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"Brightbolt"
"Brightbolt"
12/1/1986
I.
With one red boot on the lowest step, Valera paused. The interior of the abandoned house was lit only by starlight through the uncurtained windows but her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Chairs and tables were shrouded in dusty sheets, the granite fireplace had been cold for years and the smell of must hung heavy in stagnant air. From the moment she had easily broken the lock on the front door, the Melgar woman had heard nothing... until now.
This was to be her first mission as a KDF Associate Member. Being Princess and third in line to the throne of Androval, it was only her extreme willfulness and determination that had allowed her father to venture to the real world without an escort of guards. King Holmir had told Valera that she had the family's stubborn streak to an extreme degree. But, since she also bore the Legacy of Malberon granting her superhuman strength and near-invulnerabiltity, he grudgingly admitted that she was in less danger seeking adventure than any normal Megar. Joining the KDF meant being sponsored to Tel Shai as a student, and she had long yearned to delve into the secret history only Tel Shai knew.
An inch under six feet tall, slim and athletic, Princess Valera was a gorgeous young woman with bright gold hair reaching past her shoulders and clear blue eyes in a clean-cut face. She was wearing the blue cotton tunic and tights, with red leather boots and gloves and belt, and the wide white mantle around her shoulders bore three vertical red bars. This marked the rank she had earned in the arenas and tournaments. What was it she had heard? The faintest whisper of feet stealing along the bare wooden floor? The soft intake of breath from someone trying to be absolutely stealthy.
"Do not skulk and think to hide from me!" she called out. "Show yourself, I say."
Her answer came in a silky, mocking laugh from the other side of the vast drawing room. There was the scratch of a match being struck and the flame lit four tall candles in a silver candlelabra standing on a burnished pole. The intruder posed for her in the light, bowing slightly and holding up his free hand in a sweeping gesture. "May I presume to introduce myself? Basilor of the Dawn Folk, honored to greet your highness."
The man seemed at first to be a Dartha, with their milk-white skin and fine-textured straight white hair, as well as ears that rose to distinct points. But he was not as delicately built as that dainty Race of sorcerers was. Basilor had broad shoulders and a deep chest, and the black silk shirt bulged with hard muscle. At his left hip was sheathed a slim-bladed dueling sword and he held something wrapped in cloth in his right hand, something straight and tall as he was.
"Dawn Folk," sneered Valera. "A bastard Race founded by Darthan warlocks forcing Human women to bear their whelps. I'd not boast of such lineage if I were you."
Basilor's cat-like green eyes narrowed as he smiled. "Are you Melgarin so very different? Your kind sprang from the union of Humans seduced by the golden glamor of the Eldarin. Indeed, one might say that our peoples are kindred. We Almadim descended from Humans and Darthim, Melgarin descended from Humans and Eldarin."
"You are nothing like my Race," Valera responded, "And if you have come to the world on orders from your vile masters, you will soon realize the gulf between us."
The Dawn Man stepped away from the candles and toward the open space in the middle of the drawing room. He displayed a swagger which infuriated Valera and she struggled to control her famous short temper. Seeing his smug expression made her head swim with anger. "Even the best Almada is no match for any Melgar, and you must know that I carry the Legacy of Malberon."
"Oh, that name again. Truth be told, your highness, Malberon cast many spells and crafted many talismans in his long life. I do not intend to brawl against your unnatural strength when I have THIS."
It was the triumphant emphasis in Basilor's final word which warned Valera to be even more on her guard than she already was. She saw the Dawn Man tug at the concealing cloth and cast it aside to immediately fling a seven foot spear with deadly accuracy. The weapon hurtled at her far faster than merely being thrown by any arm, not matter how strong or how skilled, could explain. Indeed, although Valera could not detect it, the spear accelerated as it neared its target.
Reacting quickly, Valera had stepped to one side and raised an arm defensively. The spear swerved in its trajectory to hit her.
With a sharp cracking impact, the ancient weapon struck her full in the face and Valera stumbled back to fall to a seated position on the cold bare floor. The spear rebounded and whirled back end over end to thump into the open hand of the grinning Basilor. He gave a short triumphant laugh.
Struggling back to her feet, the Melgar champion pressed one hand to her left eye, which hurt worse than anything she had endured in years. Hot blood trickled down beneath her palm. It was the realization she had been wounded which shocked her the most; since the Legacy had manifested itself in her body, Valera had seldom encountered anything that could cut her skin. But then, she recognized the talisman that had struck her down was not common weapon.
"Shai Tazam!" she gasped more in anger than pain. "In the hands of... the Dawn Folk."
"Yes, dear princess. The greatest weapon of the Melgarin, Brightbolt! And it belongs to the hand that wields it best."
II.
Valera had heard tales of Malberon all her life. The greatest sorcerer of the Melgarin, perhaps the most accomplished mortal sorcerer of any Race, he had lived in the Darthan Age thirty thousand years ago. It had been Malberon who had infused the gralic charge into the Melgar essence which granted one male and one female of each generation the great strength that made them Androval's champions. Malberon had crafted the Seven Swords and the Unicorn Horn which disrupted spells. Many potent talismans had he left behind to help in the Midnight War, but none were more powerful than Brightbolt, 'Shai Tazam.'
Rising as if she were not dizzy from the blow, fighting down vomit she could taste in the back of her throat, the Melgar warrior stood and made her voice steady with effort. "That is a Melgar talisman. It is blasphemy for you to hold it."
"I admit I am surprised you still live, noblelady. I have sent Brightbolt flying to drive straight through the trunks of mighty oaks. It had pierced a dozen Human enemy at one cast, swerving from one to the next. Yet there you stand."
Straightening up to her full height, Valera lowered her left hand and wiped it on the thigh of her arena uniform. She could not see out of her left eye, which throbbed so abominably it was hard to concentrate. The fear that she was now blinded on that side surged up but she forced it aside for this crisis. "Of course. The invasion of Maroch."
Basilor placed the butt of the great spear on the floor and sniffed at the bloody blade with a look of intense disdain. "Yes, only five years ago. The Dark Alliance was broken. The sacred realm was sacked and ruined by a thousand Melgar ruffians led by the Tel Shai knights you yourself has tried to join. Many wise Darthim met their fates that day, and the army of Trolls was slaughtered. Aye, even great Angdros himself left this life as Maroch went up in flames."
"Hah!" snorted Valera, quickly beginning to feel her normal self. "They met deaths they richly deserved. It was the silver man Khang who threw Shai Tazam to slay Angdros at last. The wargod tumbled down the thousand steps of the Burning Pyramid. Yet, in the aftermath, the spear was not recovered."
When Basilor did not respond, she cried, "It was you who plucked Shai Tazam from Angdros' foul carcass, then. You scavenged my Race's prize like a raven plucking at the dead."
"You have a gift for inappropriate insults, considering how near you are to being slain yourself. There is much you do not know. The surface palaces and temples were sacked, but most of the Darthim and many of the Trolls hid themselves in the vast tunnels beneath. Maroch is honeycombed with more of the city beneath the surface than above. I intended to prudently remove myself from the carnage.... Yet I was prevented from doing so. One of your Tel Shai dogs came at me. He was a Human with black hair and eyes the color of steel. I thrust with my sword and he turned his body so my blade went past him. Then he drew back a fist and I awoke hours later."
Despite the tension and the pain, Valera gave way to laughter. "That was surely the Dire Wolf, my captain Jeremy Bane. Your description fits him as a glove does fit a hand."
"Human names does not matter," Basilor responded uncertainly. "When I regained my senses, a deep silence hung over Maroch. Broken bodies and shattered weapons were all about me, thick as Autumn leaves on the ground. Near at hand were the remains of Angdros, at the base of the Burning Pyramid down which he had fallen. And, hidden beneath his vast form, the spear which had slain him. I claimed it there and then! And since I forced my will upon it, it will answer to no other master."
"At least, not while you live...."
That struck a nerve. The Dawn Man hefted Brightbolt and swung it up into ready position. He had kept a distance of sixty feet between them, which showed how he respected the tales of her prowess. "I see the time for words has passed. I have come to this world seeking allies in my quest to rebuild the Almadim's prestige. But let be, I say."
Watching her enemy raise that spear, Valera felt all was not yet lost. She still lived and while she lived, she fought. The sharp steel blade of Shai Tazam was edged with Ensalir, silver ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves. It was charged with immense gralic force. That weapon had killed the wargod Angdros and she did not see how she had not been slain herself a moment earlier. Unless... in some semi-sentient way, did the talisman recognize that she was a Melgar, of the Race it had been crafted to defend?She could not count on such a possibility. If Basilor cast the spear again, it likely meant her death.
Hesitating for some inexplicable reason, the Dawn Man grinned at her. When his mouth smiled but his eyes did not, he resembled his Darthan forebears to a terrifying extent. "Let this be your last thought, princess. I believe I will bring your body to the stronghold of my people near Maroch. Taxidermy is an art with us. I promise you will preserved so skillfully that your friends would think you were still alive. You will be stuffed and posed on a stand in our public square... but of course, without clothing so everyone may have a good look."
Valera replied in a lower tone of voice, "Ah, but there is one thing you have forgotten...." This was a trick. Speaking more quietly and seemingly leading to a longer sentence, she drew Basilor into leaning his head forward and listening. It bought her a second of his lessened readiness, which was all she needed.
Without visible crouching, the Melgar champion sprang across the sixty feet dividing them. Like Sulak, she had so much more strength than weight that she was capable of leaping many times her own height. With a thump, Valera crashed into the Dawn Man and brought them both to the floor, raising back to her fist to deliver the killing blow. But Basilor had swung the spear around when he was readying to throw it, and the point of the blade stabbed her high up where shoulder meets chest. Only an ensorcelled weapon could have harmed her. Valera grunted and fell back a step, but even as she felt the pain of the second wound, she managed to slap Brightbolt out of Basilor's grasp. The spear spun away to clatter far out of reach.
The Melgar woman clasped a gloved hand over her wound, pressing down to slow the bleeding. She did not think the shoulder joint itself had been damaged but the blade had sliced deeply into muscle. Valera swore by the White Horse of Androval, using an oath about that iconic beast's reputed love life as she took another step back. Basilor had gotten up off himself, but he was leaning back against the wall behind him and this dislodging an oil painting which crashed to the floor next to his feet.
The Dawn Man regarded Valera with unconcealed fear. In the brief instant they had clashed together, he had felt helpless against her strength. He swung toward where the spear had fallen and stretched out his open hand. It did not come to him.
Just out of arm's length of her foe, the Melgar princess felt an unexpected thrill of hope. Still pressing one hand to her shoulder, she reached out with the other hand toward the spear. "Hear me, oh Shai Tazam, treasured guardian of the Melgar people. Come to one of the royal house of Androval, hear me and come to my aid. We shall be as one."
Basilor cried out in despair and repeated the gesture of summoning the spear, but his heart was filled with a sick certainty that he was lost. Brightbolt rattled on the floor, lifted up a few inches and then spun in circles to land solidly in the welcoming hand of Princess Valera III. She laughed with honest delight despite all the pain and dizziness, twirling the seven foot shaft in her one good hand and then lunged forward like a fencer to impale Basilor against the wall behind him.
Dark blood spat from the Dawn Man's mouth and his eyes rolled. He made no sound beyond the wheeze of a final breath being forced from lungs that had collapsed. His white-skinned head dropped down to his chest, his limbs relaxed.
"So you would exhibit me naked in your public square, would you?" Valera taunted. "Shai Tazam says otherwise." She started to tug the great spear loose but using her left shoulder made the blood gush out more freely. Nothing was easy this night, she groused to herself. Placing one foot against Basilor's middle, she yanked with her good arm on the shaft and the spear came free with a distinctly undignified popping noise. The release as the weapon slid out made her fall, landing clumsily on one side and still keeping hold on the spear.
For a few minutes, the Melgar champion panted and waited for her strength to assert itself. She may have been almost impossible to wound by mortal weapons, but she did not heal any faster than normal Humans if she was injured. Sitting up, she reached over and tore long strips from the black silk shirt of the dead Dawn Man. Valera bound up her shoulder as best she could, tearing off wider strips to make a sling to help hold up her arm. Blood still seeped through the fabric but at a slower rate and the pain was lessened by the support.
Using the spear as a lever, Valera got to her feet and started feeling better. If nothing else, she had the satisfaction of slaying a vicious enemy of her people. Taking one of the candles, she started to move about the abandoned mansion, poking about but finding little of interest. Basilor seemed to have claimed one of the bedrooms for his own use, but his personal effects were as mundane as clothing, hairbrushes and a nearly empty bottle of red wine with no label. Valera made herself take the time to search more thoroughly. Nothing of value. No slips of paper bearing an intriguing phone number or cryptic name. No tiny idols of Draldros or any ceremonial paraphenalia. It appeared that the Dawn Man had been dropped off her by some unidentified allies, perhaps to meet again later.
A goatskin jug of water hung from a post of the bed. She sat down, sniffed the water and thought it smelled potable, then started pouring cupfuls into her hand and dabbing gingerly at her left eye. Terror worse than any battle had produced stirred in her now and her mind was filled with dismaying image of herself wearing an eye patch for the rest of her life. Slowly, fearfully, she worked away some of the dried blood and abruptly a large clot fell off in a repulsive blot. Her eye was open. It stung and teared, but she could see. Valera burst into the first tears she had shed in years at the release of tension.
Over a dresser stood a mirror five feet across and she hesitantly examined her reflection. Ugh. It seemed to be a nick in her upper eyelid, stinging sharply every time she blinked. Between that and the more serious piercing of her shoulder, Valera knew she had to return to her realm and seek a Melgar physician immediately.
Returning home... It began to sink in what a great triumph she would be able to announce. Valera hefted the ancient spear, twirled it lightly and felt it belonged in her hands as if she had wielded it all her life. The perfect weapon for a warrior of her abilities. When she arrived in her realm, she would announce that she, Princess Valera, had brought back the Melgar's revered talisman, Shai Tazam to again defend the realm against any foes. Still a bit unsteady on her feet, leaning on the shaft like a walking staff, Valera left the room and wished she knew the Human art of whistling.
12/30/2018
12/1/1986
I.
With one red boot on the lowest step, Valera paused. The interior of the abandoned house was lit only by starlight through the uncurtained windows but her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Chairs and tables were shrouded in dusty sheets, the granite fireplace had been cold for years and the smell of must hung heavy in stagnant air. From the moment she had easily broken the lock on the front door, the Melgar woman had heard nothing... until now.
This was to be her first mission as a KDF Associate Member. Being Princess and third in line to the throne of Androval, it was only her extreme willfulness and determination that had allowed her father to venture to the real world without an escort of guards. King Holmir had told Valera that she had the family's stubborn streak to an extreme degree. But, since she also bore the Legacy of Malberon granting her superhuman strength and near-invulnerabiltity, he grudgingly admitted that she was in less danger seeking adventure than any normal Megar. Joining the KDF meant being sponsored to Tel Shai as a student, and she had long yearned to delve into the secret history only Tel Shai knew.
An inch under six feet tall, slim and athletic, Princess Valera was a gorgeous young woman with bright gold hair reaching past her shoulders and clear blue eyes in a clean-cut face. She was wearing the blue cotton tunic and tights, with red leather boots and gloves and belt, and the wide white mantle around her shoulders bore three vertical red bars. This marked the rank she had earned in the arenas and tournaments. What was it she had heard? The faintest whisper of feet stealing along the bare wooden floor? The soft intake of breath from someone trying to be absolutely stealthy.
"Do not skulk and think to hide from me!" she called out. "Show yourself, I say."
Her answer came in a silky, mocking laugh from the other side of the vast drawing room. There was the scratch of a match being struck and the flame lit four tall candles in a silver candlelabra standing on a burnished pole. The intruder posed for her in the light, bowing slightly and holding up his free hand in a sweeping gesture. "May I presume to introduce myself? Basilor of the Dawn Folk, honored to greet your highness."
The man seemed at first to be a Dartha, with their milk-white skin and fine-textured straight white hair, as well as ears that rose to distinct points. But he was not as delicately built as that dainty Race of sorcerers was. Basilor had broad shoulders and a deep chest, and the black silk shirt bulged with hard muscle. At his left hip was sheathed a slim-bladed dueling sword and he held something wrapped in cloth in his right hand, something straight and tall as he was.
"Dawn Folk," sneered Valera. "A bastard Race founded by Darthan warlocks forcing Human women to bear their whelps. I'd not boast of such lineage if I were you."
Basilor's cat-like green eyes narrowed as he smiled. "Are you Melgarin so very different? Your kind sprang from the union of Humans seduced by the golden glamor of the Eldarin. Indeed, one might say that our peoples are kindred. We Almadim descended from Humans and Darthim, Melgarin descended from Humans and Eldarin."
"You are nothing like my Race," Valera responded, "And if you have come to the world on orders from your vile masters, you will soon realize the gulf between us."
The Dawn Man stepped away from the candles and toward the open space in the middle of the drawing room. He displayed a swagger which infuriated Valera and she struggled to control her famous short temper. Seeing his smug expression made her head swim with anger. "Even the best Almada is no match for any Melgar, and you must know that I carry the Legacy of Malberon."
"Oh, that name again. Truth be told, your highness, Malberon cast many spells and crafted many talismans in his long life. I do not intend to brawl against your unnatural strength when I have THIS."
It was the triumphant emphasis in Basilor's final word which warned Valera to be even more on her guard than she already was. She saw the Dawn Man tug at the concealing cloth and cast it aside to immediately fling a seven foot spear with deadly accuracy. The weapon hurtled at her far faster than merely being thrown by any arm, not matter how strong or how skilled, could explain. Indeed, although Valera could not detect it, the spear accelerated as it neared its target.
Reacting quickly, Valera had stepped to one side and raised an arm defensively. The spear swerved in its trajectory to hit her.
With a sharp cracking impact, the ancient weapon struck her full in the face and Valera stumbled back to fall to a seated position on the cold bare floor. The spear rebounded and whirled back end over end to thump into the open hand of the grinning Basilor. He gave a short triumphant laugh.
Struggling back to her feet, the Melgar champion pressed one hand to her left eye, which hurt worse than anything she had endured in years. Hot blood trickled down beneath her palm. It was the realization she had been wounded which shocked her the most; since the Legacy had manifested itself in her body, Valera had seldom encountered anything that could cut her skin. But then, she recognized the talisman that had struck her down was not common weapon.
"Shai Tazam!" she gasped more in anger than pain. "In the hands of... the Dawn Folk."
"Yes, dear princess. The greatest weapon of the Melgarin, Brightbolt! And it belongs to the hand that wields it best."
II.
Valera had heard tales of Malberon all her life. The greatest sorcerer of the Melgarin, perhaps the most accomplished mortal sorcerer of any Race, he had lived in the Darthan Age thirty thousand years ago. It had been Malberon who had infused the gralic charge into the Melgar essence which granted one male and one female of each generation the great strength that made them Androval's champions. Malberon had crafted the Seven Swords and the Unicorn Horn which disrupted spells. Many potent talismans had he left behind to help in the Midnight War, but none were more powerful than Brightbolt, 'Shai Tazam.'
Rising as if she were not dizzy from the blow, fighting down vomit she could taste in the back of her throat, the Melgar warrior stood and made her voice steady with effort. "That is a Melgar talisman. It is blasphemy for you to hold it."
"I admit I am surprised you still live, noblelady. I have sent Brightbolt flying to drive straight through the trunks of mighty oaks. It had pierced a dozen Human enemy at one cast, swerving from one to the next. Yet there you stand."
Straightening up to her full height, Valera lowered her left hand and wiped it on the thigh of her arena uniform. She could not see out of her left eye, which throbbed so abominably it was hard to concentrate. The fear that she was now blinded on that side surged up but she forced it aside for this crisis. "Of course. The invasion of Maroch."
Basilor placed the butt of the great spear on the floor and sniffed at the bloody blade with a look of intense disdain. "Yes, only five years ago. The Dark Alliance was broken. The sacred realm was sacked and ruined by a thousand Melgar ruffians led by the Tel Shai knights you yourself has tried to join. Many wise Darthim met their fates that day, and the army of Trolls was slaughtered. Aye, even great Angdros himself left this life as Maroch went up in flames."
"Hah!" snorted Valera, quickly beginning to feel her normal self. "They met deaths they richly deserved. It was the silver man Khang who threw Shai Tazam to slay Angdros at last. The wargod tumbled down the thousand steps of the Burning Pyramid. Yet, in the aftermath, the spear was not recovered."
When Basilor did not respond, she cried, "It was you who plucked Shai Tazam from Angdros' foul carcass, then. You scavenged my Race's prize like a raven plucking at the dead."
"You have a gift for inappropriate insults, considering how near you are to being slain yourself. There is much you do not know. The surface palaces and temples were sacked, but most of the Darthim and many of the Trolls hid themselves in the vast tunnels beneath. Maroch is honeycombed with more of the city beneath the surface than above. I intended to prudently remove myself from the carnage.... Yet I was prevented from doing so. One of your Tel Shai dogs came at me. He was a Human with black hair and eyes the color of steel. I thrust with my sword and he turned his body so my blade went past him. Then he drew back a fist and I awoke hours later."
Despite the tension and the pain, Valera gave way to laughter. "That was surely the Dire Wolf, my captain Jeremy Bane. Your description fits him as a glove does fit a hand."
"Human names does not matter," Basilor responded uncertainly. "When I regained my senses, a deep silence hung over Maroch. Broken bodies and shattered weapons were all about me, thick as Autumn leaves on the ground. Near at hand were the remains of Angdros, at the base of the Burning Pyramid down which he had fallen. And, hidden beneath his vast form, the spear which had slain him. I claimed it there and then! And since I forced my will upon it, it will answer to no other master."
"At least, not while you live...."
That struck a nerve. The Dawn Man hefted Brightbolt and swung it up into ready position. He had kept a distance of sixty feet between them, which showed how he respected the tales of her prowess. "I see the time for words has passed. I have come to this world seeking allies in my quest to rebuild the Almadim's prestige. But let be, I say."
Watching her enemy raise that spear, Valera felt all was not yet lost. She still lived and while she lived, she fought. The sharp steel blade of Shai Tazam was edged with Ensalir, silver ensorcelled by the Eldarin themselves. It was charged with immense gralic force. That weapon had killed the wargod Angdros and she did not see how she had not been slain herself a moment earlier. Unless... in some semi-sentient way, did the talisman recognize that she was a Melgar, of the Race it had been crafted to defend?She could not count on such a possibility. If Basilor cast the spear again, it likely meant her death.
Hesitating for some inexplicable reason, the Dawn Man grinned at her. When his mouth smiled but his eyes did not, he resembled his Darthan forebears to a terrifying extent. "Let this be your last thought, princess. I believe I will bring your body to the stronghold of my people near Maroch. Taxidermy is an art with us. I promise you will preserved so skillfully that your friends would think you were still alive. You will be stuffed and posed on a stand in our public square... but of course, without clothing so everyone may have a good look."
Valera replied in a lower tone of voice, "Ah, but there is one thing you have forgotten...." This was a trick. Speaking more quietly and seemingly leading to a longer sentence, she drew Basilor into leaning his head forward and listening. It bought her a second of his lessened readiness, which was all she needed.
Without visible crouching, the Melgar champion sprang across the sixty feet dividing them. Like Sulak, she had so much more strength than weight that she was capable of leaping many times her own height. With a thump, Valera crashed into the Dawn Man and brought them both to the floor, raising back to her fist to deliver the killing blow. But Basilor had swung the spear around when he was readying to throw it, and the point of the blade stabbed her high up where shoulder meets chest. Only an ensorcelled weapon could have harmed her. Valera grunted and fell back a step, but even as she felt the pain of the second wound, she managed to slap Brightbolt out of Basilor's grasp. The spear spun away to clatter far out of reach.
The Melgar woman clasped a gloved hand over her wound, pressing down to slow the bleeding. She did not think the shoulder joint itself had been damaged but the blade had sliced deeply into muscle. Valera swore by the White Horse of Androval, using an oath about that iconic beast's reputed love life as she took another step back. Basilor had gotten up off himself, but he was leaning back against the wall behind him and this dislodging an oil painting which crashed to the floor next to his feet.
The Dawn Man regarded Valera with unconcealed fear. In the brief instant they had clashed together, he had felt helpless against her strength. He swung toward where the spear had fallen and stretched out his open hand. It did not come to him.
Just out of arm's length of her foe, the Melgar princess felt an unexpected thrill of hope. Still pressing one hand to her shoulder, she reached out with the other hand toward the spear. "Hear me, oh Shai Tazam, treasured guardian of the Melgar people. Come to one of the royal house of Androval, hear me and come to my aid. We shall be as one."
Basilor cried out in despair and repeated the gesture of summoning the spear, but his heart was filled with a sick certainty that he was lost. Brightbolt rattled on the floor, lifted up a few inches and then spun in circles to land solidly in the welcoming hand of Princess Valera III. She laughed with honest delight despite all the pain and dizziness, twirling the seven foot shaft in her one good hand and then lunged forward like a fencer to impale Basilor against the wall behind him.
Dark blood spat from the Dawn Man's mouth and his eyes rolled. He made no sound beyond the wheeze of a final breath being forced from lungs that had collapsed. His white-skinned head dropped down to his chest, his limbs relaxed.
"So you would exhibit me naked in your public square, would you?" Valera taunted. "Shai Tazam says otherwise." She started to tug the great spear loose but using her left shoulder made the blood gush out more freely. Nothing was easy this night, she groused to herself. Placing one foot against Basilor's middle, she yanked with her good arm on the shaft and the spear came free with a distinctly undignified popping noise. The release as the weapon slid out made her fall, landing clumsily on one side and still keeping hold on the spear.
For a few minutes, the Melgar champion panted and waited for her strength to assert itself. She may have been almost impossible to wound by mortal weapons, but she did not heal any faster than normal Humans if she was injured. Sitting up, she reached over and tore long strips from the black silk shirt of the dead Dawn Man. Valera bound up her shoulder as best she could, tearing off wider strips to make a sling to help hold up her arm. Blood still seeped through the fabric but at a slower rate and the pain was lessened by the support.
Using the spear as a lever, Valera got to her feet and started feeling better. If nothing else, she had the satisfaction of slaying a vicious enemy of her people. Taking one of the candles, she started to move about the abandoned mansion, poking about but finding little of interest. Basilor seemed to have claimed one of the bedrooms for his own use, but his personal effects were as mundane as clothing, hairbrushes and a nearly empty bottle of red wine with no label. Valera made herself take the time to search more thoroughly. Nothing of value. No slips of paper bearing an intriguing phone number or cryptic name. No tiny idols of Draldros or any ceremonial paraphenalia. It appeared that the Dawn Man had been dropped off her by some unidentified allies, perhaps to meet again later.
A goatskin jug of water hung from a post of the bed. She sat down, sniffed the water and thought it smelled potable, then started pouring cupfuls into her hand and dabbing gingerly at her left eye. Terror worse than any battle had produced stirred in her now and her mind was filled with dismaying image of herself wearing an eye patch for the rest of her life. Slowly, fearfully, she worked away some of the dried blood and abruptly a large clot fell off in a repulsive blot. Her eye was open. It stung and teared, but she could see. Valera burst into the first tears she had shed in years at the release of tension.
Over a dresser stood a mirror five feet across and she hesitantly examined her reflection. Ugh. It seemed to be a nick in her upper eyelid, stinging sharply every time she blinked. Between that and the more serious piercing of her shoulder, Valera knew she had to return to her realm and seek a Melgar physician immediately.
Returning home... It began to sink in what a great triumph she would be able to announce. Valera hefted the ancient spear, twirled it lightly and felt it belonged in her hands as if she had wielded it all her life. The perfect weapon for a warrior of her abilities. When she arrived in her realm, she would announce that she, Princess Valera, had brought back the Melgar's revered talisman, Shai Tazam to again defend the realm against any foes. Still a bit unsteady on her feet, leaning on the shaft like a walking staff, Valera left the room and wished she knew the Human art of whistling.
12/30/2018