Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 14: Servant of Destruction (new inclusion)

. . . Bryn . . .

"Ten thousand gold crowns to the man who kills me," the Lady shouted.

Five men stepped out of the crowd. The smallest amongst them was five-foot tall, stout, with skin grey and tough like the bark of a tree trunk.

"Are you sure about this, sister?" Balin, her twin squeaked, half afraid that she might indeed die.

Bryn smiled. "Pay the man who succeeds, Balin," she said.

Balin was not like her in most ways. He was tall and scrawny when she was slim and stark. He preferred the scroll and quill, where she favoured the blade. The only things they shared were their age and an obvious red hair. She had blamed him for her predicament. Her father had sent them far from home to study with Masters of Destruction magic to hide his weakness, while their brother, Balder, was flaunted in front of his vassals as the Highprince.

She wanted that, more than anything. She wanted to be the sword that defended her people.

War hammer was a weapon too crude for a girl, but Bryn cherished hers with affection which some might consider improper for something inanimate. She raised the heavy weapon to her shoulder and circled her gaze around the men eager to spill her blood on the floor.

"Little girl," one of the men said, "that's no toy. Drop it before you hurt yourself."

"And forfeit our gold?" another added quickly, "you best watch your mouth, Gwinr."

The men rounded Bryn, picking up stances of swordplay. Bryn felt the cold metallic handle of her warhammer. The weapon was lighter on her hand than it looked or perhaps because she had swung it too often. The men circled her, moving from stance to stance, hard faced and confident.

She studied the men. They were eager to take on her because they thought she was the daughter of a prominent trader come to learn at the Tower of Destruction. Most of them would challenge her for the fun of putting a girl in her place, while the others would do it for the gold. In didn't matter. As long as they were ignorant of the fact that she was sister to Balder, Highprince of Bjaarmaland, they would not cringe in fear.

Bryn gestured. The signal was a nod.

The first man stepped away from the rank, brutishly pushing the man beside him aside. He was a burly man with beards brown as the falling leaves of summer. He growled a battlecry and raised his short sword. Bryn moved away quickly. She feigned an upwards block with her warhammer, pretending to parry the man's strike, but shifted quickly as the man's sword descended. It struck the marbled floor sending sparks of fire in the air. Bryn had moved behind him already, the spiked head of her warhammer leaving a mark across his belly.

The burly man paused and looked down. His stomach ripped open and his bowels dropped out in a mixture of blood, offal, and sticky goo.

He was dead in minutes.

Bryn stood to her feet, eyes set upon the remaining four. The men withdrew back, not eager to engage.

"The offer has gone up," she smiled, "twenty-thousand gold crowns."

Balin came forward and grabbed her arm. "That's enough, sister. You have always being obsessed with proving your superiority. Father is not here and no matter how much you try, you will never be him. You will never be Balder."

Bryn forced her arm from his grip and shoved him aside. He was wrong. She would be just as good as her brother if anyone had given her the chance and would lead men like he had done. Her mother's blood flowed in her veins. The woman had been a famous Swordmaiden, a warrior and companion to her father, the King of Bjaarmaland.