The Unworthy and The Damned

by Billy Wong

  "Will do."

  For the next weeks Celia and Edge stayed in the hideout, waiting for her father to make progress. Training with Edge helped her improve her stamina, while she gave him pointers on defense. They seemed pretty evenly matched when they sparred despite him spending more time on the offense, which she was satisfied with. He made fast friends with Ted, teaching him many a trick with knife and axe, and even Mom who had initially been wary soon warmed up to him. Celia supposed he did have charm, though his frequent compliments towards her mother's looks made her feel awkward. Still, it was harmless enough. Dad didn't report getting any closer to learning who hired the assassins, but they heard the possibly related attacks on other merchants had stopped, and after a while dared to come out of hiding and return to the manor. Two months passed with no more attacks, and they thought it might be all right to relax a bit. Whoever had marked them for death was likely still out there, but maybe they'd given up for now. Edge suggested one of their other targets might have found out their identity, and offed them in turn. If only they could be that lucky, but Celia and her dad both doubted it.

  With defense from assassins no longer such a priority, Edge left their service as a bodyguard and began taking on other jobs. But he stayed in town and remained friends with Celia and kin, often visiting. She suspected he was taking the slow route in trying to romance her, but didn't mind it. On occasion the two of them met up with Lina to eat, chat and reminisce about their journeys. One day while drinking spirits together, they heard news the country had feared was coming. "The king is dead!" a man said as he ran into the tavern. "Long live the queen!"

  "Damn, so he couldn't make it after all," Edge breathed. "I hope Elly is okay."

  Celia hoped so too, and long live Queen Elly for sure, but she also hoped she was sufficiently prepared to handle it.

  #

  Elly wept on her knees in front of her father's open casket, body shaking uncontrollably. "It's too soon," she sputtered to nobody in particular, "I'm not ready! I'm sorry Father, I'm sorry everyone! But I'm not... I can't..."

  "You have to calm down a bit," Lynn said behind her. "I understand how you must feel, but you're queen now. You can't let the people see you like this. You're the strongest person I've ever seen, I know you can get through this."

  "What does strength matter in this? Can strength bring back the dead?"

  "No, but I didn't just mean physical strength. It may not be able to bring your father back, but I believe you have the mental strength to lead the kingdom as he did and make his spirit proud."

  She got her sobs mostly under control, but remained kneeling staring at the floor. There were people who believed in her, yet she didn't know if they really should. On top of her own doubts about herself, many senior officials didn't seem to trust her, and second-guessed her every action. It wasn't as if she could hand the throne over to someone else, though. She would have to make do as best she could, however less than ideal the situation was.

  She had just stood up when a guard ran inside behind her. "Your Majesty, a group of frightful warriors calling themselves The Heroes has entered the capital asking to see you." So the ones who incited the masses to seek blood were finally here. She'd heard much talk of them lately, and hoped they would be more reasonable than rumor held.

  Standing off to the side with his arms folded over his chest, Cyril asked, "Should I handle this?"

  Elly wiped her eyes and turned for the door. "No. As queen, I shouldn't let this first opportunity to show my strength slip away. I'll meet these warmongers and set them straight."

  Along with Cyril, Lynn, Reginald, Marcus and a contingent of guards, she met The Heroes before the castle where a large crowd had gathered. They were a savage-looking gang of eleven men and two women, some wearing war paint, clad in armor decorated with spikes, chains, and pads in the shape of animal heads or skulls. In rough scarred hands, they carried similarly ornate large weapons. Their leader Gunther towered over them, an ogrelike brute resting a sword those tip flared out like an axe over his shoulder. They said he was a peerless warrior, who easily defeated every foe he met. It made Elly curious how true that was, and if it would still be true when this day ended.

  "Queen Eleanor," he boomed, "wonderful to make your acquaintance at last! You don't look so imposing, but the legends of your valor are the envy of most any warrior. You should gather your troops, and we can seize the glory of righteous war together!"

  She scowled. "War is never glorious. If you're an experienced warrior and don't recognize that, I question your humanity."

  "You question my humanity?" He chortled. "What saintly talk from a monster who's slain two thousand men by her own hand. Why just sit here and endure raids from our neighbors, always on the defense and never striking back? We should sweep into their lands, raze them and teach them as in the Age of Heroes we are not to be trifled with."

  "The raids aren't officially endorsed by the rulers where they come from, and we kill plenty of the attackers anyway. But if we invade in retaliation, it'll be all out war, and far more lives will be lost than necessary."

  "So? Are some heroic deaths not acceptable in order to dominate the continent, and assert our strength as it should be?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "I think your mind is addled."

  "No, but it is enlightened. I've experienced the past through the eyes of ghosts, and know the glory of just war. I'm disappointed in you. Since you too were a famed warrior, I thought you would understand my heart."

  "Maybe the past you viewed was distorted, as your ghost's memories were warped by nostalgia and wanting to give meaning to its death. It's unsurprising some would romanticize war in their own minds, but we as leaders should see reality for what it is."

  That seemed to give Gunther pause. "You think the Age of Heroes wasn't what it's sung to be?" He shook his head. "I can only go by what I've seen. Besides, it is justified defense for our nation."

  "I've already told you why it isn't. You all will stop encouraging citizens to support such foolishness. I won't ask again."

  "You won't ask again? What empty words. I know you were once a strong warrior, and hoped you would still have that fire inside you. But it seems you have become as weak as people said, and no longer one to respect. If the soft queen won't ride with us, we'll raise our own army and carve out our destiny!"

  Marcus stepped forward. "You dare defy the queen's order? Guards, seize-"

  Elly held up a hand. "There's no need." She scanned the faces of the men and women who sneered at her, as if she were a traitor to some cause they imagined they should share. "I didn't want to use violence, but it seems you all desperately seek blood. Is that what you wish for?"

  "Yes, blood!" shouted a bald man with a tattooed face.

  A lean scarred woman, a dozen piercings in her lips, nose and cheek, spat, "Blood from foreigners or blood from the coward queen, it matters not!"

  Gunther shrugged. "I had not planned to kill you when I woke up today. But if you would bar our path, perhaps we will cast down a weak monarch and rebuild this land in the image it deserves.

  "I see, so you would go this far." She smirked. "Then, I will give you the violence you ask for. Sword, come." Her trusty hilt materialized in her hand and she gripped it tight, grin widening.

  The man and woman who had spoken were the first to advance, along with a rotund warrior in white face paint. Elly ducked the bald one's sword slash and sliced through his waist while darting past him. She cleaved the woman's chest open and then changed direction towards the fat man. He couldn't even raise his warhammer to guard before her blade passed through his neck. All three fell almost simultaneously in sprays of blood, and people gasped. Moving so fast, she must have looked to most like she disappeared and then reappeared in front of each opponent, ripping their bodies apart in the process.

  "What the hell happened?!" demanded a gangly Hero with long spindly spikes on his armor, eyes big as saucers. "She just... how did she..."

  "It seem
ed I may have misjudged your weakness," Gunther said.

  She swiped her sword down, flinging some of the blood off it. "You can still back down. I won't insist on killing all of you if you do."

  He laughed uproariously. Not so unexpected. "Back down? How can you be so strong, and yet not understand? This is the kind of challenge I live for! You should come at me with everything you have, so whichever of us walks away, I can end this day satisfied."

  "I do understand your sentiment, although it's a childish one. But still, I must admit I hold some of it too."

  "Are you sure, Your Majesty?" Cyril asked behind her.

  "I've hardly become too rusty to fight my own battles." She adjusted her stance, bringing her sword up. "Come, Gunther. Let's see how much strength there is behind your vision of war." She burst at him, faked a chop at his shoulder but turned it into a stab at his eyes instead. He swayed deftly out of the way, swung back. She jumped away, shot right back in swifter than a snake. He intercepted her weapon with his own, the ringing collision between them so loud many watching covered their ears and turned away. While he didn't move around as much, his reflexes might be a match for her own. But maybe he could only react to one such strike easily, and would not be able to keep up with a barrage. She slashed away, stepping this way and that to pressure him from many angles. Still his defense held up, forming a web of light reflected off steel around him with the parries and blocks, and people backed away before the thunder of their clashes. He locked blades with her and his scarred lips peeled back in a grin.

  He surged forward, throwing all of his greater weight and—he assumed—strength against her. At first she was forced back, but she set her back foot and halted him in his tracks. They snarled at one another, straining to push their weapons forward against one another's. He let go of his hilt with one hand and punched at her. She met his fist with her elbow, making him wince as bone thudded against bone. Both pushed back, he took a moment to shake his hand while she flexed her arm.

  "You're stronger than you look," he said.

  She gave her sword a casual twirl. "You're faster than you look."

  "We may be the only ones in the world worthy of each other. Perhaps you should be my wife."

  "I don't choose my friends based on physical prowess, let alone my mates." Although she would like her husband to be strong, but it wasn't the sole qualification. "Besides, it's hubris to assume you're the best warrior in the world... or even one of the two best." She was tempted to glance back over her shoulder at Cyril and wink, but that didn't seem appropriate at the moment especially when she was queen.

  Gunther shrugged. "Perhaps. Yet you are hardly one to talk, given you stake everything on your own strength out of pride."

  He... had a point. But it wasn't too hard to find an excuse. "I am queen. My strength represents the country's strength."

  "Then if you lose, will you accept my way as the right?"

  "We'll get to that after the battle's decided!" She attacked, taking a different approach. Instead of trying to overwhelm him from all directions, she thrust rapidly straight ahead, hoping for him to slip up making small shifts of his blade to ward her subtly changing angles. He growled as a poke slipped past his axe-sword and opened up a gash on his cheek, retaliated with massive sweeping cuts. His recklessness might've opened him up to a pivotal counter, if he didn't come forward so fast and furious even she scrambled back. A guarded upswing knocked her off balance, and he pounced cleaving down. She caught it on her raised blade, the impact so hard pain shot through her shoulders. Almost driven to her knees, she just managed to keep her footing and shoved his weapon aside. She'd best not let him get any more momentum. Before he could bring the axe-sword back up, she flipped forward into a somersault kick. Teeth clacked together as his head snapped back. She landed on her feet and smiled while he touched his mouth, though the sweat plastering her dress to her back was getting decidedly uncomfortable. "First and second blood to me."

  His wide face seemed to grow wider as he bared red teeth in a grimace. "Your moves are impractical. If you were a normal warrior, they would get you killed."

  "That's just how advanced I am. But yeah, they sure don't teach that in the training yard. Hence why the yard can't prepare you for me."

  "You speak to me as if I were a stripling fresh out of training? I have been on a hundred battlefields, and killed as many small, jumpy midgets like you."

  Midget? She thought she was barely below average height for a girl. They stalked each other, feinting and prodding as they searched for a lapse in the opponent's focus. Elly changed her stance a few times, attempting to lull Gunther into becoming impatient. He didn't fall for it, so she finally initiated, lunging in with a high stab. Instead of guarding in a standard fashion, he caught the tip in his gauntleted hand and tried to pull her forward onto his sword-axe. She just twisted aside, the edge scraping her belly so her skin stung and liquid warmth flowed. He let go of her blade and punched her, a monstrous haymaker to her chin that sent her stumbling. His great hunk of metal whooshed towards her neck.

  She ducked albeit clumsily and spun under it into a kick to his knee. He staggered momentarily, and she followed up by bashing his nose upward with her pommel. Reeling away, he waved his weapon frantically to keep her back, but she dashed in after a wild swing and cut him across the belly. He merely hissed, but a deeper gash on the backswing forced a yelp from his lips. Crimson gushed forth over his gut and crotch, but it seemed she had just missed disemboweling him. He leaned back from her next slash and rallied, his riposte drawing a red spray from her shoulder when she failed to fully avoid it. Blood quickly soaked her dress. As she gritted her teeth in pain, he sought to surprise her with a kick at her face. She bent backwards under his boot, saw a chance. Reaching up to grab his ankle, she yanked forward so that he flew onto his back. He sat up just in time for her to run him over with a knee to the face. Turning around to see him roll over on the ground, she waved him up.

  He lurched to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as he spat out broken teeth. "I'll admit, the midget can fight," he choked out, not conveying half the bravado he probably intended.

  "Surrender. It's not dishonorable to admit when you're wrong."

  His eyes glittered madly. "Hypocritical of you isn't it, trying to 'prove' your view right with strength?" She would've retorted that he had invited it, but before she could he added, "Besides, I'll never accept you being stronger than me!" He came on with axe-sword overhead, screaming some gibberish. She stood ready, expecting a sloppy attack she could evade with ease. He struck before even getting in reach. Desperation did turn experts into amateurs. Then, in mid swing, an angry red light lanced from the blade. What the? She raised her weapon to block, felt a massive impact against it which flung her from her feet, tumbling across the stone. She rolled to a crouch with her forehead bleeding, the blast had thrown her to the ground so hard. A huge rift gaped anew in the pavement, torn there by his attack.

  Elly stared at his newly red glowing blade. "The hell is that?"

  Gunther laughed. "This is the sacred sword of Lord War, carried by Valens the Deliverer a millennium past. Your one God is but a weak, powerless sham. It is the old gods who grant magic, while your 'God' gives you nothing but despair as your prayers go unheeded."

  "God gives us the strength to make our own fate," she spat.

  "Is that why you use the blessings of the old gods yourself, such as that ring that lets you call your unwieldy sword?"

  "Do you think I couldn't carry it on my person? I just prefer not to look so heavily armed."

  "But what about your other rings? Is your power truly from God, or do they give your strength, speed, and perhaps your skill itself?"

  She let silence reign for terse seconds, then strode over to Lynn. Taking the rings off her admittedly frail looking fingers, she placed them into her friend's palms. "Ell—I mean, Queen Eleanor..."

  "Hold these for me until I'm done." She walked back to face Gunther and spr
ead her arms. "Is this what you wanted? Me, with just my strength given by God, against you with your god's weapon?"

  She had to credit him for perhaps a hint of remorse in his frown. "You chose to take off your rings."

  Well, they didn't give her any strength or speed let alone skill, just the ability to use some mostly aesthetic effects. "I did choose. Then, do your worst!" Without another word, she rushed. His sword-axe swept down. At the very last moment, she slid under the blast, the blade, and between his legs. He leapt up, clearing her sword which would otherwise have split his groin and lower torso. As she passed under him, she hurled it. He spun to face her again—and froze, the blade transfixing him through the sides of his tree trunk neck.

  "Sword, come," she said, then looked at her finger as if puzzled the ring wasn't there. "Oh. I forgot I couldn't do that." Gunther reached up slowly, hand shaking, then collapsed dead. She had given him enough chances. If death in battle was truly what he demanded, so be it.

  Voices rose from the crowd. "Did she really just..?"

  "Just like that!"

  "Queen Eleanor is the strongest in the world!"

  "Eleanor the Worthy!"

  That last one made her clench her jaw a bit. Now the remaining Heroes charged, faces twisted in rage, some slobbering with it. Still intent on following their leader wherever he went, even into death? They were like rabid dogs that needed to be put down. She stepped over to Gunther's corpse and unsheathed her weapon from his neck, picked up his in her other hand. As his comrades closed in, she broke into a whirling, hacking frenzy. Blood and body parts flew everywhere, and gasps pierced the air. She caught a glimpse of Lynn gaping in horror, and even Marcus and Reginald had turned pale. Maybe she could have handled that a little less brutally, but it would also do to make an example for her enemies.

  When it was over, she stood covered in blood, her dress heavy as armor with it. Surrounded by carnage, she said, "These people called themselves heroes for glorifying the ideals of a barbaric age. What they failed to understand is that that time is gone, and what passed for a hero then is but a savage in this modern world. Yet just because we are not savage, does not mean we aren't strong! We wish for peace, but we cower not under the threat of war. God has granted us the strength to overcome all obstacles, and I swear that under my leadership, we will!"