The Rivven Chronicles ( Watty Awards 2013)

Chapter 1: Something Borrowed

Had to dedicate this to SallySlater because it would not have gone on without her words of encouragement. Read on readers! Don't forget to vote and comment, a little goes a long way!

Steel flew through the night three times, striking steel, tearing leather, and piercing the substance beneath. Without pause, the swordsman threw his free arm around his opponent, keeping gravity from turning his unfortunate victim into an alarm on the hard stone below. Iron plates, attached to much weaker leather, had stood between this guard and death. But death had cut through the leather, and the heavy armor sagged, exposing the guard's life to his enemy's blade.

The swordsman had been careless. He should have watched the guard more carefully, waited for the perfect moment to sneak past. But instead, he had trusted the dark night to hide his movements, hoping that the guard would think he was just another shadow. That was what the swordsman preferred to be. Unseen and unknown. If he let himself be seen, it was always in surprise. His enemies could not object if they were in pieces before they could speak.

Suddenly, the swordsman himself was surprised as he was left clutching only a damaged suit of armor, his blade piercing nothing but it and the empty air of the courtyard.

Instantly alert again, the swordsman ignored his shock and scanned the area. His first swing had struck his enemy's blade, sending a clang into the night that would hopefully remain unheard or ignored. Because he had killed the guard before he could strike again, and because he had prevented the crash of the body onto the tiles below, he hoped that the sound could simply be dismissed. A few seconds passed, and no one came running.

The swordsman smirked at his error. He had not actually killed anyone. Likewise, there was no body to hit the ground. The guard was not mortal, or even truly alive. Whatever the swordsman's third strike had impaled, it was not flesh. Nonetheless, the being could not remain in the world without it. Once struck, it had dissolved, or disintegrated, or disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the armor that the swordsman began to lower to the ground.

And a sword, displaced by the movement, slipping out of an empty gauntlet and clanging on the tile below, much louder than when it clashed with his blade. The ringing echo was immediately followed by the sound of many running feet and the crash of iron plates as the swordsman abandoned the armor.

Sheathing his sword as he ran, the swordsman chose his path carefully, sacrificing silence for invisibility. While the exotic flowers to both sides of the path would produce much less noise than the tile, charging through the gardens would leave a clear trail for the approaching guards. Living or not, their swords were all too real. And who knew what else the nobleman had enlisted to protect his home?

After the eternity within a few seconds of fear, the swordsman had reached the side of the courtyard. As he had hoped, the nobleman was a lover of antiquity and permitted ivy on his walls, undoubtedly to display how old his manor was. For once, the swordsman was grateful for the pretentiousness of the ruling class.

Leaping over the fragrant roses that separated the end of the tiles from the wall, the swordsman prayed that the overgrown ivy would hold his weight. As a moment went by and the ivy did not rip free, the swordsman climbed, knowing he had no more time to waste.

Five feet from the top of the wall, the ivy came to an abrupt stop. A scorch mark, stretching across the entire wall, marked its border. A few glowing runes confessed the magical nature of the line. Pretentious or not, the nobleman was clearly not foolish enough to provide a ladder for intruders to come and go. For the first time since his manic climb began, the swordsman looked down. Two guards, identical to the one he had dispatched, were standing near the pile of metal and leather that had been their companion, searching for the assailant. The swordsman was at least eight yards from the garden below, but he was certainly not beyond the range of arrows or spells. He decided that it would be better to simply fight off the two guards than risk a helpless death.