The Shrew of Silvermount

Chapter IV - The Judgement

"Grab your weapons and meet me in the clearing behind the stables; I'll be waiting at dawn the next day." These were the last words Kinley heard from the woman before leaving the room.

The snowstorm rested like a mantle over the lawn—winds once fierce now serene. Kinley waited in the middle of that clearing, still as a monolith, where only the moonlight of the twin moons shimmered through the night veil.

But there was just one problem in all of this. 

How would it be possible to ever know if it had dawned, if the sun wouldn't rise during the southern winter? He carried a pocket watch with him; but how to tell the time when he had lost track of it very long ago? Moreover, Kinley refused to adjust the hours on that clock, to lay a single finger on his late father's only inheritance.

He gripped his greatsword firmly by its ricasso, as was his habit, waiting for the moment that was bound to come, sooner or later. Leaning against a rough trunk, he rested under the leafy canopies—his icy breath blowing silver clouds. The heart skipping a beat now and then.

Five minutes?

Twenty minutes?

One hour?

There came a moment when he ceased tallying the revolutions of the minute hand around its axis.

Yet, as he granted himself a brief respite, a weighty clinking reverberated through the snow, crushing its delicate silence underfoot and echoing through the tree leaves. It was a sound he recognized all too well, better than anyone—clinking greaves and metal plates that resonated like the ominous rattle of a serpent.

Her worn indigo scarf draped with the breeze. The armor plates somber as coal. Her pointed ears hiding within the black helm, while her tail hung low behind her, exposed yet poised.

In her hands, she wielded a long polearm with a side blade—an imposing glaive. Its edge shimmered with a bluish hue, reminiscent of a crystal gleaming at the zenith of its silver shaft.

Emerging from the clearing and breaking through the blinding darkness of the night, stood not only Minerva, but also the Knight of Silvermount.

"You took your sweet time, huh?" Kinley teased, driving the blade of his sword into the turf.

"Do not test my patience," she retorted, her soft voice muffled by the closed helm. "Raise your sword and prepare for battle."

"Is this always how you settle things?"

Gripping her glaive with both hands, she widened her stance, readying herself for combat.

"Any objections?"

"I'd prefer a more peaceful resolution," Kinley replied, leaning on his broadsword with a serene smile. "My father taught me never to raise a hand against a woman."

Minerva sighed, releasing the grip on the scratched handle of her weapon. 

As the saying goes, wolves possess a keen sense of intuition, relying on their instincts to navigate survival. She sharpened her gaze, peering deep into his soul. His hands hesitated to grasp the handle of his sword, but there was no trace of fear etched upon his face.

Yet, for a reason unknown to her, he showed reluctance to fight.

"Hesitation will be your demise," she warned. "While my physique may not match yours in strength, do not underestimate my arcane prowess."

Kinley shook his head, vehemently disagreeing.

"I'm not saying you're weak," he asserted. "Far from it, it's just not in my nature to engage in combat with women. I reserve such actions only for situations of dire necessity."