Royal Magic

by K. M. Shea

Gwendafyn crouched, her nerves easing as she sank into position, her weighted practice sword a reassuring heft in her hands. “Thank you, Phelps.”

  Phelps grunted. “You look like you could use a good fight.”

  She sighed and tried to ease some of the tension in her shoulders. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Begin!” Wilford shouted.

  Gwendafyn sprung at Phelps, her wooden sword extended.

  Phelps swiveled to the side to avoid her strike, then tried kicking her open side.

  Gwendafyn altered her lunge into a roll, falling onto her left shoulder so she could dodge. When she sprang out of the side roll, her momentum carried her all the way to her feet. She ran forward, avoiding the stab she could hear Phelps line up, and ran for a pile of three crates piled at the end of the ring.

  “Get her, Phelps!” Wilford shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself louder than usual.

  “Fight on, Fyn!” Tari yelled in a voice just as loud as Wilford’s.

  Gwendafyn hopped onto the crates, then—in one smooth movement—turned around and leaped off them in a jump strike.

  “Ooohhh!” Grygg howled in exaggerated awe.

  Phelps barely had time to skid to a stop and brace himself before Gwendafyn’s sword hit his with an explosive crack.

  Phelps clenched his teeth as he absorbed the blow, then leaned into his sword and pushed.

  Gwendafyn felt her feet start to slide backwards from Phelps’ sheer strength. She danced to the side and tried an upper cut that Phelps managed to deflect.

  “Good defense, Phelps,” Thad yelled.

  “Beat him down, Princess!” Grygg boomed.

  Gwendafyn and Phelps exchanged two jabs and parries before the first Honor Guard approached.

  “See now, what’s causing the racket?” The new arrival asked as he joined Grygg, Thad, and Wilford.

  Wilford nodded at Phelps and Gwendafyn. “The Princess says she wishes to fight other guards—wants to familiarize herself with other fighting styles and such.”

  “So we’re running a fight ring. If you’d like to match your blade against hers, it’ll cost you just a few bronze coins,” Grygg said.

  Gwendafyn barely heard his words as she tried to stab Phelps’ open side.

  It was a trap. He blocked her blow and hooked his leg around hers, yanking it out beneath her.

  Her balance off, Gwendafyn let herself fall. She managed to land in a crouch and tensed her outstretched leg, then swung it around in an attempt to sweep Phelps’ legs out from under him as well.

  But the wily soldier was prepared for such an attack and planted his sword on the side of his leg—the wooden edge out—so Gwendafyn rammed her shin straight into it.

  That’s going to bruise.

  Gwendafyn had to bite back a yelp as pain bloomed in her leg.

  He’s got me in a bad position. Her mind racing, Gwendafyn swung her sword up, striking Phelps in the gut before he could attack her.

  Due to her awkward position, she didn’t get much force in it, but it was enough to make Phelps toddle back a few steps.

  “Is she really that good?” the newcomer asked doubtfully as he watched.

  Wilford shrugged. “She’s the only elf warrior in years to hold a blade against a human.”

  “She’s probably the only chance you’ll ever have to fight an elf,” Grygg added.

  “Colonel Arion is going to demote us for this,” Thad muttered.

  Gwendafyn rose to her feet as Phelps recovered his balance. Sweat beaded on her brow as she attacked, unable to get past Phelps’ excellent defense.

  As she edged around him, she felt her heart race. Instead of growing tired or fatigued, the dance of parries and attacks invigorated Gwendafyn.

  She nearly laughed when she managed to side-step Phelps’ stab and ram him in the shoulder, making him retreat backwards to avoid another attack.

  “I’ll bite. Put me down for her next match.” The Honor Guard slapped a few coins into Grygg’s open palm.

  “With pleasure!” Grygg beamed.

  Gwendafyn flexed her shoulders and smiled sharply at the freeing feeling it provoked.

  Here, in the middle of battle, she was truly able to lose herself. All her worries and insecurities faded, and something in her breathed in with relief.

  She glanced across the ring and saw Phelps had regained his footing.

  Grinning, she sprang at him. Her smile grew when she successfully beat his guard down, angling her sword across his so the point of her blade slid under the guard of his hilt, then yanked up, pulling his sword out of his grasp.

  “And the win goes to: Princess Gwendafyn!” Tari shouted.

  Seer Ringali clapped obligingly.

  Gwendafyn didn’t hear any of the cheers from her teachers as she tightened her grasp on her sword. Finally…I feel free!

  “Join the line in a neat and orderly fashion.” Wilford walked up and down the long, weaving line with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Please have your coins ready by the time you reach Grygg!”

  He said more, but Gwendafyn didn’t hear him over the roar of her current opponent: a massive, bear-like man who seemed to favor close-range combat of the physical variety—a boxer.

  Gwendafyn dodged the man when he threw a punch at her gut. She twisted, shifting her center of balance and pivoting on the front of her left foot so she could throw her right foot up in a facekick (a move she had learned exactly three matches ago from a rather talented guard who would have beaten her if he hadn’t forgotten about her sword).

  She successfully rammed the heel of her foot into his cheek, knocking his head back.

  It was a testament to his skill that he managed to grab Gwendafyn’s leg despite his lack of vision and hold it, keeping her balancing on one leg.

  Gwendafyn leaned into her captured heel, then twisted into his body—spinning her foot right out of his grasp. As she swung free, she lashed out with her sword, hitting him in the neck.

  It was a risky move, as she had very little control over her sword, but since the blade knocked the air out of him, he was hardly in a position to pluck it from her hands.

  “Stop dancing, My Princess, and finish him!” Seer Ringali drawled as if he were bored—even though he had abandoned his usual chair and stood at the side of the ring with Tarinthali.

  Gwendafyn flicked sweat from her forehead and grinned. She had already gone through six matches. By now she should be getting winded. Instead, it seemed like something inside of her was unraveling. With each fight, she felt a surge of adrenaline, and again and again she snatched up her sword, ready for more.

  It was exhilarating!

  The bear-guard roared again and lashed out with more speed than he had previously displayed, successfully clipping Gwendafyn on the shoulder with enough force to make her stagger.

  The guards in line gasped or cheered, depending on who they were supporting at the moment.

  Whatever it was that was driving her forward, it shivered. In her mind’s eye, she could see a closed door that rattled and rocked as it strained to contain something bright behind it.

  Magic.

  Gwendafyn could almost feel the lock clicking in the door, but she ruthlessly pushed the image from her mind and pressed the feeling away.

  She recovered and zipped forward, slamming the hilt of her sword into the man’s chest.

  He made a keening noise as all the air in his body left, and she successfully shoved him to the ground.

  Planting her heel on his wrist, Gwendafyn rested the edge of her wooden sword on his throat. “Do you yield?” She asked.

  He only gasped like a landed fish.

  “Yield?” She repeated in case he hadn’t heard her through her accent.

  He nodded, and Gwendafyn stepped back to give him room.

  What was that? She wondered before her thoughts were interrupted by cheers and jeers.

  “And the winner is: Princess Gwendafyn!” Tari shouted above the noise.

>   “Princess, over here,” Thad called.

  “Thank you for the fight,” Gwendafyn tossed over her shoulder as two guards she had already beaten entered the ring to help the boxer stand.

  There was a spring in her step as she sashayed over to Thad, who gave her a waterskin.

  “Sip it only,” he warned.

  Gwendafyn nodded as she took a small sip of water, relishing its coolness.

  “This is marvelous,” Grygg declared from Thad’s feet. He had swiped one of the crates from the ring and was using it as a makeshift desk. He had papers spread across it—a list of opponents awaiting her, a record of those who had paid, and the fights’ results, of course.

  “You are a golden goose, Princess,” Grygg continued. “If you can keep this up for even just five more matches, you will have made us a bundle.”

  “We should raise the price,” Wilford said thoughtfully as he studied the line of eager soldiers.

  “Done?” Thad asked, taking the waterskin from Gwendafyn.

  Gwendafyn nodded and looked out at the ring. “Who next?”

  “The man with daggers over there,” Thad said.

  Gwendafyn gave Thad a thumbs up and rolled her shoulders to keep her muscles light and limber.

  “You have done well—but do not let your success tempt you into slovenly fighting,” Seer Ringali said.

  Gwendafyn bowed slightly. “I’ve gotten sloppy. I’ll be more careful next time.”

  “How do you feel, My Princess?” Tari asked in Calnoric.

  “Amazing!” Gwendafyn wiped her forehead off on her sleeve and trotted into the ring.

  Thad sighed wistfully. “If I didn’t fear the colonel half as much as I do, I’d say we should start a gambling ring.”

  “Ready?” Tari called, sounding fierce above the din of the other soldiers. “Begin!”

  “Are you certain you can handle three of them?” Thad asked with a frown.

  “Of course she can,” Wilford snorted. “All three of these fellows are greenhorns. She took out two senior guards two matches ago!”

  Gwendafyn tested the balance of her new wooden sword—her old one had cracked badly during her last match with a particularly skilled spear fighter. As fighting with a compromised weapon was not intelligent, a new one had been provided for her. “If they are unskilled, I think I can manger.”

  “Manage,” Grygg corrected absently as he carefully counted coins into a bag.

  Gwendafyn snorted and stomped her foot. “Why must Calnoric have so many similar-sounding words?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Wilford said dryly before he ambled away.

  Thad narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “You don’t seem exhausted.”

  “I’m not,” Gwendafyn assured him.

  He shook his head. “But how is that possible? You’ve been going for hours.”

  “It is the High Elf blood that flows in her veins,” Seer Ringali said in Elvish. He narrowed his eyes as he studied Gwendafyn. “I have seen it at work in my fellow Evening Stars. Though you seem to use it…differently.”

  Thinking of the buckling door, Gwendafyn frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  Seer Ringali pulled a lock of his shiny hair from Braydynn’s chubby fists before the baby could stuff it in his mouth. “Exactly as it sounds. You seem to use your High Elf blood in an entirely different way. I assumed it was our training as Evening Stars, but I am not so sure anymore…”

  “It’s not a bad thing,” Tari said kindly as Sius growled at her feet—as if in agreement.

  “Yes, I’m sure Lady Tari and Seer Ringali are saying something important, but your next match is waiting, as is the audience, Princess.” Grygg tapped his finger on the schedule.

  “It’s Fyn.” Gwendafyn strode into the ring, raising her hand to acknowledge the cheers and whistles from the guards surrounding her.

  The line to fight her was much shorter now, but the crowd around the ring had grown exponentially. It seems like most of the off-duty guards have come here, she thought as she took up her place in the center of the ring.

  “Princess.” Thad briefly joined her there, leaning in so he could whisper. “Since you’re going to take on all three, might I suggest a strategy?”

  Gwendafyn nodded and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Of course.”

  “Take out the weaselly looking one—he’s the guard closest to us—first. Also do it in the fastest way possible. Then go after that stick-like one, and finish up with the serious lad standing back,” Thad said.

  “Is the w-w…” Gwendafyn paused.

  “Weaselly,” Thad supplied.

  “Is the weaselly one dangerous?” she asked.

  “Nope, not at all. All three of these guards are new recruits on my patrol rotation. The weaselly one is just insufferable. A bit of public embarrassment and humility will do him some good.” Thad grinned.

  Gwendafyn laughed. “Very well.”

  “Remember: fast and humiliating,” he coached as he backed away.

  Shaking her head, Gwendafyn gave her sword several experimental twirls.

  The guards surrounding the ring hushed—like the wind before an ocean typhoon—and leaned forward in anticipation.

  Gwendafyn crouched in a position that would let her explosively leap forward. As if she had done this all her life, her breath evened out, and her muscles tensed.

  “Begin!” Tari shouted.

  Gwendafyn shot forward, pouncing on the soldier Thad had pointed out. He tried to jab her side with a basic stab. Gwendafyn threw her sword up in a guard stance that deflected his attack, making him throw his arm wide.

  Moving faster than she had when she fought Phelps in her first match of the day, Gwendafyn snapped her wrist, adjusting her hold so the sword blade was braced against her forearm. She rotated her wrist then in a combination of a hilt jab and a hook punch that had her twisting her hips and torso, then smashed her hilt into the spot just behind his ear.

  He fell like a sack of rocks.

  Gwendafyn focused on the next guard—the stick-skinny one—only vaguely aware of the approving roar of the audience.

  Her new opponent hunched his shoulders to his neck in fear but held his ground in a wide-legged stance. He raised his sword into a guard position as Gwendafyn descended upon him.

  She kneed his gut, and he folded over her leg in a heave.

  Gwendafyn snatched up his hand that held his sword and shook it violently until he dropped his weapon.

  She rolled him off her leg and, at the same time, snaked her freed foot behind his knees and yanked them out from under him.

  He fell with a muffled oath, but before Gwendafyn could ask if he yielded, the third guard jumped her.

  He attacked her silently from behind. Gwendafyn only turned in time and blocked his strike because of the whistling noise the wooden swords made when they sliced through the air.

  Gwendafyn grinned. “Not bad,” she said in Elvish.

  The foreign tongue did not rattle him. Instead, the third guard pulled back and slowly circled her.

  Gwendafyn kicked the skinny guard’s sword away and planted a foot on his chest, pushing him back down when he tried to get up. He went down with a muffled cry but stayed down when Gwendafyn slipped away.

  Gwendafyn’s muscles finally started to protest the long-born abuse, and she felt that impossible door in her mind buckle. I’m going to have to end this fast, or I just might accidentally unleash that on this innocent guard.

  Gwendafyn backed away from the guard as he jabbed his sword at her. When he pulled back for another strike, Gwendafyn tried to kick him in the kneecap, but he dodged her.

  He’s got a good sword stance. I could best him eventually, but I think that might take too long. He’s guarded against my usual tricks, so what can I do that he wouldn’t expect?

  Gwendafyn narrowed her eyes and tuned out the cheers.

  Princess, Princess, Princess!

  For Calnor!

  Knock-him-out! Knock-him-o
ut!

  Briefly her eyes settled on Tari and Seer Ringali. Tari was cheering with as much exuberance as the rest of the soldiers. Seer Ringali, however, only quirked an eyebrow.

  The whistle of a wooden sword swinging jarred Gwendafyn back into focus. She leaned into a back bend—a move she had practiced for hours back home in Lessa—to avoid the guard’s horizontal slice. The move brought back to her memory the Evening Star dances and practice fights she had witnessed.

  A series of stances came to Gwendafyn’s mind—something fast and brutal enough to end the fight in moments.

  I’ve tried it on a dummy a few times, but never on a real person…but it will certainly catch him off guard.

  The guard tried a series of slashing attacks and nearly succeeded in popping Gwendafyn’s sword from her tiring grip.

  Yep, I’ll have to go for it.

  Gwendafyn chucked her sword at the guard. He deflected it with ease, of course, but Gwendafyn had only meant for it to be a distraction.

  She used his moment of preoccupation to leap on the edge of the wooden fence that surrounded the practice arena, and pushed off it in one smooth, continuous movement.

  Go, go, go!

  Mid-jump, Gwendafyn swung her legs forward. Rather than falling to the ground, she latched her calves around the guard’s head.

  As he staggered under her sudden weight, Gwendafyn swung like a pendulum. When she reached the height of her arc—nearly as high as his shoulder—she wrenched her calves to the side.

  This forced the guard down while Gwendafyn popped higher in a swinging, acrobatic move. With the advantage her momentum and higher position gave her—and the fact that he was half bent over—she was able to throw him to the ground, recovering just in time so she crouched next to him instead of falling with him.

  From there, it was easy to swipe up his own sword and plant her foot between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place.

  “Yield?” she said, her breath coming too hard to say more.

  “I yield,” he agreed.

  Gwendafyn hadn’t realized a hush had come over the ring at her unusual fighting move until the soldiers relapsed into roars that were louder than ever.

  She grinned and waved to her audience, then offered a hand up to the guard she had knocked down. “You did well!” She had to lean in and shout to be heard over the roars and whistles.