Shattered Exile

TWELVE Interference-2

‘What do you think?’ she said loudly, turning to Thandor.

‘Interesting...’

‘That is it – that is the sum total of your analysis?’ she said, attempting to coax Thandor into divulging further insight.

‘OK, I will bite – on this occasion.’ replied Thandor, who now also chose to stand up.

‘So come on then – who do you think will win, given the current state of play?’ she enquired enthusiastically.

‘It could go either way at this point. Rayna is inexperienced – this we know – but I do not believe that her aggressive stance is in any way rash. By accelerating their encounter, she has placed Lothnar under pressure with her deceptive reckless abandon, and is gambling on the final cut. It is an interesting ploy, but necessary, given Lothnar’s superior level of skill. Of course, this risky strategy has only been possible due to her unconventional style. Although now she will need a different approach – self-sacrifice will no longer serve her, in their race to the deciding cut; she needs to draw blood before Lothnar.’

‘I see – so you think she has been manipulating Lothnar?’

‘Indeed. Lothnar will be agitated now; the fact that he chose two dirks suggests to me that he did not expect to receive any cuts. Until now, he has relied entirely on his speed and reflexes, yet Rayna employed creative thinking to circumvent both. Now, Lothnar has self-doubt to contend with, in addition to his opponent.’

‘So you favour The Guardian’s chances then?’ she asked, trying to pin Thandor down on the matter.

‘I think that is enough for one day – after all, I have a reputation to uphold.’ replied Thandor, offering her a wry grin.

Having exhausted her source of information, she turned her attention back to the arena floor. Rayna was receiving aid from the same renewalist who had last tended to her. Lothnar, on the other hand, had requested no such aid, and was instead tying a length of fabric around the cut on his leg, thereby reducing further blood loss. There was an audible cry of pain from The Guardian, as her benefactor removed the dirk still lodged in her arm. After removing the weapon, the renewalist passed the blade to Rayna, who then, curiously, attached it to her belt.

‘Why take the weapon?’

‘Perhaps for no other reason than to keep us guessing, and Lothnar for that matter; after all, that is her style – she is unpredictable.’

‘I sense that you admire her.’ she said, with a wide goading smile.

‘Rayna’s behaviour is not unlike your own.’

‘Since when?’

‘When was the last time that you conformed to the stuffy doctrine of The Blades, eh?’

‘I may be somewhat carefree on occasion, but unpredictable – that is a stretch.’

Thandor said no more on the matter; the aloof Paladin was, in all likelihood, teasing her. Instead, he sat back down and turned his attention towards the arena once more. The renewalist was still diligently tending to Rayna’s arm, which had clearly sustained a decent amount of damage from the latest stabbing. Lothnar, however, had finished patching up his leg, and was now retrieving the dirk that he had abandoned earlier during the duel. The nomadic Paladin walked slowly back to his original position from prior to the interlude, whilst flicking the blade between his fingers with unparalleled skill. Upon returning to his position, Lothnar adopted his knife forward stance once more, however, this time he held his left arm vertically in front of him – no doubt with the intention of grappling her arms, in order to wrestle her weapons from her. Lothnar focused intently on The Guardian, who was still receiving aid for her injury; she could tell by Lothnar’s business-like attitude that he was agitated and keen to end their encounter.

‘He looks pissed off.’ she said, as she sat back down and promptly began stroking Krisis once more.

The black-furred adolescent placed his head in her lap and narrowed his eyes, as she ran her slender fingers across the top of his head – clearly, the dire wolf was a willing slave to her affections.

‘Indeed. But that pride and emotion of his is a double-edged sword; though it will undoubtedly fuel his desire to win, it could just as easily damn him, if it impairs his concentration.’

‘She is going to win.’

‘Really? You think…or you hope?’

‘Both. It is obvious now that she is playing for time – Lothnar knows it, and that will only agitate him further.’

‘Playing for time will not secure Rayna victory.’ replied Thandor, matter-of-factly.

‘It is more than that.’

‘Oh…’

‘Although he is rarely present in the vale, nonetheless, Lothnar represents The Blades, moreover, what we both know and are comfortable with. Rayna, however, is new and exciting; she represents something fresh and different – dare I say: change.’

‘Interesting. So you think the Freylarkai – perhaps even Lothnar himself – consciously, or maybe even subconsciously, desire change?’

‘Exactly. That change is coming Thandor – I can feel it in my soul.’

‘I think, perhaps, that you have let him stew long enough now, Guardian. Besides, I do not know how much longer I can maintain this pretence – the wound is fully healed.’

‘Thanks Gal, I’m sure that will be enough. Oh, and call me Rayna – my friends call me Rayna.’ she replied.

At the edge of her peripheral vision, she could sense Lothnar’s steely gaze, as the Paladin maintained his unflinching stance, ready to engage. If her hunch was right, Lothnar’s current emotional state was almost certainly tempestuous – evidenced by his stony demeanour. It was time now to heed the Knight Lord’s council and act upon the advice given to her by Heldran, during her secondment to the Knights Thranis.

‘Very well – Rayna.’ replied Galadrick with a warm smile, before taking his leave to join the others renewalists, gathered by the east gate.

She rose to her feet, prompting another loud cheer from the crowd, and flexed her right arm, trying to relax its newly healed muscles. Turning her head towards Marcus, she nodded courteously, signalling her desire to continue with the duel, after which she focused her gaze on her opponent once more.

‘Are you ready?’ she whispered to herself.

‘Of course – you forget that I know him Rayna, well enough to believe that this ruse of yours might actually work.’

She tightened her grip on her falchions, narrowed her eyes and stared intently at Lothnar, waiting for the inevitable signal from The Blade Lord.

‘Engage!’

The crowd screamed and shouted once more, as she charged, yet again, headlong towards Lothnar. Once more, the Paladin made no attempt to close the distance between them, content to let her expend energy by doing so. Before entering the reach of his weapon, she misplaced her footing, causing her to trip and crash into the dusty floor of the arena. Her grip loosened on her blades immediately upon impact, allowing them to slide across the floor, well beyond her reach. Her vision temporarily blacked out, due to the hard impact, though promptly returned when a firm grasp on her right shoulder violently rolled her over, forcing her to stare into the face of her opponent. Lothnar held his right arm above her, ready to rain down his dirk and drive it through her left shoulder.

‘Lothnar – it is me!’ she said, perfectly mimicking Alarielle’s tone of voice and facial mannerisms.

Confused, Lothnar hesitated, staring at her in silent horror, as though having just witnessed a ghost. The sudden unorthodox distraction afforded her the opportunity she sought; using Lothnar’s own teachings – imparted through Alarielle – she deftly drew the dirk, still attached to her belt, with her right hand. With enhanced speed, courtesy of her benefactor’s repeated intervention, she thrust the blade upwards, towards the bemused Paladin’s left shoulder. Lothnar reacted instinctively, attempting to deflect the weapon’s trajectory with his free arm; he narrowly blocked the dirk, forcing her to miss its intended target, but the Paladin’s lack of focus meant that she caught his forearm with the deflected strike. Visibly enraged, Lothnar rained down the dirk in his right hand. His facial expressions betrayed his intent, affording her the opportunity to block his own attack. She raised her free arm, but its awkward placement prevented her from successfully deflecting his attack. Instead, the Paladin’s dirk impaled her left palm, stopped only by his hand, firmly clasped around the weapon’s grip.

‘Damn it!’ he thundered furiously, aware that his forearm was in fact bleeding.

Angrily, Lothnar yanked the dirk violently from her hand, sending blood through the air. She cried out in pain, her body now registering the severity of the wound. Grinding her teeth, she tried to suppress the agony she felt, yet she was unable to hold back the tears gathering along her lower eyelids. The crowd were on their feet yet again, but the familiar shouts and cheers abruptly gave way to gasps, and other sounds of disbelief. Irrespective of the considerable number of the spectators who had clearly supported her during the duel, it was apparent now that, despite their enthusiasm, very few had actually expected her to win the engagement. Shocked by the unexpected outcome, the volume in the arena dropped rapidly as the stunned audience began to wrap their minds around what they had just witnessed.

‘Damn it!’ said Lothnar aloud once more. ‘You have no honour!’ he shouted, ensuring that the entire audience clearly heard his words.

Cradling her bloody left hand, she rolled onto her side, using her right hand to push herself upright. Rising to her feet, she slowly turned to face the infuriated Paladin, ready to defend her actions.

‘Enough! Since my arrival in Freylar, I have tolerated your disparaging remarks, but there shall be no more – this is the end of the matter!’ she said, in a commanding tone. ‘Whilst you may not approve of my methods, regardless, you were beaten – deal with it. I was never going to surpass your skill with the blade, even with Nathaniel’s teachings. You rank amongst the best of us Lothnar. It will be a great many passes before I come close to your level of combat prowess. For me to have faced you in a contest of physical skill alone, in this arena, would have been folly.’

‘So your incessant training was what – some kind of ruse?’

‘Partially; I required a degree of skill to make our duel look convincing. However, someone told me “There is no respect in combat. Release your opponent and do it quickly, any way you can, lest they do the same to you.” – I believe in those words. The Narlakai have no concept of honour, neither do the Ravnarkai; affording either such, invites release. We cannot indulge in such fanciful nobility if we are to defeat Freylar’s enemies, nor could I offer you the same if I was to stand any chance at defeating you, Lothnar.’

‘You fought dirty!’

‘I fought and won.’ she replied, pointedly. ‘If you asked it of me, I would gladly fight alongside you, not against you – I would have your back until the end, defending our people by any means necessary. Lothnar, I respect you.’

Following her words, she offered the Paladin an olive branch in the form of her good hand, whilst still cradling her left, which continued to drip blood onto the dusty floor. She fixed her gaze intently on Lothnar, staring earnestly at him. Now was not the time for her typically playful demeanour; Lothnar was a proud Freylarkin, and further embarrassing the Paladin would only widen the gulf between them.

‘Please Lothnar, let me fight alongside you.’