“Well, you did make him look like a complete fool. I'm certain you would have been quite agitated as well,” she replied.
He made himself look like a complete fool. Ari thought. Her only real intention had been to win the hearts and minds of the other Lords and Ladies for future use. She didn't realize the High Lord would be so angry he would have to be walked out of the room in a seething silent rage.
“Don't worry, Lady Dothranan, I did help him feel better, although the thoughts that are doing so are not to your benefit,” she said cheerfully.
Ari knew well what those thoughts would be. Revenge.
And now she had just made it impossible to marry Thorel, without losing her Ladyship unless Quedesham had cooperated. A tear ran out of her eye, and her heart sank to depths of despair she had only known during the brutal ministrations of her stepmother.
* * *
Thorel took a drink of his wine with Hannon and his Lord father while they discussed the possibilities of the new Hold Ari had proposed. Or more accurately, Hannon and his father discussed it while Thorel would occasionally add something intelligent which was carefully chosen to keep himself from sounding foolish. He seemed to be doing a fair job, as they only seemed to laugh with him when he would say something, not at him.
When he was touched from behind unexpectedly, he nearly jumped out of his skin it was such a surprise. He turned and saw the man who Ari had pointed out as Lord Quarrel's son, with his father behind him. He was as tall as Ari without her boots, with his long black hair tied back into a ponytail. He wore a black silk robe, the same cut as his father's Master's robe, but it was undecorated. He had a long dagger on his side, which his hand gripped in a tight fist. His eyes blazed with hatred.
Thorel took a step back when he was confronted by him. This man wanted his blood, he could see it in his eyes.
He heard Lord Guithenus speak from behind him, “Milord Quarrel, is there a..,”
Lord Quarrel made a sharp gesture, and he saw Magik come him from that he had never seen. Lord Guithenus's voice was silenced mid-sentence.
The young man spat upon the ground in front of Thorel. The High Lady's behavior had been completely acceptable when compared to this insult. This was a gesture of such disrespect, the only response to such an act could be a thorough beating.
Thorel was shocked, then angered. He set his glass down and relaxed his body as Korin had taught him. He watched him intently, waiting for any sign he might try to draw that dagger.
“I am Ricard Quarrel, and I challenge you, commoner. I challenge you for the right to wed Great Lady Dothranan. I will kill you here before the High Lord, and then I will claim her as my own. Do you accept, or are you a common coward?” He looked up into Thorel's eyes.
Thorel wasn't sure how to respond. He knew well what his instincts told him; that he needed to pound this disrespectful man into a puddle of flesh and bone. But what is proper at this level? He was a Great Noble's son, so he watched and waited for a moment, then touched Ari's mind.
He barely noted Ari running towards him, with her skirts lifted to make speed. The High Lady followed her at a leisurely pace. “Ari, he has just challenged me to a duel, what should I do?”
She replied. “Kill him. That's what you have to do. Such a declaration is to the death, Thorel.”
“Asking your Mistress to let you off of your leash?” Jacon Quarrel asked in mockery.
“I am no dog, Milord. I will accept your challenge,” he replied, looking into Ricard Quarrel's eyes.
The High Lady's voice interrupted his thoughts. “Then the two of you shall go to the dueling area. Bards!” She called loudly. “Play something lively. A battle rhythm.”
Ari reached him and put her hands on his arm. “It will be alright, Thorel, I know you can win. You are superior.”
He just nodded. His mind was completely focused on what was about to happen. He walked with Ari, and they went to the weapons racks. Now I know why they are here. He thought as they approached.
“Choose your weapon sir,” a House Vallad guard by the rack said to him.
He heard the drums begin beating in a pounding rhythm that emulated his enraged heart.
“Will he really be able to marry you if I lose, Mistress?” Thorel asked Ari, with a seriousness he had never felt in his life.
“Yes, because you accepted the challenge. But if you had not, we would have no chance of marrying. It would bring too much shame to our House to marry a coward who would not defend me or my honor,” she said shakily.
“I will not let him have you,” he said with passion, looking into her eyes.
“I know,” she said looking into his. Tears rolled down her face, and they kissed, long and deeply.
The High Lord had apparently returned from his sojourn. “How touching,” his voice said from outside the circle. “Please, don't keep me waiting. I'm in the mood to see someone's blood tonight.”
They released their kiss, and she stepped away with a nod to him, her eyes apprehensive. They then took on the mask of control he had seen most often. The tears betrayed her fear though.
He saw Ricard Quarrel on the other side of the circular design on the marble floor, he had doffed his robe, but still wore his dagger. He wore no shirt but had a pair of loose black pants. He was well muscled and in good shape. He swung a long sword about himself in various forms with a practiced ease that disturbed Thorel.
Thorel took off his jacket, he could not afford to be restricted by it. Hannon stepped up to take it from him.
“Thank you,” Thorel said.
“You're welcome. Don't get killed. I have a lot of friends, but I think you're the best one. None of the others I know would have done what you did for me,” Hannon said sincerely.
“Then they aren't your friends man,” Thorel said, examining the weapons available.
Hannon just nodded quietly and stepped back.
Most of these weapons were not even familiar to him. Such as the spiked iron ball with a handle, or something similar with a chain between the handle and ball. Their use seemed clear enough, you strike your enemy with it, but he could not fight a skilled swordsman with something he did not know.
He was disappointed to see there was no staff. The closest thing he saw was a spear, but the shaft was too thin for his large hands. He saw another spear with a thicker shaft, but it was far too long for him to use as a staff. He knew the dagger well enough, and there were several to choose from. But the short reach of the weapon would certainly mean his death. He saw various axes, and while he knew how to use them to cut wood and trees, he would have no idea how to fight with one.
“Don't be so slow, commoner. You are only delaying the inevitable,” came Ricard's taunt.
Thorel ignored him to the best of his ability.
That left the various swords, of which there was as wide a variety as the daggers. He picked up a few of the shorter ones and tested their feel. He finally found the one that was the most comfortable. It was not his first choice of weapon, but it would be far better than a long sword. He was still not confident with this weapon though.
He closed his eyes and considered what he must do. He had to keep his blade away from him and use his other hand to grapple. All he had to do was either get the sword away from him or get a hold of him. Then he could win.
He stood straight and began stretching himself, as Korin had taught him. He bent down and placed his palms on the ground, then stretched his legs and arms. He took a few swings with the blade to be sure he knew it as well as he could.
Then he stepped into the circle. Lucia Vallad's voice rang out: “The duelists will bow to the High Lord before you begin.”
Thorel watched his opponent, waiting for him to turn. He did not feel it would be wise to show his back to this man. When he turned, Thorel did as well.
He caught Ari's eye before he looked to the High Lord and heard in his mind, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Ari,” he thought back.
&n
bsp; Thorel and Ricard bowed to High Lord Vallad, and he said: “May the spirits favor the most worthy, and may the loser die swiftly. You may begin.”
He turned back quickly to face this man, and it was well he did. Ricard rushed in and swung his blade right at him. Thorel moved back and circled to the side. His adrenaline had never burned in his veins like this: his heart had never pounded like this before either.
Ricard swung at him again, Thorel deflected the blow on his blade. Sparks were struck, and divots were made in the steel of both weapons. While he held his blade at bay, Thorel lashed out with a front kick and landed it solidly in his stomach.
Ricard reeled with the power of Thorel's kick: he hadn't expected it, obviously. He barely brought up his blade in time to deflect Thorel's swing. His blade was knocked askew, and he reeled back again, circling away to try to catch his breath.
Thorel stalked after him quickly as he evaded. Ricard went quickly about the circle. Thorel was not going to give him time to recover. This was not a game, there were no second tries in this contest.
Thorel pressed his advantage and came at him again: Ricard dodged quickly to the side and lashed out crosswise with his blade. Thorel jumped back, and his silk shirt was sliced neatly; the tip had just brushed his skin, leaving a thin red line in its wake.
Ricard came at him, swinging his sword in a deadly pattern. Thorel stepped back, and Ricard followed, forcing him back further. But when he understood the pattern, he struck the Ricard's blade hard enough to snap his own blade and send Ricard's flying.
The crowd parted with cries of alarm to let the long blade pass. Then it collided with solid air before Crown Lord Kendal and clattered to the ground. He planted his staff back on the floor, his face never changing during his intent viewing of the deadly contest.
This fight is over. Thorel thought as he grabbed the smaller man by the shoulder, ready just in case he would try to flip him as Korin would have. He dropped his broken blade and yanked him back, with all of his strength. His fingers dug into his shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain from Ricard.
There was a sharp pain in Thorel's thigh, and he staggered back, his right leg losing strength. The blood ran down the front of his pants, and Ricard came at him snarling with his long dagger in hand.
Fool! He cursed himself for forgetting his other weapon. Thorel circled away limping, waiting for his opponent to commit himself. He would not be able to kick properly, he knew. He doubted his injured leg would support him.
Ricard crept in cautiously, with his blade's point towards him. He had a look of grim determination on his face, it was a far cry from the mocking face he'd worn when this contest began.
He stepped in and slashed with his blade, Thorel's hand came up and blocked him at the wrist. Then he saw Ricard channel Magik, and his movements turned into a blur.
Thorel felt the blade penetrate his chest and struck with his fist where Ricard's head was, but touched nothing. Then he felt two more stabs, and his strength left him completely. He couldn't even see Ricard's movements they were so fast.
His felt the warmth draining from his body as he fell to his knees. The room went dark, with only the spirits he could see lighting his way.
He'd never realized how much of the body's strength was dependent on the muscles in his chest, he thought. Is that going to be my last thought? He wondered absently.
“THOREL!!!!” He barely heard Ari screaming dimly.
No, she will be my last thought....
* * *
As Ari screamed his name, she unleashed the most powerful bolt of lightning she could muster at Ricard Quarrel. She saw a shield come up quickly from his father. The pillar of white death dissipated against the strong shield his staff helped him to create.
Then she felt a cool hand at the back of her neck and heard her guards cry, “Mistress!” She began to channel power to deal with it when she felt a mind touch.
“Lady Dothranan, stop yourself, or I will kill you,” Lucia Vallad thought to her coldly. She could feel the High Lady's Magik gathered at the base of her skull.
Ari froze instantly. She knew well what she could do from that position. Tears rolled down her face; for Thorel, and how helpless she was now.
“Good, it seems you understand your situation. That saves me the time of explaining,” Lucia said with a pleased note in her voice.
Ari knew very well because many times when she had tried to resist her stepmother, she had done this very thing. “All I must do from here is destroy your reliquary gland, and you will not be a Wizard, ever. No spirit will ever attach to you again. You will still have the sight, but you will have nothing else. You will be a cripple to be pitied among us, not even able to activate a talisman as your pathetic father can. Would you like that, whore spawn?” She could hear her stepmother's voice still.
Ari's tears flowed freely, and she screamed in a helpless rage. She watched Thorel for any signs of life. She could see the wounds from here; she knew they were not survivable without immediate aid.
“Let me help him,” she cried.
“No,” High Lord Vallad said. She turned her head slightly and saw that her personal guard had been taken by the High Lord's guards. They had blades to their throats from behind, just as she did.
She could feel the electricity crawl over the skin of her neck, as Lucia Vallad held the channeled lightning in stasis, waiting for her to make a wrong move. There was no way she could defend herself from this position. She would see any attempt to channel instantly. All she would have to do is let it go.
“I think it is only fitting that in a duel to the death, that someone should die, don't you, dear?” He asked with a mocking smile looking at her, then his wife.
“Absolutely. Is there anyone who disagrees with this?” The High Lady asked the room.
Quiet, and not so quiet replies of “No, Milady,” Came from around the room.
She saw a House Vallad Wizard come to stand at Erlac Vallad's shoulder, and Crown Lord Kendal used his Magik to probe Thorel's still form.
Ari wanted to hope. She wanted to hope that there was some chance he might live. His Magik could be used while unconscious, she knew this with certainty. But the wounds he took... one of them was precisely where she had stabbed her father. She knew that wound alone would be fatal. A pathetic wail issued from her.
“He is dead, Milord,” Kendal said.
She screamed, pouring all the anguish she felt at this moment into it.
“Good,” he said. Then he addressed the steward by him. “Have someone come to clean this up.”
“Yes Milord,” the steward replied, pulling a stone from his case.
Ricard Quarrel walked up with a bloody towel in his hands, still shirtless. “I am looking forward to taking you home and shoving my cock in your ass, Dothranan. I won't touch your womanhood for a month to make sure the common stink has left it,” he said with a laugh.
The High Lady spoke with anger in her voice. “That was vile, young Quarrel. I'll hear no more of that if you wish to leave this tower with your tongue.”
He stepped back, startled. “My apologies, Milady. Please forgive me,” he said sincerely and bowed.
“Accepted. It was quite amusing though,” the High Lord said with a light laugh.
The High Lady touched her mind again; “Control yourself now. There are enough Wizards in this room that if you try anything foolish, your corpse will be incinerated alongside his.”
Ari sniffed and said, “Yes,” barely able to speak the word through her tears.
The High Lady released her. Ari stepped towards Thorel and fell to her knees. She was so weak with grief she couldn't even take the next step to him.
She collapsed where she was, and cried helplessly. That was when she heard a voice in her mind. “Ari,” it said.
She looked about, trying to see who had spoken to her mind, but she saw no Magik touching her.
“Ari,” she heard again. It was a woman's voice. She knew that voice from somewhere,
but she couldn't place it. By the spirits, I am going mad now! She thought. She began laughing hysterically through her sobs.
Then she heard a voice she could place.
“Mistress!” Siri cried and took a hold of her. Ari sobbed, without restraint. She felt Siri pull her up, and hold her to her.
“He's dead!” She cried.
“Yes Mistress,” Siri said, sadly. “I'm sorry, Mistress I should have been here, but I had to wait for the copies to be made.”
“Milord!” They heard a man cry.
“By the spirits,” several people muttered.
“Mistress! Look!” Siri cried.
* * *
Thorel opened his eyes and saw the lamb’s spirit on his chest, licking him. Then the little lamb faded completely from his sight. By the spirits, he felt so tired and wet. His clothing felt gummy and it stuck to his skin.
He pushed himself up, and a man next to him with a litter yelled, “Milord!”
What happened? He thought for a second, and then he remembered. He died. At least he thought he'd died.
“By the spirits!” He heard several people mutter.
He looked down at his chest. His wounds were gone.
Quarrel. Was the only thought in his mind now.
“But... I fucking killed you!” He heard Ricard yell.
“Lord Kendal, you said he was dead!” High Lord Vallad yelled.
“Milord he was, I am certain of it!” Kendal said in shock.
He pushed himself up and saw Ari sitting on the floor, being held by Siri, both of them were looking at him in pure disbelief. Ari's face was streaked with tears, and her makeup was smeared.
“I didn't mean to fail you. I'll do it right this time, I promise,” he thought to her.
Ari laughed hysterically and touched his mind. “By the spirits, you had better! Don't you dare put me through that again!”
He looked about the room, searching for Ricard Quarrel.
Then he saw him. He got to his feet and felt true rage. No one had told him that Magik was permissible. And this coward had taken advantage of his naivety.
Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1) Page 42
