as I ran into the castle, but none landed a hit as I weaved between them, and none shifted their attention fully.
My legs pumped as I descended the stairs, heading for the ground floor and aiming lower. As wed discussed, other than Aetherya, my lieutenants would be taking an alternate route, eting with their soldiers outside the palace and then splitting up, taking varying paths that appeared to lead other directions but all eventually ending up in Topside, near Kilviuss headquarters. Out of every possibility of places House Westmore and the Black Shields could hide Annette, it had to be sowhere in Topside. Even if he wasnt the savviest political mind, my father was hardly stupid. He wouldnt risk an outbreak of violence around the critical houses, especially given the volatile state of things. It had to be Topside.
Id avoided seeking Kilviuss help to locate Lillian. He probably would have, but given the recent rockiness of our relationship and the high likelihood she was dead, Id chosen not to cash in that chit. And thank the gods I hadnt.
Before I could leave the palace, I needed to find Sera. If my lieutenants path was contested, Maya would stay with them. However, if the path was clear
Cairn, cushion! Mayas voice echoed down the stairs just as I reached the bottom. I looked up to see her diving downward, narrowly threading the gaps in the rails.
I sumd a disc of air, solidifying it beneath her in scant seconds before she landed and threw her balance forward, running past . Really want to get out before the pissed off king catches up to us!
For a second, I stared before running after her. What the hells were you going to do if I didnt get the spell off in ti?
I knew you would.
And if I hadnt?
Used the shard of the mirror to heal my incredibly sore anklesgods Im out of shape. She glared at as I jogged alongside her. Are they trying to fatten up? The food Im served is far too decadent to eat every day.
Youre keeping pace fine, but Ill tell the chefs to put you on porridge.
Do that and wake up one day to find your lower intestine lined with taste buds.
Equally amused and horrified, I laughed. Sohow, despite the severity of the situation I felt lighter. Partially from the adrenaline, partially because with the first hurdle cleared, I knew I could pass this test. House Westmore was primarily a rchant house. The black shields were observant, generally excellent fighters, but they were guardsn first, trained to escort a king who was rarely anything but visible.
Sohow it made feel more like myself.
Youre smiling. Maya observed.
Yeah. I guess I am.
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