Droln/Lilia (I know, I love these two)

She could have sworn she heard a pounding on the hall door. And there it was again. It couldn't be the wind, though the rain smattered glass, thunder, and lightning stirred the worlds of light and sound. She tied on her night robe and slipped into the main hall, unhooking a lantern from the wall as she passed. She unbolted the great wooden door and started to heave it open when the outsider helped her out and pushed, coming in. She shut the door behind him as he shook the water from himself. Turning to him, she recognized his face.

"Captain Droln?" She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Three thirty in the morning.

"I don't know where she is," the captain panted.

"Who?" Lilia knew, but she was stalling.
She took his cloak from him, hanging it on a hook and putting on a kettle for tea.
"Spenfalla. She ran away." He gratefully accepted the hot beverage she gave him, shivering a little.
"I know."

Off to War

The rain splattered into puddles between the cobblestones of the courtyard, making pearly mud patterns that flowed among gray stone islands. A cascading line of water poured over the edge of the roof, creating a sort of curtain between those being left behind and those astride mighty war horses, clad in solemn armor.
Two of the figures dismounted, approaching the family that stood under the protection of the roof. Their mother was weeping silent tears.
"Do not cry, Mother," Spenfalla comforted as Yan embraced the older woman. When she had settled some, Yan allowed his sister to take his place as he moved down the line. He shook his father's proud hand and touched his shoulder. Lilia was next. He could tell that she was trying to be brave by not crying. He hugged her tightly.
"I'll be back."
"You can't promise that."
"Then the next best thing." She squeezed him once more as Spenfalla came for her turn. Then the two of them went to their horses that stood in the rain.
The young captain dismounted as well, going to Lilia. She smiled sadly, and, from around her neck lifted and ivory charm carved in the image of a lily and lowered it over his head silently.
"I will bring it back, Lady," he vowed. She almost let a tear spill, but caught herself. He bowed and turned, joining his steed in the rain. They all mounted, and, with many a glance behind, rode into the misty shadows of the day.
As they rode glumly under a cloudy sky, Yan hurried his steed so that he was alongside the young Captain Droln.
"I understand that you are courting my sister," he said.
Droln nodded, still affected by the gray skies overhead.
"And she gave you the ivory lily charm that you are wearing?"
"The ivory lily charm?" Spenfalla rode up to the other side of her brother. "Really, Captain?"
"What is so special about it?" he inquired.
"At least seven lads of our village have sought such a gift of Lilia," Yan informed him.
Droln chuckled.
"You must be quite the charmer," Spenfalla teased. "How did you do it?"
"'I gave her a blossom on a full moon night.' Last night's ball."
"I see you've read 'The Moonlight Minuet'," Yan always loved a literature discussion.
"I found it rather dull. Reading is not one of my pasttimes." Yan's face visibly fell. He mumbled some excuse and rode ahead. Spenfalla laughed.
"Don't pay any attention to the bookworm."
Droln smiled, and Spenfalla could see the source of Lilia's attraction to him. She smiled herself. She actually felt happy for once.

Alternate Spenfalla/ Jayor Meeting

In this version, she meets him in Valasno, after the Council.
.........................................................................
Blood flowed from the gash on her arm as she left the practicing courtyard. When she turned the corner, she nearly ran into a broad young man.
"Whoah! Uh, sorry 'bout that," a deep voice with a strange accent accompanied his large build.
"It's fine," she started to go on her way. When he saw her wound, he stopped her.
"Oh, you're not going anywhere, Sweetheart. Not with a cut like that." She turned to face him.
"I'll be fine." Once again she turned to go.
"You need a doctor. Here." He caught up with her, tucked his golden hair behind his ears, and began to look at her arm.
"Fine. I need a doctor." He continued to examine her arm. She looked at him quizzically.
"Oh, right." He pulled aside the flap of his jacket to reveal the green patch of a doctor embroidered on the pocket.
She pulled her arm away. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You have a six inch gash on your forearm near a main vein and you've lost significant blood for a cut that size. Are you feeling light headed?"
"No."
"Dizzy?"
"No."
He paused. "Are you in any sort of pain at all?"
"No, I'm not. I told you, I'm fine." He stared at her. That's when she remembered that it wasn't quite normal to feel no pain. As usual, her skin pulled itself together, like water stills after a splash. The young surgeon touched her now perfect skin in awe. She pulled down her sleeve over the bare spot, embarrassed. She quickly bid him farewell and went on her way.
He was left standing immobile. Skin that healed itself? This was a marvel unheard of.

Potential Tolké Time

"I heard that Lady Felana is coming tonight," Leara said to Tolké teasingly as they danced. He blushed, but quickly tried to appear indifferent.
"That's nice. I haven't seen her in a while."
She rolled her eyes. "O, come on, Tol. Even I know you've had a crush on her since you were six. When's the last time you saw her?"
"Eight years ago. We were twelve." He was still red with embarrassment. When they spun around, Spenfalla was in sight, partnered with her brother. He quickly looked away.
Leara thought of this for a moment. "Will you be the same towards Felana with Spenfalla here?"
He looked at Spenfalla once again and sighed. "I don't know. It could be one of those feelings that never goes away. When I see her, something might change." Just then, as if on cue, the hall doors opened. A tall lady clad in a flowing pale green gown floated in. Tolké found himself staring. Leara turned his head away from the new arrival. "Manners, Tol." He swallowed.
"Right. Shall we greet her?" She smiled.
"Let's." They left the dance to meet Lady Felana. Spenfalla's attention was drawn to them as they bowed and curtsied to each other. Who's she? She wondered. Tolké was certainly giving her a lot of attention. She watched as he escorted this stranger to the dance floor and began to waltz. Spenfalla made some excuse to Yan and fell out of the dance. As she stood by a pillar watching the couple, she began to feel upset. Lilia came out of nowhere. She too watched them.
"That's Lady Felana. I heard that they were betrothed when they were younger."
"I see."
Lilia looked at her sister. "Jealous?" Spenfalla started.
"No! Why would I be?" she tried to laugh it off. "Besides, look at them. They're perfect together." Her throat hurt.
"Spenfalla," Lilia could see through her pretense.
She sighed. "Ok, so I'm jealous. But they are perfect together. Look." The sisters watched as the prince gently danced with the Kayuan lady. Their movements were fluid and precise. Somehow, they fit.
Lilia shook her head. "You're better for him." She began to walk away.
"Maybe once." Lilia paused and turned to her.
"Maybe still," she turned away again and left.
It was a long time before Tolké was away from Felana. Spenfalla casually stood beside him.
"Who's your friend?"
He blushed. "A friend. We, uh, go way back. Felana... is her name."
Spefalla actually felt bad for embarrassing him.
"I think it's warm in here," she lied.
"Let's go to the garden," he suggested, offering his arm. Normally she wouldn't have taken it, but she did, and hoped Felana saw. What am I doing? She ignored herself and followed him to the garden. It was cooler, and pleasant.
Tolké began to speak. "How have you been? Since it all ended, I mean."
"It still hurts," she replied, trying not to think of Jayor.
"I'm sorry." He sounded utterly sincere. Then she remembered Felana. He seemed to as well.
"Listen, about Felana..."
"I understand," she interrupted. "I'm happy for you. She's good for you."
He looked down. "I, uh... wasn't going to say that. She doesn't mean anything to me. Not like... you."
"Tol..." She didn't know what to say. Apparently, he didn't either, because he suddenly moved close and kissed her. She was surprised. The last time she had been kissed was the time right before she killed Jayor.
She almost pulled away, saddened by the memory, but remembered that the past was gone. This was Tolké. He was different.

Tritik

“Mother! Wait f'r me!” the young boy's halloo echoed in the mountains, bouncing off the rocks and snow. He stumbled in the cold, chilling his already numb and bare legs. The others fleeing gave him no succor; time was precious little before the marauders closed the gap between them and the escaping villagers. His mother gasped, half of exasperation, and half out of breath from her weary flight. She hustled back to her child, speaking in short breaths,
“Come, Tritik! Not much... time.... your father... behind.... never again... not you, also!” The medley of phrases did not make much sense, but it rid the boy of his languor as he struggled to his feet. Taking her elder son's hand, the woman supported the sleeping baby hastily strapped to her chest with strips of cloth. The young child faltered once more, jerking his mother's arm and waking the babe, who let out a long skirling of discomfort. A much desired interloper appeared, a young man, and relieved the lady of her burden. A pestilential fear had been festering among the villagers, but alongside it had been bred a unity like no other.
“I'm sorry, Mother,” the boy whimpered. “I... I looked down the mountain... an' I getted scar'd... I won't ever get scar'd 'gain.” She felt a wave of sympathy all at once. Why should her child be forced to go through this? She too glanced down the mountain, then quickly turned back at the sight of the precipitous slope, squeezing her son's hand.
“It'll be all right, Tritik,” she hurried on. “We'll get to the mountain shelter.... and they won't find us...”
“Will Papa be there?” She felt a knot twist in her stomach as she remembered attracting her young one's attention to avoid his witnessing the death of his own father. Her throat ached at the memory of watching her husband cut down like an old tree.
“No, Darling. Papa won't be coming.” The silence of her usually inquisitive son brought mixed feelings. Relief at not having to answer any more questions, and yet a deep sadness that he had figured it out for himself. She prayed that he would be protected for the rest of his life from such grief.
A woman's desperate scream came from behind. Few turned to see their pursuers; all hastened even more. There was something strange to Tritik about that scream. It rang in his ears and pounded in his head like his quickened heartbeat. It coursed through his veins like foreign blood; trying to work itself into him as he rejected it. He was in a daze; blindly tripping beside, or behind, rather, his mother. He tried to look at her for an answer about that chilling cry. All he could see was her golden hair whipping wildly in her own wind of speed, and the puffs of air that were visible only in the cold.
All of a sudden, he realized that that scream, frozen against time, was not fear. It was far more than that. They were all in fear, weren't they? They were running, scattered, fleeing into the mountains. They were drenched in fear. The fear was as real, as tangible as the cold that enveloped them all. No, that scream was death.

~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~...~
The colors of dawn spread across the horizon of the earth. Tritik surfaced from the sea of sleep, though droplets still clung to him, as he slowly stirred from his slumber. Sitting upright in his bed, he ran his fingers through his longish blond hair. He stood and stretched, glancing at his reflection in the long oval mirror beside his bed. He smirked; his hands hadn't helped much.
One lock brushed past his cheek, the red one; the color of blood. With blood to remember his father. To remember his mother. His infant brother. It brought out the red accents of his tattoo; the sea serpent curled around his arm. He sighed. He definitely didn't fit in here. Tritik entered the one other room of his house, not even bothering to change out of yesterday's tunic and pants. In the hallway, Tritik fastened the brass buckle on his belt where his knife hung. He had hardly stepped outside when he was greeted.
"Hail, Tritik!" Frelor was seated on a low wooden bench along the wall of Tritik's small home. Tritik raised his hand in greeting and sat down beside the older man.
"I was wondering when you would get up," Frelor cocked his head. "Are you a night owl?" Tritik laughed at this; dawn had barely broken.
"Not all men are farmers," he said. "They don't often rise before the sun."
"Ah,well... 'Early risers soon to sleep...'"
"'...a healthy life is sure to keep'," Tritik finished. He knew it well. "You didn't come here to lecture me on my morning routine, did you, Frelor? What is it?"
"Good, not ill brings me here. I've started construction."
"Construction?"
"Yes, for your new home." Frelor's reply was genuinely kind.
"My new home? But, Frelor, as you can see," Tritik gestured with his hand. "I already have one." "Ah, yes, but this," he stood and mimicked Tritik's motion. "Is not big enough for my Zendra to raise a family in."
“Z-Zendra?”
"You ask many questions. 'A curious mind may ask it well...'"
"'...but time may see the answers tell'." He was familiar with most of Frelor's sayings.
"But, yes. You have my blessing. The new home I am constructing will be large enough for you and my daughter to live in with many children."
"Oh!” Children. He hadn't thought of children. Just him and the beautiful Zendra. He supposed children were part of it, after all. He hadn't been around children since he graduated academy. Now that he thought about it, they seemed to avoid him.
"Ah, yes, I will be a grandfather!” Frelor interrupted his thoughts, stroking his beard gleefully. "You know that I didn't want you to marry Zendra. I.... I didn't trust you. I thought she should marry one of her own, a Kayuan." Tritik uncomfortably fidgeted with the strings of his leather boots.
"But you are a good man," continued the old man with a pat on the shoulder. "And I know you will take good care of my daughter, because you love her. When my wife wanted Zendra to marry you, I said that I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry into a home hardly big enough for her. So, I am having a house built for you. It is on the other side of my vineyard, only closer to the town."
"Thank you... for everything Frelor."
"Oh, tis nothing. Well," he stood. "I must be off. 'The sooner begun...'"
"'...the sooner done'," Tritik stood as well. "cli hamé leara, Frelor." (a good morning.)
"lé, elod yamell hayo." (yes, and to you)
Frelor left to go back to his vineyard. Tritik sighed a sigh of relief. He had Frelor's blessing! Now he could marry Zendra without invading on the traditions of Kayua. Thinking of that made Tritik slightly sad. They weren't in Kayua.
Eleven years ago, it was a Zangon Erapelean village. His village. Then the Kayuans came and took the entire district by force. Tritik remembered that day like it was yesterday, and the memory haunted him every night. He pushed that away. Then he smiled. He had a proposal to do.

A Yan/ Ellesänya Moment

Yan stood on the balcony, leaning on the rail, watching the starlight dance on the river. Ellesänya stepped beside him, her back to the sparkling waters. Yan spoke.
"Folks picture dreams as misty, cloud-like things. But... then they shatter, scarring you. It hurts to hold the broken pieces, but it hurts even more to give them away."
"You have to hold the pieces to build something anew," she comforted. Yan spoke more softly.
"Lady, I am nothing." She put her hand on his arm. "No." He turned toward her, gripping her arms.
"I am nothing! What am I? A farmer? Not even that. And you? You are a princess; gold and silver and jewels. All I can be is a poor famer's son;" he looked at his hands, callused with seasons of heavy labor. "Sweat and blood and soil. The most I can do for you is get you dirty too. Lady," he repeated, almost whispering. "I am nothing."
"Nothing cannot be loved," she spoke softly as well. He looked up at her."What can I give you?" He tried to think of a single thing worth her shame. She leaned to whispered in his ear. "Yourself." He couldn't help himself. He wrapped his arms around her graceful frame, just holding her. She allowed him to do this for as long as he needed to. She also hugged him back, and she felt his grip tighten the tiniest bit. "I love you," he whispered.

Droln meets Lilia

Droln wasn't too interested in a dance, even if it were a victory banquet. And even if he were one of the heroes. Besides, the weather was nice and the night was lovely. He had just stepped out of the dance hall, when, in the courtyard, he saw her. She sat on a marble bench all alone. No one else was in sight.
He had seen her before, at the first dance months ago. He had even danced with her. But the way she looked now, with the moonbeams playing in her hair, and brushing her skin like an anjelle's kiss, he hardly recognized her. The mere sight of her made his heart stop. He stood for a moment or two, struggling to breathe, partially hidden behind the leaves of a flowering tree whose blossoms had faded. She was tall for her age, but not as tall as he was, he remembered. She had soft eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her hair was straight and brown, like maple, but it had a soft wave to it. He could have watched her forever. But then a new thought entered his mind. He desperately wanted to speak with her, but even more, he wanted to hear her voice. He stepped out slowly, speaking softly.
“Will you speak, Lady?” He did not know her name. That mattered not. She needed no name, for what name is there for taelia, for beauty? She half-smiled, amused, her doe eyes bright in the starlight. “But, what, Sir, shall I say?”
He neared her, wading through the misty emotions that clouded his senses.
“That is a mystery, Lady. For what shall you say that would not beg me of reply, therefore hearing not your voice, but mine?” He was close enough now to touch her, standing at one end of the bench while she sat on another.
She laughed sweetly. “Then I know not what to say.”
She had spoken, and he had heard her, but it was not enough. He tried to think of something quickly. The music from the dance caught his attention.
“Will you sing, then?” He inquired, sitting on his end of the bench.
She shook her head. “The music plays, Sir, though not for me.” That was certainly an easy one, if not a challenge.
“It plays for all who dance,” he said. “Will you join their number?”
“For you, Sir, I think I shall.” She proceeded to rise, and started swaying gently to the rhythm of the music. She began to dance once the beat was in her body. She twirled gracefully, her steps precise and her motions smooth. She had her eyes closed as she moved about the courtyard, circling the fountain of sculpted dancers like herself. Her lilac skirt billowed and swirled, catching the heaven's light in its silk folds and silver thread embroidered in flowing patterns.
Droln was mesmerized. He absorbed himself in her every move; with every step her slippered feet took, he was put even more under a spell. He, apart from his own consciousness, stood. When she rounded the bend in the path to meet him, she stopped suddenly, as if an invisible barrier held her. He could not find his voice, and even if he could have, he had no words. She too was caught in the silence as they stood, facing one another. Neither made a move, as each was in a slight trance.
He regained enough of his composure to realize that they stood immobile. He offered her his hand, and she slowly took it, placing her other on his shoulder. The coolness of his armor made her draw a quick breath. He led her as they started to move. Slowly at first, they danced the waltz that invited them to its rhythm. He spun her out with one hand, and she returned to him. He still held one hand, but put his other around her slender waist. They sped up, still keeping to the beat, increasing only in tempo.
As he led her around the courtyard, all he could see was her grace, her charm, her beauty. He half-heartedly tried to pull himself out of this feeling, but he could not have, even if he so desired. The music, all too soon, ended, so they stopped as abruptly as they had begun.
“Your name, Lady?”
“Lilia.” Of course. The name of a flower for such a blossom.
“And yours?”
“I am Captain Droln, Lady Lilia.” He spoke her name tenderly. She shook her head.
“Not Lady. Just Lilia.” Now he shook his head in disbelief.
“You must be a Lady. Were you not at the royal coronation ball eight moons ago? And here you are yet again.”
“I was there only for my sister,” she explained, blushing, slightly embarrassed for his mistake. “And now again for her, as well as my brother.”
“And who is this sister of yours?”
“Lady Spenfalla.”
“The Lady Dansal?” Droln was surprised. He knew not of the relation between the deliverer and this lady. They did not look much alike, but one could see the resemblance.
“Yes,” she sighed. “And Yan is my brother.”
“You have great kin.” She nodded,
“Yes, I know.” Her tone did not express much pride for them. Droln understood.
“You hear much of them. Perhaps too much?” She said and did nothing, watching the streams of starlit water pour from the fountain. He worried that he had offended her. He searched his mind for something to say, but nothing revealed itself, until something caught his eye.
There was, growing on a decorative pillar, a vine that bore many lovely blossoms. Each had five petals, like a star, and were a violet that matched Lilia's gown. He gently plucked one, and held it out to her. He had no idea how strangely surreal a flower in an armored hand looked.
His attention was drawn to her when she took the soft green stem tenderly, with wonder shining in her doe eyes.
Tomorrow they would go to war. He prayed such things would not be spoiled by the cruelties of battle.

Well... here I go..

A dozen Zangon Erapelean guards stood before her, ready for a fight. They had the upper hand. Or so they thought. The leader advanced, none too humbly. He was tall, and looked down on Spenfalla. His fire-blue eyes burned as he spoke threateningly.
"Katak leeth tôr-treek, sat ônt." The others laughed. Spenfalla paused. She knew only one word of their tongue. She smiled, amused. Calling on yellow Exallia, she stepped back a pace. The Exallia emerged. She thrust it at them with all her might, yelling, "Scôntal!"
Thunder, lightning, wind and rain flew at them at the speed of an arrow, flowing from her and from the sky through a hole that was broken in the roof from the weather. She savored their shocked expressions as it hit them. Some were knocked over by the wind. Some were battered down by continuous rain drops. Some, probably the most unfortunate, were shocked by lighting in bright bolts of gold.
Spenfalla did not allow it to hit the leader, however. It parted, then rejoined behind him, wreaking havoc among the rest of his men. When he and Spenfalla were the only two still standing, the commotion subsided. He realized that his sword was useless against her power. He sheathed it, calling on his own power. Spenfalla cursed herself silently. She should have seen the mark on his forehead.
Out of his hands flew green Exallia; dreams and thoughts. It hit Spenfalla powerfully. There was no physical pain, but Spenfalla knew what he had done. She couldn't defeat him. He was powerful, even more than she. He could kill her in an instant. He could kill the whole army in one flash of black Exallia. It was useless to resist him. It would be like fighting Unya. Wait. Unya. No one could fight Unya. This was an illusion. No, it couldn't be. Spenfalla heard herself speaking to her own mind, but it wasn't her thoughts. He will kill everyone unless she joined him. No, he isn't that powerful. Of course he is! Sh was confused. She couldn't tell the difference between her thoughts any more. She called on purple Exallia; virtue.
"Give me truth!" she yelled to the sky. From the dark storm clouds overhead came purple light. It flashed like lightning, hitting her whole body. Then she knew. He had used green Exallia to convince her of his power. False power. He was merely a beginner.
His face fell when he realized that she knew of his pretense.
He didn't even bother a second attempt. He just turned and ran. She let him go.
........................................................
The sound of metal against metal surrounded the ears of all present. Mixed in were cries. Cries of pain, cries of loss, cries of war, cries of victory, cries of death. Broken, bleeding bodies lay everywhere. Some were friends now gone. Others were enemies defeated. Sacrifice. Gain.
Almost everyone and everything had blood externally. Dirt, dust, and debris flew in the air, stirred by the constant motion. It swirled about, choking and blinding. But none stopped; that would mean death.
Swords, crimson with blood swung in all directions. Some hit flesh, others armor, and still others enemy weapons. There was no rhythm; no beat. It was a free-for-all massacre, for king and country; death and glory. The ring of steel was the last sound heard by many. broken spears and arrows still in bodies protruded dangerously, prohibiting reckless movement.
The sky was dark, casting angry, shadowy darkness over everything. Many would not know another sunny day. There was no shine, no gleam to the proud armor of kings and queens. Even the gold hilt of Leara's sword could bring no cheer as it danced in the air, partnered with good aim and strength.
An even darker shadow flew overhead as Unya landed, ridding himself of passenger and weight. Spenfalla quickly dismounted, allowing him immediate escape from soaring arrows and sharp blades. She had just enough time to unsheathe her own sword to parry a blow from an assaulter and return the favor, more successfully. Leara slashed her way over to who friend, who faced more foes. Spenfalla gasped for breath as she attempted communication.
"Zallé... is missing..," she slayed yet another enemy in defense.
"What?!?" Leara spun on her last move, facing her.
"Look out!" She turned back, blocking more attacks. "It's stolen!"
"The shard..," she said. "...is supposed to... help you... find it!"
"I know... I don't understand it... the sendings are still strong!"
"Then it's... here!" Leara stabbed downward at a stumbled enemy. Too busy to reply, they both continued fighting until no more attacked them.
From a few yards away, Tolké noticed Spenfalla's return. He hailed Legremen, amidst her own battle, and they joined the two after they got themselves out of the crowd.
"Is it done?" Tolké asked, panting slightly from constant activity. Spenfalla shook her head, allowing Leara to explain.
"Zallé was not in the underground chamber. It was a trap. Spenfalla was ambushed, but instructions from Unya brought Ellesänya and a team of well-trained Arisene warriors to her aid. We've decided that-"
"Hang on!" Tolké used his war scythes to take out a soldier behind Legremen.
"Thanks, Tol," she said. "I owe you one." He shrugged, dismissing it.
"Well I owe you several. Le, where is Zallé?"
Spenfalla answered for her. "Here."
"But where is here?" Legremen asked, rhetorically.
"Here." A voice behind them caused them all to turn. Jayor stood there, in Zangon Erapelean armor and war paint, holding an apparently glass orb with a chip out of it. The shard in Spenfalla's sword hilt was so cold, it hurt to touch. Jayor tossed the globe as he would a steedball, casually letting it fly off his fingertips. Tolké sheathed one of his war scythes in the holder on his back and caught it. By feeling it, though, he could tell that it was hard and would not have broken had it fallen.
"Nice," commented Jayor. "You'd be an asset to the team."
Tolké ignored him, and stepped back, guarding it.
"Why are you giving it to us?" Leara wanted to know.
"Because, Lady," he bowed slightly. "It doesn't matter if you restore it or not. It matters if you kill me.... or not," he added.
"I suppose you don't want that to to happen," Legremen quipped.
"No, Lady," he bowed to her this time. "That would not be at all beneficial. For me at least," he returned the grim humor.
"What do you propose?" Tolké asked suspiciously.
"A duel," he responded, straightening. "A one-on-one fight between Dansal and Kantak."
"Who-" Leara began, but he cut her off.
"I am Kantak. It is my duty to kill the one responsible for Zallé, as is the duty of Dansal to kill the so-called 'Anti-Zallé'." He waited fro them to nod understandingly before continuing. "Now who is your Dansal? I must know."
The others glanced at each other, but Legremen stepped boldly forward. "I am."
"No!" Leara touched her arm.
"It is all right, now that I know," Jayor said. "Are you, Lady, ready for a fight to the death?" Legremen nodded, and the others stepped back. Jayor drew his sword, ans Legremen poised herself with her axe. He looked at Spenfalla apologetically, who ignored him. Legremen made the first move, advancing quickly and swinging at him from the right. Hurriedly judging the weight of her axe against his sword, he ducked instead of blocking. He swiped at her left, which she blocked. She swung a left, which came so fast he couldn't duck. It hit the side of his head with a sickening sound. He staggered, using his sword to support his stumbling body. His blood was on her axe and pouring from the side of his head. Spenfalla knew that she needed to watch him die. With tears in her eyes, she forced herself to look at the wound. But there was hardly a wound at all. There was a scar that looked like he had been hurt by her a long time ago. The skin was pulling itself together, and the blood stopped coming. Legremen paused in wonderment.
"You are no Dansal," he said, thrusting his sword forward. It sliced between plates in her armor. She gasped, dropping her axe. He pulled his own blade out, red dripping off it. She exhaled slowly, falling first to her knees, then forward to a laying position. Jayor stepped back, triumphant but humble.
"Oh, no..." Leara rushed forward, followed by Tolké. Jayor looked at Spenfalla. She had her hand in front of her mouth in horror.
Leara and Tolké rolled their cousin over, but it was too late. Her eyes still open in surprise, her face was pale.
"Oh, no..." she said again. "Oh, no, no, nooo..."
Tolké swallowed, closing her eyes with his hand. There was a long silence. Leara sat, weeping quietly and holding Legremen's limp hand. Tolké stroked Legremen's hair and closed his own eyes. Jayor wiped his sword, sheathing it. Spenfalla was so angry at him. He had just killed Legremen, knowing that she was not Dansal and couldn't have hurt him. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She couldn't stop herself. Raising Anya, she charged him. He pulled out his sword again, blocking her initial attack.
"No, Spenfalla! Stop!" She attacked him again. Once more, he stopped it with his own blade. "Spenfalla, you can't kill me! I'd only end up killing you. Only Dansal can harm me!"
Their swords were locked together, and both were pushing with all their strength. They were face-to-face.
"I am Dansal!" she hissed. He pushed himself back in anger. His expression turned to remorse.
"No... no, that's impossible..!" She stepped back, refusing to look him in the eye. He dropped his sword. She sheathed Anya as he dropped to his knees.
"Spenfalla!" Leara stood in a rage. "Kill him! Kill him now!"
"I.... I can't..."
"Lady Dansal, you have a duty; fulfill it!"
Spenfalla whirled on her. "Kill Jallés then!" Leara clamped her mouth shut. "And you..." she spoke to Tolké. "Kill me!" Tolké remained silent. He glanced at Jayor, who was still kneeling on the ground. He looked up and the two made eye contact. Tolké sensed that Jayor had just learned for the first time his feelings for Spenfalla. Through his hatred, he felt a connection to this Kantak.
Spenfalla bent over and picked up Jayor's sword. She walked over to him. He closed his eyes, but not in fear. She slid it into the scabbard on his back, then stepped backwards. She turned around and walked away, disappearing among some fighting. She was in the middle of a battle with no weapon ready. An enemy slashed at her as she passed, but she kept walking. The wound healed itself as she moved. A scar remained, just like Jayor's head wound. This happened several times as she was hidden in the center of the crowd. Then, from the middle of the group came a cry. It was a cry of hatred, rage, grief, and revenge. Blackness exploded in all directions from the center. Cries of pain and death accompanied he bodies flying, erupting from her. She was suddenly all alone, surrounded by dead foes, who had been alive only seconds before. Black Exallia still danced on and around her as she stood perfectly still, asking to be used. She released it to do it's bidding, and it flew off her and disappeared against the dark clouds. After a few moments of stillness, she drew Anya. She just looked at it, with anger and almost fear. She finally returned to her friends, who were joined by Jallés and Droln. No one said a word. Maybe they were afraid of the wrath she had just revealed. She walked over to Jayor and stood over him. His golden locks were still tinted red with blood where Legremen had hit him.
"Get up,' she said to him. "One of us must die today." He said nothing, averting his eyes. "I say get up!" When he did not respond, she got down to his level. "Or will you let yourself fall?" He looked into her eyes.
"I will."
She was silent. In his eyes, she saw something she hadn't seen in a long time. Love. He still loved her, and would rather die than harm her. Then she realized that she too loved him.
"Then I will not be the one to do it," she stood, looking away.
"You must!" He also rose, and made her look at him.
"I cannot!"
"Then Zallé is dead."
"No!" She attacked him, reminded of the task she had yet to complete. He was forced to block it to save himself, and he instinctively returned with another move. She also blocked an attacked.
They parried and slashed, soon caught in a furious fight. One of them would be the victor. And the other dead. Their momentum quickened as they moved faster and faster, an unstoppable battle amidst fallen bodies.
Both were full of emotion. Anger, grief, rage, sorrow, and passion were vented through the flash of steel. They spoke occasionally between strikes and defensive motions.
"I never wanted this!" Jayor cried, swinging his blade.
"But here it is anyway!" She swiftly blocked his move and made an attack of her own. He dodged her, scraping her arm as he passed. This was the first time she was in actual, lasting pain as she bled for more than only one or two seconds. Her arm burned with this new feeling. She was slightly dazed, but attacked him again, crying out.
"I'm sorry!" he apologized, parrying her blow. The weight of her sword was two much for her recent infliction. She passed Anya to her left and continued in silence. Jayor took this as her ignoring him.
"I didn't mean to hurt you..," their blades met, but neither would yield. This was extremely difficult for Spenfalla, who was using her opposite hand. Under the pressure of each other's force, they finally slid their contact lower and broke off. Neither made a move. They said nothing, holding still except for their labored breathing from exertion. Now the battle was without the sword. They stood silently, looking each other square in the eye. She could tell in the blue depths of his eyes that he really did not want harm to come to her on his behalf. She too did not wish to hurt him. Both knew that this was impossible, but there they both stood, both unwilling to befall pain to one another. They stood there, weighing their choices, communicating without the aid of words or Exallia.
He looked as if he would cry, but gave no sign of actually breaking down. Sword still in hand, he stepped forward and kissed her tenderly. She relaxed in his arms, basking in his love for her. It was then that she remembered her duty. She lifted her sword, praying for forgiveness. As quickly as she could, she closed her eyes tighter and stabbed him in the back.
He gasped in surprised, breaking away from her. He opened his eyes, seeing tears in hers.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. He looked down, only to see the point of her sword protruding from his abdomen. He struggled to breathe. She pulled her blade out again as he gasped once more and fell backwards.
She knelt beside him, stroking his blonde hair. He looked up at her.
"I love you," he smiled. The he was still, his eyes still open, looking at her. There was no life behind them. They were the same eyes that had seconds before held so much love and now were empty. She closed his eyes and sat there quivering. At first it was in loss and grief, from saying goodbye forever. Then she realized that it was because of her. It was her fault that no breathe came from him. She was full of anger. She was angry at herself. She had to release this rage before it consumed her. She grabbed Anya from where it lay on the blood-stained dirt, swinging it as hard as she could against a nearby boulder. It smashed, sending countless dangerous pieces flying everywhere. The sea serpent on her hilt seemed to mock her with its glittering opal eyes. Pulling the shard from its place, she flung the hilt with the remaining piece of attached blade at the same hulking stone. It made a clanking sound as it dully bounced off, bent out of shape.
All that remained was the shard. She turned to look over her shoulder, tears rolling down her cheeks like raindrops. Tolké rolled the globe towards her. She picked it up and thrust the missing piece into its proper place.