Fragments of Ash Vol. 2 (Urban Fantasy)

Chapter Eleven: Rescued

Two hours passed. Francoise and Amelia stood gasping on the ashes of the scorched village, the mist had refused to fall, and hence both could only see each other's silhouettes, illuminated through a mix of scattered fires and the cold moonlight. Francoise was bleeding, and was having trouble standing, however he did his best not to make it known. Amelia, too, was forcing herself to stand steadfastly despite her injuries, she maintained her subtle but smug smile. Neither could clearly see each other's faces, but they could both still read each other like open books. They were knights of the highest order.

"So strong, and not even a spell fencer, you impress me, as I had hoped you would," Amelia uttered in her calm and collected voice,

"Sure," Francoise replied, "thanks."

"And?"

"And what?"

"How would you describe my performance then? Impressive hm?"

"You're ok. I guess."

"Such coy words for a man so close to death."

"Tch. I'll admit it's quite exhilarating fighting a mage. The last one I fought was... well," Francoise twitched, "you killed her."

"She died a good death," Amelia smirked, "but you should know that Abram now has an enormous army composed of Spell Fencers. You have a lot of competition."

Francoise didn't understand. How? A person needed to be descended from a priestess to be able to use high level magic. Even then, using magic cut down a person's life expectancy massively.

"None of them hold a candle to me though. No-one does," continued Amelia,

"So how do you see this fight ending?"

"Well now..." Amelia slowly walked out of the mist so as to make herself visible, "I don't like the idea of being matched, by anyone. But this fight has gone on for several hours, and I need to report back to the Emperor. So perhaps it'd be best to end this now," she sheathed her sword.

"You're going to retreat?"

"No. A quick draw challenge."

"I see, you've taken to playing children's games now?" Francoise was starting to slow down, he wasn't sure if he'd win a quick draw, a game he would play with wooden swords when in training. The first person to draw the sword would strike the opponent and win, although with his blade and her spell fencer sword, the attack would be far more decisive. Fatal.

"It will decide who is faster and has the stronger strike. That's enough to make me happy. What do you say?" asked Amelia

"And here I thought you were the type to fight to the bitter end.",

"This is just for fun after all. A deathmatch, but a fun one," Amelia shrugged,

"Fine." Francoise sheathed his sword and walked up within striking range of Amelia. They stood eye to eye, both with their hands on the hilt of their swords.

Time seemed to slow down, the two stared at each other, although Francoise was starting to find it hard to maintain eye contact. The moment he drew his sword to strike her, she'd do the same, was his draw faster? She seemed more nimble, more agile, and seemed to have taken less damage. How? She had fought Eleanor to the death just the night before, where did she get her stamina?

A flash of lightning, a spark of energy thundering across the misty air, in an instant the two read each other's attack and drew their swords out at a speed that no doubt had caused the earth around them shudder.

And then. A monstrous clash. The sound of the impact resonated through the air like the crack of thunder. The earth shook as the two blades met and the ground cracked beneath their feet.

Once the smoke cleared. The two realised they were both still standing.

"Hm..." said Amelia. She looked at her sword. The blade was completely ruined.

Francoise examined his. Also cracked.

"The same force and speed," said Amelia, "who would've thought?"

"So we're at a standstill," Francoise replied,

"...No," said Amelia, "my Spell Fencers and I will depart for now. I'm tired."

"What?! You can't just run fro-"

"What's more important? Getting revenge on me or saving your friend?" Amelia rolled her eyes, "I've gotten all I want from her anyway," she tapped a glowing necklace around her neck, "you're free to rescue her, she's down in the butcher's room on the basement floor."

Francoise put his sword away. He had no choice, he had to let her go. Damn.

"You'll thank me for what I did to her," said Amelia as she walked away, "she's far less unstable now."

What? Francoise didn't bother questioning Amelia, he ran into the building.

Corridors, stairs, more corridors, more stairs, following the signs. Francoise ran as fast as he could, chopping down any outlanders that were roaming the building as he sped along.

Where was she?

Where was she!?

He saw the door for the butcher room and slammed it open with his foot. A stray outlander got in his way, he cut it in half messily with his broken sword, blood splattering all over his outfit and gushing on to the walls; Francoise didn't care, he needed to get to Ada as soon as he could, and he'd leave a path of carcasses in his wake if need be.

And there she was. Ada was hanging from a rope in the middle of the room, she was completely limp, dripping with blood from all the cuts and bruises all over her body. She was breathing, and awake, but she looked vacant. Gazing into nothing as if something long in the distance was teasing her. What had Amelia done to her?

"Ada?" Francoise said,

Ada barely registered at first, her eyes slowly rolled to look at Francoise,

"Ada are you alright?"

She blinked.

"Damn, I need to take you back home."

Francoise walked up to Ada and cut her down. He took off his shirt and covered her up, thankfully it was big enough to tastefully cover up her indecent parts. Ada couldn't maintain her footing at all, Francosie had no choice but to carry her on his back.

"Don't worry Ada. We'll get you back home, and we'll sort this out," he said comfortingly. He hurried out of the room.

As he walked along the bottom floor corridor, he couldn't help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Inside the other meat locker. Another girl locked inside. She was huddled in the corner too weak to move, an absolute wretch. Despite the bad condition however, the young woman was quite angelic, weak, purity defined. Her messy blonde hair looked like waves of gold and her supple porcelain skin somehow remained radiant and clean in the dirty meat locker she'd been holed up in. She made eye contact with Francoise through the door's window and then looked at the floor.

He wasn't sure.

One of Amelia's women?

No.

The marks on her body, those fearful, yearning eyes. No. She wasn't on Amelia's side.

He forced open the door.

She looked up at him. Her eyes widened.

"Would you like some help?" asked Francoise,

"Yes please," the girl murmured back.