Velvet Death

Broken Vows

Quickly, I sidestepped the glinting blade, and just as intended, it whistled by me with a familiar whoosh of air, leaving me unharmed. This was childsplay, having me fight with one simple foot-soldier. I was one of the best sword-fighters in the kingdom as my father, King Kell of Gorlon, knew well. He had been planning to use me as a weapon in his war as soon as I began to show my remarkable talent with a blade. My father obviously loved me dearly. The soldier swung at me again, and this time I decided to humor him a little, and parried the blow. Shock was evident on his face at the strength of my arm, a woman's arm, as his was jarred painfully. He shouldn't have doubted the power of my blow.

Swiftly I spun my sword, untangling it from his, and pointed it at his throat before he could comprehend what had happened. Without a word I sheathed my sword and strode out of the room swiftly, not even glancing back at the defeated soldier. I continued down the endless halls of Castle Kell (my father happens to be a bit egotistical, as well as unsentimental). I ignored all of the strange, wary glances cast my way. Of course, they were right to be wary. I took mercy on no one, just as no one would take mercy on me.

Gorlon is a brutal country, compared to our rival country, Churah. In Churah, people were peaceful, and slow. Weak. Whereas in Gorlon we are logical, brutal folk. Everything anyone ever does is for themselves, when you get down to it, and anyone who says any differently is either a fool (and will be dead soon regardless) or is lying to you. Gorlon and Churah have been at war off and on for the last hundred years, however this particular era of aggression had lasted longer and been far more brutal than nearly any before.

Finally I arrived at my room. Quickly opening the door a foot or two, I slid through the crack, shutting the door behind me. I opened the door to my closet and pulled out cloth breeches and a man's flared poet shirt. Sighing in contentment, I pulled my long, pitch black hair out of the collar of my tunic to rest against my back. I rolled my shoulders and then slid my knee high boots on over the bottom of my breeches. One might think it is impractical for me to wear heeled boots, but they work well in a tight spot with no weapon. No one would expect the sharp, painful kick to the face they would receive.

The sound of my boots on the floor echoed on the walls of the great hall as my bright green eyes stared straight ahead. I turned the last corner, and pushed open the door to my father's great hall. There he was, seated at a table before his throne. A table set for two. I continued my long stride, stopping only to sit in the second chair.

"Good afternoon Sir, I do believe you requested my presence?" I said, my voice properly polite. I was taught to always using nothing but the most polite of tones with my father from a young age, or face the severe consequences.

"Indeed I did Armalin, I am so glad that you have come. Please, get comfortable. Soon we will have lunch. I assume you haven't eaten since breakfast?" He replied, his sharp green eyes, so like my own, watching me intently.

"No sir, I have not," I replied, my tone reserved. We never interacted much, he and I, but when we did, it was typically not for small talk. "Did you have something important to discuss with me?" I inquired, the nervousness coiling within the pit of my stomach.

"Why, am I not allowed to invite my own daughter to enjoy my company without having some sort of... ulterior motivations?" he said, seeming shocked by the very idea.

"Well let us be frank. It is not every day that you request my presence, so I assume there is a particular reason." I replied, my voice tight and curt. To my suprise, a smile slowly made it's way across my father's face, and a wicked glint entered his eyes. I had an idea as to what this meeting was for after all. Oh yes, I had an idea indeed. It was the thing that was always on my father's mind, at every hour of the day or night. The one reason he held any interest in me whatsoever. War.

This war between our nation and Churah was all that the King truly concerned himself with. Every advancement made or invention created only came to be for the sake of furthering the war effort. At this point I really do believe that the only reason we fight is to show the Churah our true superiority, once and for all. Not that it isn't true, despite my hate for the King, I did love my nation.

The wicked smile that was plastered on my father's face did not fade as he spoke once more.

"As everyone knows, you are the best fighter in all of Gorlon. My very pride and joy, certainly. And as I am sure you know, you have not been able to join my army for all of these years because you had not passed the trial." His eyes glinted dangerously at this.

A woman over the age of 18 in Gorlon was not allowed into the king's army until she had defeated one of the men from his personal guard. If she could defeat one of the king's best men, surely she could hold her own in open warfare.

"Of course, but what does it have to do with me?" I asked, my instincts screaming to me that something was wrong.

"Well seeing as you have now achieved this great feat, I would like to recruit you into my army Armalin, to fight for your country." At this he placed an elbow on the table, and held his chin in his open palm, a smirk evident on his face. "Congratulations my dear, darling daughter. Perhaps now you may prove yourself of some use to me, after all, here in Gorlon there is no point in keeping useless things." My father, the King, chuckled wholeheartedly at this.

"I... how...?" I murmured, my mind racing. I couldn't recall such a thing happening... had he drugged me so I would forget? No, that would be pointless. Suddenly, I knew.

"The soldier, from before... you tricked me!" I gasped, my anger flaring, despite the self control I had gained over the years. My father laughed, nearly cackled, at tricking me into risking my life for his pleasure. I felt sick inside. I had lost all hope in this man ever truly caring for me, ever being a father like the others I had seen growing up here in this harsh nation. Yet I had long ago promised myself to never become a pawn in his war game agenda. I had vowed that the steel which felt like an extension of my own being would only ever be used at my own will and behest.

"Oh Armalin, you grossly underestimate me. You never expected that I would send my own personal guard for you to spar with for practice. I am so glad you were able to defeat him daughter, you will be a great asset to my army". He seemed to light up with glee, then turning, he beckoned to a man I had not noticed was there, standing beside the throne. He stepped out from the shadows slowly, and bowed to my father.

"Yes M'lord?" he said, glancing between my father and I. The man had dark brown hair cut short, and deeply set, serious eyes.

"Ralk, I need you to escort my daughter to the armory and get her outfitted in proper battle gear. Then you will take her to the scribe to have her contract to join the army of Gorlon prepared." The man, Ralk, nodded and motioned for me to follow him. Stiffly, I stood and exited the room which now seemed so bone-chillingly cold.