Shattered Exile

TWELVE Interference-1

TWELVE

Interference

The crowd roared as she rose to her feet, following Galadrick’s ministration. Her left leg still felt sore from the knife’s impact, but the wound itself was no more, and her leg felt strong – she stamped her left foot on the ground a few times, just to be certain.

‘How does it feel?’

‘A little sore, but otherwise it feels good.’

‘The pain will pass. Sometimes it takes a little while for the mind to catch up with such rapid changes to the body.’

‘Thanks Gal, I appreciate your efforts.’ she replied, after which the Adept renewalist offered her a smile, before promptly returning to his position over by the east gate.

She cracked her neck in a circle and shook her arms to loosen any tension in her muscles, before nodding to Marcus, who remained standing at the front and centre of the tiered stone seating. Although most of the crowd were on their feet, shouting and cheering, Mirielle remained calmly seated, staring at her with vacant eyes. When she had first met Mirielle, she had experienced a cool, but inviting, demeanour. Now Freylar’s queen seemed changed; whilst she could not quite put her finger on it, Mirielle appeared now to be more imposing than when first they had met.

‘First blood to Lothnar!’ cried Marcus, confirming that the challenge she faced was now greater than before.

The crowd roared again, following Marcus’ official confirmation of the score. The Blade Lord allowed the audience to have their raucous moment, before turning his attention back to them, ready to recommence their duel.

‘Engage!’

She immediately sprinted headlong towards Lothnar at breakneck speed; the Paladin instinctively snatched at the sheath attached to the underside of his left arm, reaching for another of his throwing knives. As she had accurately predicted, when receiving treatment from Galadrick, Lothnar’s scrappy movement was purely reactionary – a far cry from the slick motion she had previously witnessed. Caught off guard by her – perhaps reckless – audacity, the Paladin had been placed under pressure; maybe in his haste, Lothnar would struggle to read her movements. Before her mind could devise her next move, however, time – it seemed – abruptly stopped, crashing to a complete halt. She recalled experiencing the strange phenomenon before, when Alarielle had somehow meddled with her mind, leaving behind a lasting impression that had ultimately altered her perception. Previously Alarielle’s interference had taken place during the retelling of one of her suppressed memories, perpetuated by the parasitic evil that had violated her body. However, her duel with Lothnar was not a dream; in a similar vein, Alarielle – it now seemed – had found a way to disrupt her reality.

‘What are you doing?!’

‘I am helping you.’

‘Alarielle, this is my fight.’

‘No, it is our fight. My future is linked inexorably to your own. This duel is no longer about a simple challenge between you and Lothnar. There is far more than pride at stake here. Your priority is to strengthen your popularity amongst the Freylarkai, and to perpetuate your demi-god status, thereby allowing you to lend credence to Darlia’s words.’

‘Why do you care about her future? By inciting the Narlakai, she was – in a sense – responsible for your own demise.’

‘The irony is not lost on me, but Freylar’s fate still matters to me. Freylar is home to my father – and us, for that matter.’

‘I can defeat Lothnar myself.’

‘I admire your confidence Rayna, but determination and creative thinking alone will only take you so far. Perhaps that is enough, but, given the stakes, I would rather see your chances of success increased. I ask, therefore, that you consent to my aid; my current state of being affords me little bearing on the world – please, do not deny me purpose.’

‘You do not require my consent Alarielle, but...I appreciate your point of view, and besides, this body we share is not mine alone, indeed you are its rightful owner.’

‘Never think like that, sister. This body is yours now, though I still have a vested interested in it.’

‘Nonetheless, you have my consent.’

‘Thank you. Then let us get to work.’

Time suddenly resumed, albeit not unexpectedly – she was prepared. For a second time now, Alarielle had left a lasting impression on her psyche, empowering her to access knowledge previously unknown to her. She adjusted her legs to perform a powerful slide towards Lothnar, channelling the furious momentum of her charge in a way she had not previously considered. The unorthodox move kicked up a plume of gravel and dust from the arena floor, providing her the opportunity she needed. Caught off guard by the move, Lothnar recoiled and attempted to shield his eyes with his left arm. The Paladin tried to track her movements, but the cloud of dust hindered his visibility, affording her a window of opportunity. Scrambling back to her feet, she swung her right falchion towards the Paladin’s torso, whilst turning anticlockwise to follow up the sweeping blow with a s***h from her left blade, which she angled downwards. Her first attack clanked against one of Lothnar’s hastily drawn dirks, though fortuitously, the second caught the side of his right thigh, flush. The crowd gasped as a thin trail of blood fell to the arena floor. Lothnar grunted audibly in pain, before staggering backwards. His hasty withdrawal, coupled with the residual momentum from her assault, meant that several paces now separated them. The cloud of dust was also rapidly dispersing, and along with it, Lothnar’s need to shield his eyes; the Paladin quickly reached for his second dirk, signalling that Alarielle’s opportunity had been spent. Wasting little time, she renewed her assault against Lothnar, deciding instinctively to maintain the pressure on her opponent. Lothnar’s awkward body language suggested that she had successfully pushed the Blade Paladin out of his comfort zone. Nonetheless, there was no escaping the fact that his skill with a blade far exceeded her own. Despite her unfavourable snap assessment, she charged headlong towards the Paladin yet again, as though she was back in the southern lands, fighting alongside the Knights Thranis against the Ravnarkai menace. Lothnar held both dirks in a knife forward stance, relying on his superior reflexes as his primary means of defence. His right thigh continued to bleed, but the Paladin’s professional pride denied him the luxury of any medical aid; Lothnar was a proud Freylarkin, a trait that she would do well to exploit. In a bid to further increase pressure on the Paladin, she leapt forwards and drew back her right arm, whilst using the falchion in her left hand to shield her torso as best she could. Lothnar’s eyes widened, but the Paladin’s extraordinary reflexes countered her audacious move, leaving her vulnerable to his riposte. Lothnar deftly rotated clockwise, narrowly avoiding her strike, before abandoning his right dirk, contrary to The Teacher’s sermons. The blade thumped heavily on the arena floor, freeing up his right hand, which he used to grab her outstretched arm. The Paladin then drove the dirk in his left hand into her arm, immediately sending her body into shock. The sensation was not unlike her previous stabbing, although the attack felt significantly more impactful. Her resolve would have undoubtedly been broken in that single moment, if not for Alarielle’s intervention once again. The former Blade Adept had been stabbed many times as an active member of the Order, thus Alarielle’s experiences were instantaneously passed down to herself. Alarielle’s newest impression mitigated the mental effects of Lothnar’s blow, preventing her mind from paralysing her body. Therefore, still able to function, she rapidly bent her left knee, kicking the heel of her boot hard into the Paladin’s genitals.

‘b***h!’ said Lothnar audibly, as he instinctively doubled over from her dishonourable blow.

She followed up her brawler’s move with a s***h from the falchion in her good hand. Lothnar performed a deft backwards shoulder roll, attempting to evade her attack, but the tip of her blade caught the Paladin’s right shoulder leaving its bloody mark. Noise from the crowd thundered once more across the arena, as their enthusiastic audience rose to their feet in unison, clapping, screaming and cheering fervently. Both were left reeling from their brief violent exchange. Lothnar was clearly suffering from her low blow – less so from his actual wounds – and she could no longer fight effectively with his dirk still buried in her right arm, the throbbing pain of which was now beginning to manifest notably. As much as she wanted to press her assault, the blade protruding from her arm dictated otherwise. Reluctantly she raised the open palm of her left hand, signalling for further aid, although she now knew specifically who to turn to.

‘Galadrick!’

The screams and cries from their onlookers broke her heart, filling her soul with despair. Cora’s resolve was also broken by the group’s tactless response, and she began to sob once more.

‘Help us!’ she implored again, with growing frustration in light of her daughter’s distress.

Despite soliciting their aid, the Freylarkai continued to act irrationally, with their continued screaming and shouting.

‘Stay back!’ cried one of the females, promptly followed by ‘Be gone, demon!’ from another.

Their uncaring words fuelled her daughter’s upset, causing Cora to moan and weep incessantly.

‘Please, you cannot leave us like this. Help us!’ she continued, her frustration now rapidly turning to anger.

The group remained at a safe distance from them, whilst others ran out into the alley, from neighbouring buildings, swelling their nervous ranks. She realised then how upsetting – horrid even – their mutilated bodies must seem. Nonetheless, the disappointing reaction of their kin threatened to poison her increasing anger, turning it into something far darker.

‘Please, you must help us!’ she screamed hysterically, allowing her raw emotions to get the better of her.

Her raised voice only escalated the situation, prompting further harsh responses from their scared audience. Others were now beginning to enter the alley, and she could hear the sounds of Freylarkai gathering behind them.

‘My daughter and I need your help – you cannot leave us like this!’ she cried.

A voice of reason suddenly cut through the callus remarks from their raucous audience, making itself known. She recognised the familiar tone of the single benevolent voice, which belonged to one of the neighbouring store proprietors. The renowned dressmaker typically plied her trade within the Tri-Spires, which was ultimately good business. However, with space at a premium within Mirielle’s artificial construct, Larissa also operated a small warehouse locally, which she used to hold stock, in addition to vibrant coloured fabrics and other raw materials.

‘Larissa, help us, please!’ she wailed emphatically.

The celebrated dressmaker – also known for speaking her mind – pushed her way through the frightened crowd, before promptly running towards them with outstretched arms. Larissa dropped to her knees in front of them and gently reached for Cora’s head, trying to console her daughter, before pushing back her own matted hair, so that she could better understand their plight.

‘Hanarah, who did this to you?’

‘Call for the house guards.’ cried a voice from the growing agitated crowd.

‘Quiet!’ Larissa shouted in return. ‘Can you not see that they are in distress?’

‘That thing is a monster – someone call the guards, now!’

Larissa’s face was loaded with anger. She did not know what was worse – the horror visited upon them by their sadistic creator, or the overwhelmingly unsympathetic reaction of their kin. A sense of dread began to claw at her mind, more so than when their evil tormentor first laid his vile hands upon their skin.

‘I must alert the Queen – surely she can undo this.’

‘No, Larissa, please stay with us!’ she implored.

‘I must – you need help.’

‘Do not leave us.’ Cora whispered meekly, at last finding the courage to speak.

‘But I do not have the ability to undo this--’

‘Right now we need your protection – that is more important.’ she said vehemently.

‘Protection from who?’

‘Them – the Freylarkai!’

Her heart began to pound in her chest as the tip of Rayna’s blade caught Lothnar’s shoulder, tracing a thin line of blood across the arena floor. She leapt to her feet and immediately began clapping earnestly. Unsurprisingly, Thandor remained seated, with his arms neatly folded; the aloof Paladin maintained his habitual cool demeanour. However, the remainder of the audience – or at least the vast majority – followed her lead; the Freylarkai were on their feet, screaming and shouting words of encouragement. Even Marcus rose to applaud both combatants, for what was proving to be an extremely decisive duel. Typically, engagements in the arena commenced with a feeling out process, as opponents tested each other’s defences, but the duel between Lothnar and Rayna had – thus far at least – defied convention. Even Krisis was enjoying the spectacle; the adolescent dire wolf barked enthusiastically, and was no doubt keen to see his master prevail. She glanced to her right and spied The Teacher standing tall, with a deep-seated grin stretched across his face. To her left, Ragnar was also on his feet, although the Captain looked conflicted; it was common knowledge that he shared a close friendship with Lothnar, yet it was also rumoured that Ragnar had been sighted aiding Rayna with her training. Regardless, the contest of skill was fascinating to watch, and entirely unpredictable.