Jess chuckled throatily, scratching her purring cat’s ears even as she greeted her friends at table, she and her familiar both feasting upon the generous tureen of perfectly seasoned whitefish stew before them to the gentle murmur of Malek’s good-natured boasts and all the admiring gazes and whistles she could ever hope for from her friends.
As much as Jess regretted the fact that she would not be able to participate in the grand tournament that would soon be upon them, the warm smiles and sympathies of her friends more than made up for it. In that odd moment of contentment, gazing at her small circle of companions, feeling gently embraced by the happy chatter of those who cared about her, it occurred to her that she had already achieved the most important victory of all, earning their friendship.
6
Time to get up mistress. Splash your face and drink plenty of tea this morning, and I am sure your head will stop throbbing. Eventually."
Jess furiously blinked her eyes as an entirely too bright morning sun seemed to glare at her almost accusingly from the open window. She moaned and rolled over. “Wake me up at noon, Twilight.” She murmured, only to whimper when entirely too sharp claws took a poke at her rump. “Damn it Twilight, that smarts!”
“It was you who insisted I get you up in plenty of time to watch the tournament, Jess. And if you recall, I was the one who suggested that you not drink too much of that cider with your friends in your Circle of Midnight meeting. You know how… animated you get when you imbibe any sort of spirits.”
Jess moaned, flashes of her making some rather silly declarations to the good-natured laughter of her friends briefly flickering in her mind’s eye, and she tried desperately to forget the painfully sympathetic if strained looks Raphael and Josie gave her when she had tearfully asked to join them in their snuggling, declaring that her heart was big enough to love both of them equally. A performance that had, of course, set Malek and Jacob laughing themselves silly, convinced it was just Jess giving her standard over-the-top performance. Only, it hadn’t really been a performance.
Jess cringed at the memory.
“Oh yes, you were in rare form last night, my mistress," Twilight noted rather smugly, Jess thought. "And you most definitely insisted that I get you up in plenty of time to watch the tournament, and if I may be quite frank, my mistress, you could really do with a flagon of tea and a scrub."
Jess groaned but quickly stumbled to her feet before her beloved familiar could poke her any further, and had to admit that she really did feel better after ringing for tea and a fresh washbasin. In fact, by the time she made her way down from her quarters, wearing her shimmering hauberk of mithril over boiled leather and quilted gambeson, armaments fit for any battlefield, for all that she knew that she would not be fighting that day, she felt almost human. More than that, she felt excited about cheering her team on to victory, knowing that Eloquin’s elite unit of future commanders would most thoroughly trounce Knight Commander Hyve’s chosen Aspirants, as they had every year Jess and Malek had fought under Eloquin’s flag.
“Well, here we are, kitty. We might as well enjoy the day." Jess gave her familiar upon his favorite perch a gentle scratch behind his ears as they made their way to the training grounds when of a sudden Twilight twisted about, fur suddenly on end, and hissed. "Twilight, what's wrong?" Instantly her calm had fled as she gazed about her in hyper-alertness, feeling her heart start to race, her hand reflexively squeezing the hilt of what she realized at that moment was just a blunted training sword, and she began cursing herself silently for being too embarrassed to ask master Eloquin for yet another of his prize blades after his last gift to her had been scored and pitted beyond repair in her last journey through Shadow.
“I am not sure, my mistress, but I suspect someone might be flirting with that which is forbidden, right on the edge of college grounds.” He turned his reproving gaze toward her. “You stay here and stay out of trouble, Jess. I shall be back in but a handful of minutes, and if we need to take steps, rest assured we will take them.” He then frowned at her scabbard. “And why have you not asked for a fresh blade? It is a foolish cat who does not sharpen his claws, my mistress.”
Jess flushed. "I know, Twilight. I know. Messer and horseman's saber I may have, but a good longsword I lack. I should have taken the messer, at least, because you just never know. More than that, I should have asked Eloquin for another longsword, but things have been crazy, and I didn't get around to it. Besides, I don't need him saying ‘what, lost another blade, Jess? It's only been a week since you ruined my last prize sword!'"
“He would have understood since you did get his ass out of the kettle, dearest Jess, but of course you don’t even remember,” Twilight sighed. “Didn’t it occur to you to ask the quartermaster at least? Never mind. Now’s not the time. I’ll be back in moments. Stay out of trouble!”
With that, her ever curious familiar sprung from her shoulder to pad off in directions unseen, and with a shake of her head Jess made her way over to the one person who could best commiserate with that curious mixture of excitement and loss that she felt that day.
“Looking good, shieldsister!” Malek grinned as he took off his helmet. “Looks like neither of us could resist kitting up, even though Knight Commander Hyve, in his exalted wisdom, saw fit to use his clout to prevent us from joining the tournament today.”
Jess sighed and nodded, gazing almost forlornly at the two teams being read the customary pronouncement and nodding to the terms of the engagement. Long experience had taught her to recognize Lord Hyve and Lord Eloquin both, and she spotted Neal as well, who had plenty of experience as battle commander for their unit. She found herself frowning slightly, unable to make out the fully kitted Aspirant who stood by Lord Hyve’s side, wearing what looked to be a perfectly fitted suit of plate and mail no less. Jess had no doubt he would serve as the knight commander for the opposing team. The identity of the young man making his way toward Jess and Malek, however, was instantly apparent. Mord de Plaga himself. She would recognize his arrogant saunter from a thousand yards, even if he wasn’t wearing custom fitted armor with his family crest, of that she was certain.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Highrock’s own excuse for a pair of adventurers,” Mord mocked.
Jess felt a bit sickened the way her nemesis leered at her, like he was appraising a slab of meat. “What do you want, Mord?” She didn’t realize how tightly her hand was gripping her sword hilt until she felt Malek's reassuring squeeze. Slowly, she eased her grip, surprised to realize how close she had been to lashing out at the smirking bastard before her, training blade or no.
Mord just gazed at her, his cold smile never reaching his eyes. “Ah, Jess. How I do love seeing my future mate hot and fiery for me. What a pleasure it will be to… consummate our relationship. I will let you put all that fire to good use, then.”
Jess shook with rage. Malek’s touch alone kept her from striking him with her blade then and there.
“What the hell do you want, you pathetic excuse for a knight?” Malek curtly asked.
Mord’s gaze became one of mocking disdain. “Ah. The catamite speaks. Be gone, black sheep of the Sousel clan. Your betters would speak.”
Malek snorted. “What an arrogant ass. Let’s say we just kill this bastard and have done with it, Jess?”
Jess slowly shook her head, glad for her companion’s dark jest. It allowed her to pull her own outrage into a semblance of control.
Mord, oddly enough, was chuckling. “Ah, Malek. If only you could truly appreciate how tedious this conversation is. But of course you, a pathetic excuse for a Delver, utterly ignorant of the True Art, would have no idea about that, now would you.”
“Cease with your games and have out with it, or leave us be!” Malek snapped.
“What the hell are you talking about, Mord? Or are you just here to goad us? I have no doubt it is you who is responsible for Lord Hyve moving to have us banned from the tournament.” Jess smirked. “You’ve been avoiding a rematch
with me for years, Mord. Is this act of cowardly maneuvering your way of dodging me for yet another year?”
Her enemy smiled. “Ah, Jess. I thought you knew the first rule of combat was that there are no rules. Use whatever tools are at your disposal to neutralize your enemies and seize victory with a clenched fist. Isn’t that what you bloodthirsty lot of commanders are taught? And here I had it on good authority you were actually among Eloquin’s best.” Mord gave a mocking shake of his head. “I guess it just goes to show Eloquin did get the scraps, after Knight Commander Hyve picked the best of us.”
“And that’s why you deliberately broke Jessica’s leg on that first day. You were afraid she would beat you when the points were totaled and you didn’t want her competing against you for Lord Hyve’s favor, you damn coward!” Malek shouted.
Jess could feel her shieldbrother shaking, a hairsbreadth from losing control.
“That wench needed to know her place!” Mord snarled, his dead eyes crackling with a hot fury of his own, instantly cooled. His mocking smile was back in place, as if it had never left. “But that is past, Malek. My filly has proven she is a mare fierce enough to be worthy of my regard. Haven’t you, my Jess?”
Jess felt her face flush hot with renewed fury. How she’d love to shatter his condescending face and leave him broken and bleeding, spitting out teeth from the remnants of his mocking smile. “I am not yours to claim, you arrogant ass! If you’re too cowardly to fight me, then leave, Mord. I did not come out here to bandy words with the likes of you.”
Mord looked positively smug. “Well then let me give you my first gift, sweet Jessica! I challenge you to a duel, here and now!”
Jess flashed a fierce smile. “If only you were serious about that, you damn coward! How I’d love to put you in your place!”
Mord smirked. “I am quite serious, you lovely wench! We duel, armored as we are, training weapons only! The winner won’t be decided ‘til the loser begs to be spared, in front of the whole damn field! What’s more, the loser must abase themselves with the sincerity of their pleas, or we are free to strike with utter savagery, even when they lay prone! What say you, Jess? Will you accept my challenge?”
Jess’s heart raced with a savage exhilaration. Here her enemy was, actually giving her a chance to break and humiliate him, in front of the school entire! “I accept, and gladly, Mord de Plaga!” Her gaze turned hard. “But no killing or blinding blows. No striking from behind. And if one of us is unconscious, the fight is decided. No sick games, Mord.”
The man she most loved to hate in all the world snarled for but a moment, and Jess was sickly certain that his plan had been dark indeed. Yet immediately he nodded his acquiescence, and something about his smile left her leery. Her return grin was fierce, and she swore it gave him a moment’s pause. No matter his games, she would be ready. And how she would love to wipe that smirk off his face and make him pay for the years of grief he and his friends had caused her, and she could think of no better way than breaking him in front of the entire assembled tournament, and all its spectators. It mattered not that they were dozens of yards from the heart of the tournament. The very act of their fighting would draw sufficient attention as a precursor to the main event.
“Very well then, Jessica de Calenbry. I, Mord de Plaga, do accept this duel of honor under terms agreed upon! Draw your blade, wench, and I shall put you in your place!”
It was then Jess noticed wiry Erno de Vilde, one of Mord’s coterie, lurking some distance away, who immediately dashed off the moment Mord turned and nodded.
“More games, Mord?” Jess snarled.
Mord grinned as he drew his blade. “No, wench. This is between you and me. Erno serves as my second, as your catamite does you! He is merely informing our fellow students that the day we’ve long awaited has finally arrived! Draw your blade, prize, lest you’d taste my steel directly upon your sweet lips!”
With that he lashed out with a furious Oberhau strike, pummeling her quickly drawn blade, their training swords ringing with the blow. With a soft laugh Mord darted away before she could trap him in a bind, and his sudden fierce smile left Jess cautious, her eyes open for any telltale strands of magic Mord might be casting, assuring she wouldn’t fall into any traps before she seized the Vor and slammed into him, all but tasting the sweet fury she would embrace when he fell to her blows.
“Are you afraid, wench?” Mord mocked. “You should be, fool! So naïve, so ignorant, so easy!” He began to laugh.
Jess felt herself flush with fury. “No matter how good you think you are, I will best you, Mord de Plaga!” Jess approached, longsword held in Ochs, point aimed squarely for his mocking smile.
“No, actually you won’t, wench. For you swore an oath to me. Do you not remember?”
Jess paused, hissing with frustration. She had no idea what he was talking about, no memory of his insane claim, but the very chance that she might have walked unwittingly into a trap explained his behavior far better than the idea that he would finally allow her a fair fight with him. Snarling, she paused. “What the hell are you talking about, Mord? Is this another one of your games? Why would you challenge me to a fight if you were too cowardly to cross blades with me?”
Mord’s gloating laugh left Jess sickened. “Because it was you who gave your oath to cause me no deliberate harm, not I. So whereas you must measure your blows and give me naught but the gentlest of taps, I am free to pound your insolent face till you submit to me as your lord and master!”
Jess snarled in alarmed fury, unable to believe the depth of Mord’s foul machinations. For even if his goal was merely to disrupt her flow, he had succeeded with chilling efficiency, his mad flurry of blows immediately putting her on the defensive, as she step-slid away, madly countering each twist of his blade as he pounded into her with manic laughter.
“Bloody hells, Jess! Fight back!” Malek cried as Jess hissed in pain, Mord’s off angle hew slamming against her helm and setting her head ringing even as she dodged a mad plethora of blows, thrown off balance not only by his mad claim but with the sick certainty that he was not lying. As much as she could sense his twisted glee, as much as she could taste so very many strands of malice and deception within him, she was painfully certain that he was telling the absolute truth about her oath to him, if nothing else.
Somehow, at some point, she had given her word to cause him no harm, and he was now free to savage her with impunity.
The whole thing had been a carefully orchestrated trap, and she had fallen right into it. Now she was held hostage to her word to cause no pain or injury this twisted, conniving bastard laughing at her even as he continued to pummel her with a frenzy of blows that was nothing short of superhuman. Even as she felt time itself stretch and slow as she slipped into battlefrenzy, she was certain she had never faced an opponent possessing such speed, save Eloquin himself.
She cried out then, stunned for a split second as her foe expertly slid his blade under her guard to smack his blunted longsword into her gut with such force she had to fight to stay on her feet, even as he immediately pummeled her with a vicious series of Zornhau strikes, any of which could have broken her collar bone had she not parried them with a frenetic speed just barely the equal of his own.
Her head rung with horror and fury. She could not possibly be bound to such a strangling oath. She couldn’t fathom how such could have occurred! Humiliating her for years wasn’t enough, he now wanted to debase and shame her in front of the whole school, making his victory over her complete.
How could this have happened? She screamed silently at herself even as she gazed into Mord’s coal dark eyes, his fierce, gloating smile turning into a snarl as he unleashed yet another series of tight, arcing blows, lashing out at her temples over and over, trying to trap her in a rhythm even as he abruptly broke it, committing everything into a mad lunge, putting all his force into a vicious Stechen thrust right for her solar plexus.
And even as every fiber of instinct screamed at her
to smash his unguarded helm with all the force she could muster with a vicious Oberhau strike, she had to pull back at the last moment, fighting against her own carefully honed instincts, knowing she was bound to cause no harm to the man so eagerly striving to break her in whatever way he could.
The force of his blow sent Jess sailing, even as she found herself momentarily paralyzed, gasping for breath as her body crashed into the ground with terrific force.
And still Mord did not let up on his attack even as she fought for air, pounding her upraised arms in the height of her agony. “Submit, you bitch! Submit, you damn whore! You are mine! Body and soul! Say it, wench! Say it! Everything you own is mine!”
Jess struggled just to breathe.
“Stop it you damn fool, or I’ll kill you!” Malek roared.
And in a sickening bolt of awareness, Jess understood. Mord. Lady Vaila gazing at her with such gratitude. Jess knowing that something terrible had happened in that dream, knowing somehow that people she had cared about had been in peril. The only way she could fathom having given Mord such power over her was if he had somehow held mortal power over people Jess cared about. People trapped in the realm of nightmare. Oaths that could only have been made in the realm of dreams. Oaths she had for some reason not recorded, so she was forced to forget.
And Mord’s mad eyes, his mad gloating eyes, made it clear that he was aware of all of this. That he took savage delight in trapping her with her own oath unawares, and torturing her with it.
With an almost offhand thrust, Mord’s blade flashed out with terrible speed, immediately forcing Malek back. “Tell your dog he is not allowed to harm me anymore than you are, prize!” He flashed Jess a savage grin. “I will allow you to catch your breath, wench. How lucky you are. Now tell him!” he snapped, gazing at her as if she were the lowest churl and he her lord.
Shadow Knight Page 13
