Forgotten Heir: Realm Doors Book One

Chapter Twenty One

Vargon’s fist connected with Caras nose seconds before Ric managed to grab him away from her. The attack came completely out of the blue, and her eyes watered as she felt the shattered bone. However, as more blood than the spray from her swelling face stained the lord's shirt, she doubted she would have time to worry about her injury.

Haldriene charged into the barn second after her uncle, tears streaming over her cheeks and a sword drawn in her hand. She leapt at Vargon with a look of pure rage, and Cara only just managed to stop the teenager from plunging her weapon into Vargon’s chest.

“Haldriene!” she yelled, her voice reminding her of how humans spoke when they had a cold, sounding like their noses were stuffed up. She guessed that was due to the swelling.

The girl whipped around to her, grabbing her hand and starting to pull her towards the door.

“Please,” she begs, “I think he’s dying.”

Ric sniffed at the elf in his arms, his expression souring.

“He’s coated in Ryan’s blood.”

Haldriene pulled harder, tugging Cara through the aghast crowd as she yell back, “Ric, with me. Kalidir, watch Vargon.”

Her nose dripped blood with every word, streaming over her lip, but she could worry about that later. In truth, she'd been expecting Vargon’s temper for sometime. In the three weeks since she and Ric faced each other in the sparring ring, there'd been a rise in what Vargon termed ‘inappropriate behaviours'. First, the vampires and elahdril started holding tournaments against each other, then some of them became friends and set up mixed teams to compete at sparring, at archery, and at hand to hand combat. In Cara's eyes, that was great. She knew that part of what she and Ric inspired would prove ultimately beneficial. The problem came in the form of Haldriene and Ryan.

She’d noticed them sneaking off together within days of her and Ric’s public display. She didn’t know how to handle the situation, though, as no one ever caught them in the act of doing anything worrying. They didn’t even hold hands. Nonetheless, their increasing closeness bothered Kalidir, and Cara shared his concerns. The world barely accepted her and Ric. The lords and ladies of Karycadra would certainly speak out against their treason, but at least she and Ric stood a chance of fighting it; they had prophecy, history, and power on their side. It was different for them compared to what Haldriene and Ryan would face. An eighteen year old elahdril girl and a vampire who hadn’t yet reached fifty-five were unlikely to survive the tidal wave of anger that would pour over them if any relationship was discovered.

Yet Cara found herself reluctant to tell the pair to end their affection, especially while giving herself so willingly to Ric and trying so desperately to improve relations between vampires and elves. Surely if she led by example, she had to let her people follow her, no matter the risks? Or would she pay for her indecision on the matter with loud-mouthed Ryan’s life?

Haldriene’s nails dug into Cara's arm with such ferocity she bled from the tiny crescent moon imprints the girl had created on her skin. She pulled her around the side of the barn to were Ryan sat, slumped against the wall, a sword still piercing his chest. Blood poured over his front, dying his shirt, jeans, and the grass he sat on a on deep, garnet red. He didn't move, not even a twitch. His mouth had the slack look of the dead, and Cara suspected the sword had struck his heart.  If the blade had been one of the iron training weapons, it wouldn't have mattered, but the silver glyphs on which ran along the length of the blade declared it to be a vampire killer.

Ric passed her, kneeling down at Ryan’s side as she switched her sight and sighed with relief at the decader’s faint but visible outline.

“He’s still alive.”

Haldriene dropped like a stone at her words, her body going limp at the reprieve.
“He won’t be for much longer if we don’t get this sword out of him,” Ric answered, his tone loaded, his body tense, and his own fury at Vargon barely contained. “The sword’s probably gone through his aorta, right now the silver glyphs must be resting against his heart, and although it isn’t pierced, he is slowly being poisoned by the silver touching it. The blade needs to come out exactly as it went it, one slight twist and we could cut his heart, if the silver goes in that he’ll die.”

“Please,” Haldriene begged, “Please don’t let him die. It’s the first time we’ve even kissed. I didn’t know uncle Vargon was following us. Gods, it’s all my fault.”

Cara ignored her, the girl could be comforted later, right now Ryan had to be priority.

“What do we need to do?”

Ric turned to her, frowning and worried.

“This is a serious wound. The silver so close to his heart its keeping him unconscious for now, but the moment we pull it out, he’s going to wake up. He’ll wake up thirsty and he must be fed otherwise it could take him decades to heal enough to even walk. The cold crap we have here won’t do, he’ll need live blood, Cara. We don’t have time to get him to a human donor though.”

She pulled a bitter face. “You want me to feed him?”

“Anyone could do it, anyone with flowing non-vampire blood,” he answered.
She took a deep breath, reluctant but nodding. “Okie dokie, I should’ve intervened before this happened anyhow.”

Ric opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t her fault but she hushed him. Right then,  Ryan needed them to focus on him.

“I’ll do it,” Haldriene squeaked, fearful but determined, shuffling to Cara's side.

“Haldriene,” she said, shaking her head, “Once he bites you, he probably won’t stop. Ric and I might not be able to hold him back him if he’s frenzied, and I’m not that accurate with the sort of magic it would take to separate him from you. At least if I do it, I can just fire up and push him back. I won’t be able to use that to help you.”
The girl looked at her with those wide but unwavering eyes; stubborn.

“I know. I trust you. But m uncle did this, I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t give him my blood. Anyway, your our prophesised queen. I can't stand back an let you risk yourself unnecessarily.”

Ric squeezed Cara's hand a second before ordering, “Cara, love, go stand out of the way so the first thing he’s sees with a pulse is Haldriene, otherwise he may go for you anyway. I’ll pull the sword out.”

Telepathically, he added, “Be ready to save the girl’s life if this gets out of hand, they might both need a bit of what you can pump into them after this.”

Giving Haldriene a hearty squeeze around the shoulders, she wished she could do more, but arguing would waste time. So she backed away, leaning against the rough stone wall of the barn a little way to the right of the others.

As Ric directed the girl, whose colour had grown almost as pale as his, Cara sent her curling magical roots into the world in preparation. She prayed she wouldn’t need to use them, but she understood why Ric wanted the safety net. Anyway, the life energy comfort her as she stared over the mountainside, finding it unusually bleak.  The heather seemed grey. The grass seemed dull as it swayed in the warm summer breeze. Even the clouds seemed to be darkening in sympathy of her sombre mood.

Ric’s fingers wrapped carefully around the hilt of the blade in Ryan’s chest, counting to three before slowly, cautiously, and painstakingly sliding the sword backwards the way it had come.  More blood seeped over Ryan’s chest as the steel came out, inch by cold, hard inch.  Haldriene trembled more with each second, her teeth chattering against each other.

Cara could almost imagine a slurp of suction as the weapon’s tip finally pulled free, but the few seconds it took for Ryan to wake felt like hours as the stood, tense with anticipation, and still fearful for both him and Haldriene. Waiting. Waiting. Then his eyes flicked open, silvered but dark and uncomprehending. He saw a pulse and fresh blood, but not the girl who was giving herself to him. He grabs at her with hateful desperation, his weakened body seeing only the source of life available to him.

As his fangs tear into her throat, Haldriene gasped, shuddering at the first agonising draw of her blood. Ryan’s burning venom seeped into her veins to scorch her, and the decader slammed his victim into the barn wall, holding her body still with his as she wept under him. She made no attempt to fight, letting him feed.

Cara shuddered in revulsion, remembering the broken glass of a picture frame digging into her shoulders as Ric did exactly the same thing to her.  Ric sent an unreadable look in her direction, but turned back to the couple who'd wrapped themselves around each other. She wanted to pull them apart as Ryan lost all sense of anything at the taste of pure, fresh E.B. they had to wait, though, to let him feed.
Let him feed on how much?

Ric stepped forward.

“Stop now,” he commanded, reaching out to Ryan’s shoulder. The young vampire growls, shirking of the hand which attempted to pull him back. Ric grabbed him more firmly, muscles straining as he yanked Ryan backwards with little success.  The decader rounded on him briefly, a backhand swing shattering Ric’s cheekbone and sending him sprawling. Then Ryan went instantly back to Haldriene’s throat, his eyes almost black with pupils so dilated the silver formed only the barest band of blazing brilliance.

“I need a hand, love. I forgot how strong that much elahdril blood makes vampires.”

At that moment, Cara noticed Ryan’s hand begin to descend into Haldriene’s jeans with stomach-turning desperation. Why, oh why, did elahdril blood turn perfectly decent vampires into would-be rapists as well as would-be murderers?

She leapt forward to grab Ryan’s other shoulder. Together, she and Ric managed to yank him back, restraining his flailing arms as he focused solely on getting back to Haldriene.

Cara winced as the girl yelped, “Don’t hurt him, please. Let him have whatever he wants of me.”

She was about to tell her to stop being so stupid when Ryan stilled, the fight going out of him. His glazed eyes showed recognition as remorse creased his brow and he sagged in her grip. When their hold on his arms slackened, he fell to his knees in the dirt, his head in his blood drenched hand.

“Oh Gods what have I done? What was I going to do?”

The girl staggered forward a step, swaying as her woozy brain struggled to keep her balanced. Ryan jumped back a pace, looking pleadingly up at her.

“Don’t come near me Halie, please baby, I…” He shuddered, still pained. “Oh Gods...” He grabbed Cara’s hand as he knelt at her feet. “Please, Lady Nekyra... Please kill me. I don’t deserve to live for what I would’ve done.”

Haldriene abruptly forced her way between them, her fist meeting Cara's jaw with a crunch as the younger woman screamed, “Don’t you dare!”

Rubbing her quickly bruising face with a wince of pain, Cara eyed her in reproach.
“Hell, Haldriene, couldn’t you wait till I gave a verdict to protect him from me?”

The girl opened her mouth then closed it again, mouthing like a fish for a few seconds. Cara shook her head at her as she took her by the shoulder, gently removing her from in front of Ryan.

“I’m not going to have him killed, Haldriene,” she assured her.
Ryan stared at his feet.

“I aught to die,” he whispered softly. “I aught to be punished for taking her blood, for starting to do what I was going to do.”

Cara crouched in front of him, understanding in her expression as she lifted his chin so his eyes met hers.

“You are not the first vampire to do something under the influence of E.B that they later regretted. I highly doubt you’ll be the last. Haldriene gave her blood willingly to save your life, Ryan.”

His eyes flicked to the flame haired girl standing as Cara's side, and she realised he’d thought he attacked her against her will. From his perspective, that was true. The fact they’d orchestrated Haldriene’s position was unknown to him. He'd been unconscious and dying at the time.

“You are not the one who needs to be held accountable here,” she insisted.

“Kill him!” Haldriene hissed and we looked at her in surprise. “Kill my uncle, and mount his head on a pike for the carrion birds to peck his eyes out. You could feed him to the wolves for all I care.”

Her spat words were bitter as poison as her fists balled and her eyes simmered despite her body still swaying weakly from blood loss. Cara did’t know what to do about Vargon, though, so she reverted her attention to Ryan, pulling him to his feet with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Apparently she loves you. It would appear you love her too, seeing as you aren’t still wrestling to get to her throat. I think you’re both getting into something dangerous, something that’ll likely get you both killed anyway, but I won’t be the one to separate you. I cannot be the one to separate you.”

She chewed her lip, considering a second before adding, “But if you start getting cravings to chow down on the nearest elahdril neck, you let me know, ok?”

Ryan wilted a little more.

“I’ll be addicted?” he asked despondently.

“Not necessarily,” she answered, not an altogether comforting response. “It’s rare on a first try, but you’ve had an awful lot of her blood so…”

Her shoulders twitched in a non-commital response, and Ryan's eyes slowly cooled to their normal brown as he studied her. His wary expression said he wanted to know the cravings wouldn’t drive him to hurt Haldriene again.

“You almost drained Ric, and that was after already tasting his blood for your spirit walk. You aren’t addicted.”

Swallowing hard, she felt grateful when Ric stepped up beside her, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. He was the only one who knew about her cravings; the waves of soul destroying bloodlust she felt every time the risks of training required her to tend to a more serious vampire injury. The desire to press her mouth to the oozing wounds and lap up the liquid that would bring on delirium came upon her quickly, strong enough to hurt. She could feel it then, just thinking about it. She just possessed enough strength to hide it; strength enough to wait for Ric to take her up to the ranges and turn one desire into another, to stop the pent up lust becoming common knowledge.

“Not addicted,” she repeated to Ryan. “Or simply lucky enough to have coping methods?”

His eyes widened in understanding and she held up her hands in surrender, concerned after the last time he'd let his mouth run away with her secrets.

“Even Kalidir doesn’t know. This stays between us, alright? But if you feel the any urges to take E.B. the you find me or you find Ric, understood?”

The young vampire nodded slowly, and Haldriene grasped his hand in hers, promising, “We understand, my queen.”

Another one who’d name Cara as their monarch. She only wished her methods of finding supporters would gain the fealty of the masses, rather than the brave minority. Still, she smiled at the couple, trusting that they’d be scrupulous because she had no other choice.

As they plodded back around the barn, Haldriene leaning heavily against a blood and dirt coated Ryan, Cara noticed the blue van parked out in front. Anthony must've returned, despite not being due to check in for another month.

“Something’s wrong.”

Ric nodded. “Looks like it.”

As they entered, she saw Anthony stood alongside Kalidir, helping him restrain a furious Vargon. The lord broke free immediately when he clapped eyes on Haldriene, with her neck still torn and bloody. He charged towards her and Ryan, yelling furiously that he’ll kill the bloodsucking bastard if was the last thing he did.

Cara saw him pull out the knife he’d secreted in his waistband, and moved without considering what she was doing. By the time she'd shoved the couple out of the way, Vargon was already leaping uncontrollably at where they’d been standing. Luckily the knife missed Cara as he collided with her, with the force of an intercity train. However, the feel of her shoulder dislocating yet again drew a cry out of pain from her, and suddenly Vargon went flying through the air as Ric hurled him none too gently against the wall.

“Damn you, Ric Burn, it’s your bloody fault that keeps coming out!” she screamed at him as he applied pressure to her arm, forcing it back into the socket. 

He didn’t react except to check her over for any other wounds.

Anthony joined them, a serious expression on his face but amused chiding in his tone as he teased, “On day I’ll arrive to find you both uninjured in any way.”

His gaze raked over my shattered nose and bruised chin, along with Ric’s healing but still obviously shattered cheek.

Laughing, Cara nodded as she stood to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze. A murmur of disapproval rippled through the elahdril at her over familiarity with yet another vampire, but she couldn’t care less.

Easing back, she retorted, “Some days I really feel I should just stay in bed.”

His gaze flicked to Ric but he held back any inappropriate comment which burned the tip of his tongue.

“With you, my lady, perhaps it would be safer for you to stay in bed everyday.”

She laughed and punched him playfully, only slightly harder than absolutely necessary. He grunted but smiled too, even though it didn't reach his eyes. She wanted to ask why he’d returned early, but when he saw the interrogation brewing, he held up his hand to hush her.

“We have things to discuss but it’s nothing you can rectify this minute, so you may as well sort out this chaos first.”

Vargon wouldn’t offer her a choice anyway. He stomped back, yelling that she should’ve slain Ryan for the grievous bodily harm he’d caused Haldriene. The same Haldriene who’d already leapt protectively in front of Ryan again, even though he tried unsuccessfully to move her aside.

“Your love of the blood-drinkers is clouding your judgement,” Vagon yelled when Cara raised her hand to in a command to halt

The lord didn't care to be ordered around by the likes of her, and he continued with a torrent of abuse, ranting until she feared he'd begin frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. It took some time for her patience to snap, but when it did, she slapped him, grateful when he fell into mute, mortified shock.

“Right, now I have your attention my lord, I will remind you that you attacked Ryan first. Haldriene offered her blood to heal him as the wound you’d given him would’ve proved fatal without fresh blood. You put us in this situation, not I; a situation where our already strained vampire-elahdril relationship could have reason to shatter. You have willingly endangered the life of someone here under my protection, and you have also assaulted me, twice. You would be wise to hold your tongue before I decide you should lose it.”

His face went every shade imaginable, starting out green before settling on a reddish purple.

“You have no right to speak to me such!” he blustered. “You, you’re barely out of nappies and yet you've already commited treason and now you encourage others to follow your lead! My own niece! Corrupted by your influence!”

“She kissed him,” Cara reprimand Vargon. “She hasn't run off to disregard the laws and marry him, nor have they consummated their undying love. However, if either option is they path they choose, then by all the Gods, in the name of unifying our nations, I will let them.”

There, she’d said it. She’d made her decision on elahdril-vampire relationships. It was the law she’d pass if she became queen, and there, in the Scottish mountains, it was a promise and a threat. One she suspected would ruffle a few feathers.

Vargon’s face went cold, his eyes like ice and his lips drawn into a thin line before he growled at her, “You are not yet queen and I can still return to Heliana’s court and serve her instead of you.”

And at the flick of a switch, two nations truly began to come together under the barn roof. A dozen or so warriors, equal parts elf and vampire, leapt at Vargon, both races equally determined to pull him asunder.  Cara couldn't let them do such a thing. A wave of power shot from her knocking, her leaping protectors back before they could reach the lord.

“Not even for the threat of betrayal would I have a man slaughtered in my home.”
Vargon laughed. “More fool you, treacherous brat of a blasphemer. You should've let them kill me. I challenge you, Nekyra of Rhynlas, to a sapayt naiw.”

Cara blinked, uneducated in the term, and turned to Kalidir. His sister answered in his stead.

“No base elahdril can challenge one of the elahdrilas to a duel, not under normal circumstances. Only another of royal blood can do that. Instead, the sapayt naiw is a challenge against an elahdrilas's chief guard, to commandeer the position by force. Its an archaic rite, so much so there have been no such duels in living memory. Even in previous generations, such challenges rarely happened.  Principle guards have always been the best of the best, so for most of common elahdril, attempting to steal the captain's position would be suicidal madness. It happened in the past only because the position holds a great deal of influence, and during the few occasions a child monarch has inherited the throne, certain lords used it to gain control of the child.”

She frowned, her concern tangible as she continued, “By the logic laid out in our laws, if a principle guard dies fighting in such a challenge, then they shouldn't have held the rank anyway, because it shows he or she wasn't strong enough. The competitor is given the rank in the disgraced guard’s place as reward for being a stronger warrior, and therefore more suitable for the role. The sapayt naiw is... well, it’s supposed to either confirm the strength of the guard or remove dead weight, assuming there is dead weight to remove, and that’s where you have a problem, a loophole which Lord Vargon wishes to extort.

“If no guard is available to fight, then, and only then, does the challenge revert to being against the elahdrilas themselves. The duel must be fought by someone or cowardice is assumed, and cowardice means disgrace and exile. The lack of a guard supposedly indicates that the challenged member of the elahdrilas is weak anyway. How can someone who cannot even command a guard hope to set an example to a nation? Adding a charge of cowardice in combat on top of perceived weakness could destroy a noble-born’s reputation.

“We are a warrior people and respect strength, and the elahdrilas are supposed to be the epitome of that. The elahdrilas, even those who weren't crowned monarchs, used to be our ruling class. They were magic and strength; our inspiration to be better and stronger ourselves. If one of them fell to a commoner’s blade, it was seen as... well, as separating the chaff from the grain. It’s a loophole Vargon hopes to use on you, my queen, as the match must always be to the death.”

Sythiel watched her brother closely as she spoke and after hearing her words, Cara wondered just how much Kalidir had told his sibling about his position.

The woman continued to stare at Kalidir as she added, “What will you do? It means dishonour among our people not to accept the challenge.”

Kalidir sighed but diverted to me, unhappy with the new turn of  events.

“Ultimately, my lady, you could defer and no one here would think any less of you for it. The laws have no hold here, where we are preparing to break many of them anyway. We could sweep this under the carpet, so to speak.” He paused, a deep frown creasing his brow, and Cara knew what he would say before he said it. “My conscience would beg against such an action though; no chief or elahdrilas called to a sapayt naiw has ever deferred. I would never refuse such a challenge, and if I was forced to, I would carry dishonour with me for the rest of my life. If it ever became public knowledge, so would you.”

Vargon smirked and began pulling his shirt off, turning to reveal the largest crest Cara had seen on any of the elahdril she'd met thus far. The flacon spread over the right quarter of his back, flexing as his shoulder blade moved. Vargon’s pride in the brand shone in his expression, and he beamed at her.

“You could never compare to the woman whose crest I bear. She was your great-great grandmother and also your name sake; the only true Queen Nekyra.”  He’s grinned broadly as he goaded, “Coming to dance with me, oh snake in a falcon feather cloak?”

“No,” Cara answered as she folded her arms over her chest. “I will not.”

Vargon hissed at her. “So, you're even weaker than I thought. You choose a cowards way out?”

“I believe,” she answered slowly, “that your challenge can only be issued to my chief guard, and not directly to me.”

Confusion caused him to pause and other faces became perplexed too, at least until Sythiel slipped to the weapons chest, finding her sibling's sword and taking it to him.

“Fight well, brother.”

She held her hands out for Kalidir's shirt, and a communal gasp echoed in the barn as he peeled his tunic from his muscular chest, finally displaying the great black falcon which spanned his body to people outside Cara's closest circle. Awed faces turned from him to her and back again, not quite believing he’d already sworn fealty or that she’d accepted and marked him. They watched, entranced as Kalidir stepped towards her, dropping to a knee.

“In life through to death, my queen, my blade will serve you.”

Signalling for him to rise, Cara whispered so only he, Ric, and Anthony could hear, “I command you not to die.”

Kalidir laughed. “I shall endeavour to obey your command, your highness.”

Vargon’s mouth gesticulated madly without making a sound, until he eventually exploded, “Snake in the grass! You deceived us all by keeping this hidden! You are not worthy of the respect he gives you!”

“Oh, shut up you old goat!” a voice shouted from the crowd.

“You brought this on yourself you backstabbing loud-mouth!” another cried, and Cara grinned in spite of herself, at least until Kalidir strode determinedly towards the sparring area.

Her expression grews sombre as her gut twisted into uncomfortable knots. In her head, the same chant went round and round in an eternal loop: don't die, don’t die, please don't die.

Vargon followed her principle guard and she struggled not to charge after them and take Kalidir’s place, as Vargon undoubtedly wished she would. Ric’s voice in her head reminded her that she couldn’t do so; the rules of her people forbid her from entering the match while she had a breathing guard. That didn’t help to slow her thundering heart or racing pulse though, as her friend and tutor circled a man who’d already sworn to re-join her enemy.

Cara could feel the tension radiating from the crowd. Vargon had experience on his side; he was Kalidir’s senior by centuries, and he'd been the principle guard of the longest reigning monarch in the elahdril living memory. She seriously considered vomiting in shear, terrified, panic. Ric took her hand, but it didn't help; she could feel his concern as well. He doubted Kalidir’s ability to defeat his opponent. She wanted to shut her eyes and block out the world, but she watched. For her friend’s sake she refused to lower her gaze. She would watch every moment as he did battle for her.

Her teeth were on edge as glinting blades come together for the first time, seeking blood and bone with a murderous need. As the sharp points of the swords sought to plunge through flesh and muscle to cause a fatal wound. If fear hadn’t incapacitated her brain, Cara might’ve found the scene beautiful. After all, she loved sword play, and the two men were graceful as they spun around one another. The way their eyes narrowed to coldly calculating slits tarnished the scene somewhat, as their minds working overtime to find a solution with the dual effect of saving themselves while taking the life of their opponent.

The golden glow of elahdril warrior magic warmed their limbs. Although the others couldn't see it, Cara saw. Streaks of it streamed out behind both men, like banners, while their limbs flew with a speed that blurred them almost into invisibility.

She winced with each ring of the blade, and held her breath until her chest burned. She flinched every time the combatants spun together again, until she trembled with the desire to intervene. As seconds became minutes and minutes became hours, her mood forced Ric to place his hands securely on her waist, just to prevent her diving between the fighting men.

“Vargon has done quite enough damage to you today, my love. And you really ought to respect at least some of your peoples’ traditions.”

She flinched in his arms as the flashing swords clanged together again with enough force to chip the keen blades. Would it ever end?

As he thrust and parried, Vargon taunted Kalidir, calling him and calling Cara along with him. The muscle in Kalidir’s neck twitched with strain as the ‘lord’ called Sythiel ‘the fatherless runt of a whoring mother’ but his temper remained in check when hers would’ve snapped.  By comparison, her tutor fought in perfect silence, infuriating Vargon all the more for his focus than any snide words would’ve done. Not once did his concentration slip and Cara could see the older elf getting ever more frustrated with her friends dogged skill and unflinching facade.

Vargon twisted and lunged, then blasted forward a whipping tendril of magic which sent Kalidir flying backwards, blood flowing freely from a nose now as shattered as her. She heard someone choke back a frightened sob, and it barely registered that the sound was of her own making.

“That was foolish,” Sythiel commented dryly.

“Why?” Cara wheezed over the ball of terror blocking her throat, wishing Rowlisa  had taught her more about elahdril rites and culture. The holes in her knowledge were greater than Kalidir had time to fill.

“He used magic as a weapon and that means Kalidir can too. The challenger sets the rules of the match; if he chooses an axe, then you fight with an axe. If he chooses a penknife, then you use a pen knife. In blasting off like that he’s allowed Kalidir to fight back with a greater arsenal.” 

Sythiel took her hand, squeezing it.

“You care for him, my queen?”

“As if he was my brother as well as yours.” Her response was earnest. Cara frowned, though, asking, “Why don’t we practise with sword and sorcery together? I’ve never thought about it before, but surely it would be useful?”

Sythiel flashed a smile at her, but her nervous gaze never left her brother.

“We don’t use magic to spar because it’s too dangerous. That much raw power should never be used against an ally, so we separate magical practise and sword work. We use both together in war and challenges, though. Kalidir can combine the two more effectively than he can use either technique on its own.”

“Tyan!” Kalidir yelled, sending a blazing ball of fiercely bright blue towards Vargon.

Even at a distance, the heat is painful. Vargon roared in fury as the flaming missile hit him square in the chest. A whip lash of pure energy followed the fireball, causing the arrogant lord to tumble backwards. The barn echoed with the thunderous roar of cheering spectators, and Sythiel allowed her shoulders to relax slightly. 

Kalidir lunged forward as Vargon rose to his knees. With one sweeping stroke he separates his opponent’s head from his shoulders, ending over a thousand years of life in one brief moment. It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly that Cara blinked and missed it. She only grasped why the elahdril and vampires around her were screaming and applauding when her gaze fell on Vargon's lifeless head. The thing stared back at me, utter amazement caught on the frozen features.

Swallowing down a gag reflex, Cara told herself that one day she’d see a battlefield with many bodies in various degrees of dismemberment. It wouldn’t do to be caught retching then, and it certainly wouldn't do to vomit in horror over the head a man who’d wanted to see her dead.

Sythiel’s bounced enthusiastically at her side, beaming as Kalidir indicated for her and she carried his shirt back to him, taking his sword to be cleaned and checked for damage. 

“Well done, my chief,” Cara congratulated him stiffly.

Kalidir bowed but when he rose, he admonished her, “Don’t congratulate me when I know you don’t like the taking of his life any more than I do.”

The weary note timbre of his voice spoke of his exhaustion. He looked too tired even to reach out and draw in more strength. Taking his hand, she pushed a little of the energy she found it so easy to claim into him. She enjoyed watching him close his eyes as warm heat and energy eased his weary arms and rejuvenated drained legs, and grumbled when he drew his palm away from hers sooner than she appreciated.
“It’s not the place of a queen to heal her men.”

“Oh, fuck the rules,” Cara announced, grabbing his hand again, her grasp firm and unbreakable. “I obeyed my daily quota of rules in keeping out of the fight, the rest can damn well go to hell.”

Once Kalidir looked less like he wanted to collapse, she searched for Haldriene, sure the girl must be upset despite what Vargon had done to Ryan. However, the girl stood among those cheering the loudest and it was Ryan who seemed most perturbed by his attacker’s sudden demise. Perhaps later, once Vargon’s  presence was missed, Haldriene might begin to mourn. Or perhaps she really did despise her uncle. Cara found it hard to predict, considering her own mixed feelings on the subject of her aunt Rowlisa.

Anthony lightly touched her shoulder as she stood, pondering complicated family dynamics, and she turned to find he’d already retrieved Ric and Kalidir.

“We must speak now. In private.”

His pained expression said she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. As suspected, she probably should’ve stayed in bed.