Penthos: The Guardian Sea

Chapter Thirty-six: Hell Hath No Fury

Arielle watched in horror as her once best friend and his brother attacked Serapheme. She shrieked and writhed, spitting Lightfire at them aimlessly. The same Lightfire as Arielle’s dragon self.

     Once or twice the Narientel boys were able to draw blood, but Serapheme mostly kept their swords from her hide with her fire. At this point, even to Arielle, it was hard to tell which brother was which. She lost track between one breath and the next; in another, Serapheme snapped out her left wing to evade an attack and sent one of the boys flying. Right into Arielle’s arms.

     With a shock she realized she had received the older brother, Germaine. He looked dazed for a moment. He opened his eyes. Germaine’s eyes. He seemed to actually see her as he had before he’d left the Realm. His face was suddenly brighter and warmer, and he almost cracked a smile. Then the magic of the Nrikrotus took over once more and his face shut down, his glowing eyes dulled by that venomous black mist. He stared once more at her, void of all emotion.

     She tossed him to the ground like a disgusting slug. He snapped around in the air as he fell, catching himself on his hands and landing in a crouch. He held his sword arm out. He was left-handed with the blade, like Arielle. His blade was cast of the same material as Darius’s, but didn’t smell of the evil poison that her uncle had used to murder her father. She looked around for a weapon as Germaine settled his gaze on her. She saw that one of the nobles—Jarissein’s father, in fact—was wearing a sword. They usually used swords for show in Penthos, as there hadn’t been need for weaponry since the Battle of the Elements in the beginning of the Realm, or if they’d battled in the Royal War when the Royal Family took power and defeated the Watchers the first time. But Rhyorden, being a military man, carried one that was as lethal as it was beautiful. Without preamble she put her hand to the soft leather hilt and drew his sword.

     The blade unsheathed was even more beautiful than it had been when it was resting in its home. It was folded white steel, inlaid with rubies near the base. The hilt was made of gold wrapped in silver, with one large ruby set in the end like a giant pulsating red heart. She held it with two hands for grip, even though her demonic strength would allow her to handle even the heaviest of swords with naught but two fingers.

     She heard the crowd back up behind her as she took her stance against Germaine. She glanced at her mother, who was handling Hugo well enough. Jarissein had joined her and was keeping Hugo’s sword off of Serapheme’s hide as well as he could. She saw that her siblings were all huddled around their father, crying and clutching at his dead body. She took this all in with a single glance, and it took only that glance to feel her rage grow cold and sharpen her senses. Germaine, once her friend, once her lover, now her enemy, would die tonight. She was sure of it.

     With that sadistic image burning in her mind, she attacked.

Darius sat back and watched both battles ensue.

     He had expected the dragoness to fight well, as she had been trained by his brother. He was surprised, however, that she had taken her dragon form. It amused him, but concerned him all the same. It was hard to kill a dragon. But on the other hand, of the demonic breeds and types, pure-blooded dragon demons healed the slowest. It made him all the more glad he was a mix of blood.

     The battle disinterested him when the little wolf boy joined the dragoness. It made the fight boring, and not one that Hugo was likely to win, he knew. So he turned his attention to the ruckus nearer the castle walls.

     Germaine had been sent flying by Jhordyn’s wife earlier on in the battle between dragoness and dragon boys, and had landed in the middle of the crowd huddled against the grey stone—right on top of the Little Lightress. She’d thrown him down to draw the sword of the man standing nearest to her. She was now battling him with an intense fury that he hadn’t expected of her. She would slash and hack at the Narientel boy with such warrior’s skill and naked hatred that he would barely have time to defend himself, much less sneak an attack between. Darius pushed his blade into the ground and leaned on the hilt like a cane, smiling at her anger. Even the Guardian of Light could be tempted to sin.