*Vera*

  As the Jarl strode confidently towards her, she watched the others behind him, taking note of the frown on the Inquisitor’s face, and the twins trading looks before the big man crowded her view.

  His own aura unfurled to battle hers for supremacy, and as he stepped over the line she had drawn, she crushed it. He screamed, eyes bursting in their sockets as fire erupted from every orifice in his head. His skull became a burning pyre, a monument to his screams of torment, and she saw the twin keepers and the lord of Escribar wince.

  She saw a white-robed hand rise in her peripheral vision as she pulled back her sword for the kill, and quickly aborted the strike. Instead, she kicked the Jarl full in the chest. He sailed back to land at the foot of the group even as the inquisitor’s hand came down, fire abruptly guttering within the man’s head.

  He picked himself up with an agonised groan, but flesh quickly re-knit and the jelly of his eyes filled once more. She shivered at the power displayed by the woman who had so casually reverted the world around her to a previous state, but kept the expression off her face as the Jarl spat and made to stride forwards once more.

  “Pretty skill,” he said, anger lacing his words as the cold face of the moon reflected off his now bald head. “let’s see you try that again with my axe in your friend’s skull.”

  And with that, his brutally curved axe was flying through the air, bloody light clinging to its head, straight at Lamb. He may have looked a brute, and given his position in the 3rd tier, he was nominally beneath her in strength now, but he was no fool. It had taken him only an instant to judge where her priorities lay, and he exploited them brutally.

  Vera cursed and moved to interpose herself, her sword deflecting the weapon and sending it thudding into the mud by her feet. The move had opened her companions on the other side though, and the jarl shot forwards, moving with a grace belied by his bulk.

  She knew she would be too late as he crossed the line she had drawn in the earth, second axe already whistling through the air towards the frozen form of Sadrianna, her eyes locked on a horizon only her and her companions could see.

  The Iron Wall had lasted no more than a few heartbeats in the face of the Sunset Court, and as Vera watched death come for her charge, she let go of the dream of protecting her countrymen from the coming chaos and instead committed herself to vengeance once more.

  Then the Jarl stopped, blood bursting from his lips and his momentum halted completely. The Inquisitor was suddenly on edge once more, both hands raising into the air, fingers splayed like a composer before an orchestra.

  She felt the comforting aura of ancient woodlands and deep time, and her lips split into a savage grin as Jorge arrived. She hadn’t noticed him appear despite her new power, and it served as a reminder that the gulf between 4th tiers was far larger than the tiers themselves. Traditional advancement broke down somewhat when one reached the peak, and she was glad of the reminder, shooting a glance at the Inquisitor even as she felt her shoulders relax a fraction at Jorge’s familiar presence.

  Jorge withdrew his spear from the Jarl’s body and it tried once more to knit itself together again under the influence of the Inquisitor’s strange magic, but Jorge spoke aloud.

  “No, lass. This man’s life ain’t yours any longer.”

  He hoisted the mountain of a man up with one arm as easily as one would a babe, and his eyes flashed. Orange light bloomed behind them, racing through the veins in his neck and down one arm before pulsing through the body of the Jarl. He disintegrated instantaneously, and as Jorge dropped his arm, he surveyed the figures before him.

  “It’s mine. My friend here already told you the price of crossing that line, aye?”

  Another brief moment of silence greeted his words while Jorge and Vera stood shoulder to shoulder before the now slightly diminished Sunset Court.

  “You want us out of here? Bring your army. I won’t have any trouble gutting you all right here where you stand. Now fuck off.”

  The twins shifted, trading another glance beneath their deep cowls. The Lord of Escribar took an involuntary step back, and only the High Inquisitor seemed unbothered by the exchange. She sighed, as if put out by children squabbling, though Vera could tell it was a mask to cover her concern.

  “No matter. We shall return, as you say, at the head of our army. Make no mistake, we will prevail here, and all of this?” she said, gesturing around at the battlefield that was the former Castle Ryonic. “All of this will have been a pointless waste of time and life.”

  Jorge shrugged, and Vera found herself immensely glad to have somebody else to shoulder the burden of talking. She was still privately trying to wrestle with the power surging through her body, begging her to throw herself into a violent battle with the people before her and damn the consequences.

  “I doubt it, lass,” was Jorge’s calm response. “Think you’ll all be a mite distracted in a few moments.”

  “Oh?” the woman asked, a single delicate eyebrow rising in question beneath her slim silver circlet.

  “You haven’t felt it yet?” he asked in surprise. “Shame for a 4th tier to be so out of tune with the world, in my opinion. But hey, you’re not here to listen to an old man’s rambling, are ya?”

  Vera smirked as she heard her friend’s thick brogue come heavily to the fore. Clearly, he had been tested below the earth against Markas, but his presence implied a reassuring victory. If he could face that man and survive then she doubted he would struggle against whatever the Sunsets could provide. Even the High Inquisitor – a pre-eminent power in the Sunset Kingdoms that safeguarded it from acquisition by the lords of the Riverlands or other hostile powers – wasn’t a foe of the calibre of that man.

  “As I said, fuck off back to your army, and perhaps you’ll make it home in time to prevent the collapse of your own little piece of this world, aye?” he said with a patronising flick of his chin.

  She narrowed her eyes, but otherwise took his advice, the retinue trundling back down the cobbled road in short order.

  Only once they had left earshot did Jorge turned to her, his eyes fever bright and shining in the moonlight. “That was close. I’m sorry I took so long, lass.”

  “You made it. That’s all that matters,” she replied, reassuring her mentor and friend with a smile and a clap on the shoulder. Relief burned through her, leaving her muscles weak and legs wanting to buckle.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Jorge’s next words nearly made it happen in truth though.

  “I’m nearly out, Vera. Markas was…he nearly finished me.”

  Her eyes widened at the look of pain that came over his face, and she asked; “Is he dead?”

  Jorge winced and shook his head. “No, lass. He’s fled and won’t be back. Not your problem.” He flashed a weary smile then. “I’m spent though. Dry as a bone. Empty as a barbarian’s drinking horn. More tapped out than a noble in a mud wrestling-”

  “Okay, okay, shut it.” Vera interrupted him, punching his shoulder but unable to fight off the smile. He grinned at her, though there was a touch of exhaustion pulling at his weather-beaten face still.

  “What’s the plan, then?” she asked.

  Jorge looked to the sky, squinting and staring into the deep blue-black sky, just above the horizon. Stars twinkled high above in the firmament, and the gentle light of the moon kissed the tops of the forest. It was a night that brought back memories of her childhood, and her heart soared in unexpected joy as she realised they might have a shot at surviving this. Of fulfilling her promise to her aunt, and the vow in her own heart.

  “Not long now,” he mused, scratching his chin absent-mindedly. “We just need to hold out a little longer.”

  Even as he said it, he looked back to the open fields below and frowned. The retinue had returned to their army, and she could see figures dismounting and moving to support their own companies. She spotted the deep green of Escribar’s men – a large, fairly homogenous contingent to the left of the field, standing in orderly ranks – and next to them the jumbled mass of the Jarl’s men. They seemed in relative disarray, but that was expected of them even in the best of times so it was hard to draw conclusions from that, though it was likely that the Jarl’s death would have an impact.

  The Inquisitor stayed with her chariot, the silent twins – Keepers of the Lillyflower Consortium – with her even as their own force positioned itself on the far side.

  “Can we?” she asked, watching the army begin to move.

  She felt the tremor in the earth as a hundred war-horses stepped forwards in unison as the Crimson Company moved ahead of the foot soldiers, The Fractal Edge at their head aside his own destrier.

  “Fuck if I know,” Jorge replied, and she snorted. His casual reassurance was a balm for the soul, but she did worry, in spite of the feigned bravado.

  “I can disrupt that cavalry charge, but I can’t hold off the whole army, Jorge. What if-”

  “Peace, lass,” Jorge counselled as he interrupted her. “I will take care of the charge, you slow down the rest of them. Don’t engage that woman in white – she’s a menace and tricky besides. Just stick and move, aye?”

  Vera took that in for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Telanin by the way – the High Inquisitor of the Council of Aerlyn – one of the most powerf-”

  Once again, he interrupted her, though this time he seemed more serious. “I don’t give a shit who that trumped up torturer is, girl. Just buy us some time, aye?”

  Vera frowned at the tone, taken aback, but one look at his faraway expression told her politeness was the furthest thing from his mind right now. He turned to her then, eyes shining with intensity once more.

  “Vera, listen. Don’t die, aye? No heroic sacrifices, no last stands; Guardian, not Hero, yeah?”

  She nodded hesitantly, suddenly apprehensive. She knew to what he referred, but that was a conversation many years back, and if his thoughts were on those times…he meant to do something stupid.

  “Same to you, old man,” she said gravely, gripping his shoulder. “Don’t-”

  He winced and looked over to the approaching army, and Vera took a moment to cast her senses wide. She noted how the steady trot had turned into a canter, and knew they had no more time. She gave him a final nod, unable to resist some parting words.

  “Thank you, Jorge. It’s been an honour.”

  And then she was off, running from the broken castle with sword in hand and fear in her heart. Not for herself, never for herself. But for Jorge. For Nathlan and Lamb, Sadrianna and Jacyntha. And most importantly, for the people of the Marchlands, whose fate would be decided one last time on this night.

  She reached the line of charging cavalry and slipped her shoulder low, leaping up to spin through the air. Wind rushed past her ears, and her newly enhanced senses just about picked up Jorge’s final words, said quietly as she left.

  “Don’t go dying on me, lass.”

  And then her sword was slicing through the air, and she collided with The Fractal Edge astride his great horse in a concussion of steel and flesh.

  *Fandar*

  Fandar watched the woman he had loved for a decade face down a cavalry charge of peak 2nd tier mercenaries, led by one of the most dangerous men in the Sunset Kingdoms. Alone. He clenched his fists, squeezing the hilt of the great bow he had carved from a Corrupted Mangrove with his own hands.

  The wood creaked, though he knew he was in no danger of breaking it. The magic woven through the weapon was enough to elevate him from a moderately powerful fighter to a high-level threat on any battlefield. He knew he could fight, had trained many of the Marchers himself, as his rebels had taken to calling themselves. But when he looked down to the field below and saw the bloody path Vera carved through that initial charge, he knew they were not cut from the same cloth.

  Much like that enigmatic old man she had returned to the Marchlands with, who even now was kneeling on the ground some 10 meters beyond the broken remains of the gate. Fandar frowned, momentarily distracted, as he watched the old man punch the earth, cracking cobble and carved stone, before reaching to his neck and fumbling at something.

  He pulled out a necklace, by the look of it, and then, with a reverent kiss and a murmur that Fandar could not catch, he crushed it and let the metal links crumble away. He held a seed, and with dextrous movements, pressed it to the earth, kissing it once more before spreading his arms wide and looking to the heavens with closed eyes.

  Lyrical, lilting chants rose in the air from his mouth, and Fandar assumed he was casting some sort of spell. It had better be a powerful one, considering the growing speed of the cavalry charge heading their way. The four warriors behind him, Vera’s other companions, were still spread below, holding the gate, but they hadn’t moved for an eternity.

  Vera had told him to keep his rebels alive, and that she and hers would handle the majority of the killing. He hadn’t liked it, but did see the sense. This night was decisive, but in many ways it was also simply the first of many battles.

  He hadn’t expected to face both the Sultanate and the Sunset Court on the field, and a large part of him had despaired when they had emerged from the forest, though the arrival of the old monster, and Vera’s ascension to the 4th tier, had bolstered his courage somewhat.

  But someone would need to be here to support the country. Someone had to patrol the roads, clear the Marshes, protect the mineworkers and enforce order. A country couldn’t survive on the edge of one blade, after all.

  He had faith in her, as did any that had lived and fought through the early years of the rebellion, and especially so those who had joined towards the end of them as he had. But as he watched the kneeling man thrust his arms out and beseech the heavens, he began to doubt. He looked from the unbroken line of horse flesh and armour thundering towards them over the muddy plain to the unmoving forms of the barbarian warriors at the ruined wall, and he cursed.

  He turned and signalled to a dozen of his Marchers to abandon the wall and reinforce the gate. He cringed internally as he sent them to their likely deaths, but there was no point in holding the walls if the enemy breached the courtyard, and he couldn’t risk the entire country on his faith in the woman he loved, much as he might wish to.

  If he were wishing for things, Fandar was honest enough to admit that he wished he could be out there with her, watching her back and supporting her in her mad struggle. As much as he wanted to let his heart rule him though, he was a leader of men first. He had his duty, and it was to his Marchers, and to the people of the Marchlands entire. He could not afford to throw his life away for love, much as it seemed the only right thing to do at this moment.

  He sighed, conjuring an arrow that he poured all of his frustration and longing into. Yearning Through The Heart was a powerful skill, and he sighted down the length of the spectral, translucent arrow towards the mercenary captain still reeling in his saddle and turning to cast a lance towards the back of Vera as she ran through and past the charging horses.

  He breathed slowly, evenly, letting emotion leave his own heart as he steadied his chest. A moment to confirm, and then release. An eternity of longing, a fervent wish in the night, and then his arrow found its mark, sinking to the fletching in the chest of his foe.

  What she had started all those years ago, her and her original band of revolutionaries, he had kept alive. Like the flame of love that burned within his own breast, so too had he nurtured a small band of fighters even after she had left.

  Fitting then, that he should be the one to kill The Fractal Edge. What Vera started, Fandar would finish. So may it ever be.