Vol.7, Ch.5, P.1
“Ye know,” spoke Raakel above the blazes about, “I might’ve been ’bidin’ this moment. Fer long; fer years, I feels.”
Framed by fumes and fire, the Owlcrane fixed her flickering eyes upon me. And as it swayed in the sweltering air, her hair seemed like a blaze, and even a depiction of her spitfire spirit besides. So had some before me noted, and only too aptly, as I now saw for myself.
“What? To finally measure arms with me?” I said.
“Measure arms? Hah! Sotted off yer own piss, eh, me silly li’l swain? No, this’ll scarce be a scuffle—just me smearin’ yer guts ’cross the ground,” snarled Raakel, her wrath rising with every word, the fingers of her gaze strangling ever more tightly its very sight of me. “Now make yer peace swift, ye weak an’ whimp’rin’ withersake,” she hissed, “’fore me hammer finds an’ fixes yer face.” Stepping hither through the threshold, the Owlcrane’s sabatons beat against the floorboards like tolling bells. And then lowly, she rasped, “Time’s up. Now, to reap that life o’ yers.”
Drawing the soot-steel, I trained a black tip at the hammer-dame. “Come and try.”
∵
“Heaaht!!”
So bellowed the warrior, and so sprang her silvermaul. Deft and sudden it was, despite its daunting size, enough even to chill me to the marrow. I’d always known Raakel to be a cut above the rest, but I rued now the menacing reminder.
Reflecting flames along its leaden arc, the silver cudgel came crashing down. I bounded aback, eluding it by a large margin; but giving chase, Raakel charged again. And wasting no motion, she swiftly swung once more, aiming to hammer in my head and spine like some bothersome nail. The swing’s wake shimmered and visibly shook; a dreadful load of odyl was imbued in that bludgeon of hers. Just a graze from it would gash this ungraced open, for sure. I pulled a foot back, therefore, and braced myself to defend.
—Khaaangg!
Silver smote against black, like lightning upon the land. But—“Ghekh!?”—there was Raakel, groaning and gnashing aghast.
Her strength lay in trampling her opponents underhammer, a brutality only the barest few could dare resist. A warrior and meter of massacres, ever did this dame of Nyholm rush head-on to crush all that crossed her.
However, that hadn’t happened here. With her maul’s odyl extinguished by the soot-steel, our weapons locked, and we then strove with solely the stuff of our sinews. Raakel was yet no slouch when it came to that, of course; a lesser foe should be flat under her heel and hammer by now. But I proved no such pushover.
“Grrah!” I growled aloud, shoving violently, and breaking our stalemate of sword and maul. Raakel could but recoil by a large stride, exposing herself for an instant, to which I offended with a flash of sharpened shadow.
Yet, neither did Raakel take it sitting down. “Egh!” she growled back, as with a blurring jerk, she hove her haft to defend. The tables were now turned; albeit the result this time was nary the same. For when our weapons crashed together again and jarred the floorboards underfoot, Raakel, unable to fully bear the brunt, was blown far aback. “Khakh!?” she shouted, as her body blasted through a burning wall. And there beyond the blazes she lay. Only, of course, she would not give up yet.
Tarrying not, Raakel mustered herself in gust of motion, flew back to her feet, and set afire a frenzied stare in her eyes.
“Ye tyke…!” she barked, her body bristling.
Keen to end this quickly and quit this college before it could fall on my head, I had readied the soot-steel and prepared to pounce, when I was stopped by a new voice.
“No! That’s enough!”
From just a word of it, I knew at once whose it was. A look aside, and there, standing at the flaming doorway whence Raakel herself had first appeared, was a distressed Emilie.
“Lay down your arms! The both of you!” she bade us.
But then, out of the ruined wall tramped Raakel, her hands clutching her huge hammer with more murder still. “Emilie-love,” snarled the Owlcrane. “Pardon me mouth… but ye can shut it!”
And just like that, Raakel jumped back into the joust. Or rather, she slid hither like a creeping wind, low and lethal; and thence, gouging the floorboards as it went, her weapon wuthered up beastily from below. And the angle of it was perilous to oppose.
A cooled head, however, showed me otherwise. With legs planted wide, I lifted aloft the weighty wolfsteel, and brought it howling down upon the hammerhead.
—Hwo-kaangh!!
Metals swarth and silver crashed once more. Sparks flashed in our eyes. But winning through with its brunt yet unabated, the blade of black slammed the bright bludgeon back unto the floor. The shock of it shook through Raakel’s arms, that though she managed to keep her weapon, she was forced again to stumble aback.
Catching the chance, I raised my sword immediately once more. This was it: ready, aim, checkmate. Such was ever my forte; and with patience and precision, I assayed the mercy stroke.
And in not a second, the soot-steel was roaring down upon Raakel. Judging it undodgeable, the quick Owlcrane kicked up her cudgel and went again on the guard. A smart move, but not one that could outmatch my might. Kenngh! splashed more sparks, and away again was Raakel blown, this time to tumble across the floor.
“Gahakh!!” she gasped, before stabbing down the stone of her haft and halting her career.
“Raakel!!” cried Emilie. “Stop this madness!”
“Shut it, I said!” Raakel shrieked back. And springing back to her feet, she showed a frightsome face, with temples pulsing, and a round gaze glutted with rage. But then her voice softened a little. “Be nice… eh, Emilie-love?” she panted. “Don’t come gettin’ ’tween us now.”
Yet even as she spoke, Raakel’s eyes dared not meet Emilie’s, but only maintained themselves upon mine like some obsession. I returned a cold squint. But at that moment, I also caught Emilie making a conflicted face. And biting her lip as though in anguish—
—the azure-eyed mareschal drew her silver blade.
“…”
“…”
Now no longer was she to be neglected. Turning to her, Raakel and I beheld a grim and morose but determined Emilie. She saw no other way around it, if I had to guess. Fail to intervene, and for ever would she remain outside this deathsome circle of ours, only to sit and spectate in despair.
Nay. That wasn’t all. Doubtless had this day dealt her heart a hard hand. And doubtless still had all the days and nights before found her fretting and foreboding without cease. And so, pushed now to a precipice, her impatience compelled her to wager.
“…Ferum Fulgur!!”
And in a flash to outshine the flames, levin burst from her blade, blinding and deafening all the grand foyer around us.
───────── ∵ ─────────
Notes
Ferum Fulgur
(Language: Latin; original name: “Fierce Volt”) “Fierce Lightning”. A levin-elemental ensorcellment and bladespell. The sword is imbued with a shroud of electricity. When swung, a fan of lightning is thrown forth, burning and shocking targets caught within.
Comment (0)