Codename Vengeance
Page 33
#
"Why did you do that?" Zanphir scolded sometime later as the two elfin ladies sauntered along the garden trail on their way back to their respective noble houses. "Pull out your wand like that. You could have gotten us in real trouble. You know my shrew of a mother would not approve and yours--"
"Careful, Zanphir. I have heard that the breeze whispers in your mother's ears, and mine can see all through the faintest candlelight," Ilona teased as she balanced a single flame on her finger.
Zanphir cringed. Ilona may have meant her words in jest, but there was much truth to them. Ilona's mirth turned to reflection as she pondered the fire on her finger. Why hadn't her spells worked? And her wand--it had never failed her before. Even now she could feel the magical instrument pulsing beneath her robes with powerful energy. It should have worked, she thought again. So intent was she upon her meditations that she failed to notice the shadow above her in the great Starwood elm, until it dropped directly in front of her.
Zanphir screamed and Ilona felt her attention warped suddenly back into the present. The flame on her finger grew at once into a ball of fire.
"My apologies," the intruder pronounced immediately, seeing the danger in the young mage's hand. "My intention was not to frighten you. I thought you heard my approach or I never would have dropped so near."
"It's the glaive lord," Zanphir squealed excitedly, "the victor in the arena." Despite her cunning, Zanphir had a knack for silliness, stating the obvious in any situation.
"Mithrain, son of Birindain, at your majestic service." The country elf grinned sheepishly and bowed before the ladies, with a flourish of his hat, much in the fashion of the pompous Du'ina.
Ilona could see from his clothes that he wasn't as poor as she had first imagined. Although he wore no mithril, his light armor was finely crafted of steel and iron chain, as good as any soldier in the field. His hat was old, but still noble in its design and stitching, the only addition being Du'ina's Griffin feather that sprung from it like a newly grown weed.
"And what do you want of us?" Ilona queried coldly as the fireball shrank to nothingness in the palm of her hand.
"Yes, what do you want?" Zanphir giggled, her new infatuation perhaps overshadowed by the prospect of a little noble snobbery.
"Want?" Mithrain echoed with mock surprise. "Only to share the spoils of my victory with the fairest maiden in all of elfdom." And with elaborate humility, Mithrain lowered his head in a deep bow and extended the Griffin feather towards Ilona.
"You want to give me your hat?" Ilona asked and Zanphir broke immediately into giggles. "A male's sweaty, soldier's cap."
"And not even in fashion," Zanphir added, half into Ilona's ear but loud enough for Mithrain to hear. The country elf stood erect, not yet offended, but certainly taken aback.
"No, of course not." He plucked the feather from the hat and extended it once again, adding the bow for good measure. Ilona looked at the feather, her eyebrow cocked.
"I have four at home," she lied. Despite her noble position, she had never owned a Griffin feather. They were hard to come by, even for the richest of houses. How Du'ina ever got one was a mystery to all.
"I'll take it," Zanphir exclaimed, snatching the feather from Mithrain's grasp.
He looked up, startled. "Well then. Please allow me to accompany you ladies on this starless night. There may be thieves about."
"Thieves? And what would you do about them?" Ilona asked, cocking her eyebrow once again. Mithrain withdrew his glaives with startling speed. Zanphir gasped, but Ilona hid her surprise behind a crooked grin. "So you intend to rob us, then?"
"What? No!" Mithrain was now completely at a loss. "Never! I seek only to protect you."
Ilona took a step closer. "And you think those pathetic slivers of iron could protect us?"
"I assure you, these are fine blades, crafted by--"
Ilona took another step, her unprotected chest drawing dangerously close to the cutting edge of Mithrain's glaives. "What makes you think we have need of your masculine protection?" She extended her palm and let the fireball rise once again.
Mithrain's eyes widened as he took an involuntary step backwards, the heel of his leather boot striking against the sturdy Starwood elm behind him. But Ilona would not let him retreat so easily. With a whisper, she was directly before him once again, the edge of his blade pressed up against her tunic.
"How about a contest, glaives master?" Ilona chewed her words like bitter herbs. "Your steel against my fireball."
Zanphir's childish giggles came to a sudden stop. Ilona had crossed the line of simple teasing. Mithrain was in real danger. He could not strike the incensed lady of the House of Fire, no more than he could strike his own sister, but he could not withdraw either, at least not with the stubborn elm pressed up against his retreating back foot. Ilona, too, understood the soldier's predicament, and she reveled in it.
"I suppose you are correct, fair lady," Mithrain said at last with just a hint of trepidation. "You have no need of my protection, no need at all."
"That is true, but you have not yet answered my challenge. Think of the honor you will gain in my defeat-- a high mistress of Xristhana's most noble House of Fire vanquished by the lowly blade of a country elf. But will the tip of your glaive find my heart before the words of my spell pass my lips? Let's find out, shall we?"
Ilona began her spell, but she did not finish. A bright flash blinded her momentarily, interrupting her chant, and reducing her fireball to a wisp of smoke. When she looked up, Mithrain was gone.
"Where did he go?" Zanphir asked stupidly. She looked down the path and up in the elm branches. "Vanished like the wind. Maybe he wasn't such a country bumpkin after all."
"Just tricks," Ilona corrected sharply, "childish tricks."
"Would you really have killed him?" Zanphir looked at Ilona with a puzzled expression, and then she laughed suddenly, not waiting for an answer. "Oh Ilona, what fun!" She skipped into the air with the grace of a dancer and sprinkled faery fire on the great elm's dangling branches.
Ilona shook her head at her silly friend, but an unsettling thought could not escape her consciousness. The glaive lord had won two duels this night, and although he did not know it, the second was much more dangerous than the first.
###
Visit David’s Website at:
https://davidwright812.wordpress.com/