The Eastern Woman

The White Wizard

"Shut up!" she commanded. She raised her  sword, pointing it straight at the old man's still smiling face. "Don't challenge my patience, and don't even think for a second that I'm afraid of you. Decide, old man: live or die."

The Wizard put his hand on his side.  "I appreciate courage in all its forms. And you have plenty to sell, though ... others would call it arrogance."  He told her.  "Only, I don't understand how such a daring girl is at the same time lacking in wisdom."

Goneril then grabbed the hilt of the sword with two hands and prepared to hit him.

But the Old Man continued, not at all intimidated: "Do you really believe you can defeat a Wizard?"

The woman struck the blow with the same speed as the vipers when they attacked, aiming straight at the old man's neck.  Degarre already saw in his mind the white head with his mass of hair rolling over the foliage, and the beheaded corpse slumped like a puppet.

Instead, the unthinkable happened: the Sorcerer responded with another attack far more effective. His staff crossed with the golden blade of Goneril and managed to snatch it from her hands.  The weapon flew in the air rolling twice and then fell into the soft ground.

In a few seconds, the deadly Generaless of the First Eastern Legion was disarmed, and humiliated.  By ... an elder.
Hammon was incredulous, and so was Goneril.  She stood there, motionless, and her eyes wide open.  But she reacted immediately.

"Give me your sword!"  She growled at Degarre.  The captain did not move.
"Degarre, move!"  she shouted, livid with anger and shame.  Never in her life as a warrior had she been defeated.

"No, Goneril. It's useless."  the captain answered, shaking his head.  "Anyway, I believe he is not Saruman."

For Goneril it was a second low blow.  Not only had her capabilities been mocked by an old man, but now her more experienced captain, the veteran, refused to obey her.

"What did you say?"  She shouted.  "I order you to give me your sword, soldier!"

"This man is not who you say."  Degarre repeated.

"I don't care who he is! I want to cut that head, I said!"  answered Goneril.  Degarre sensed that, at that moment, as often happened, the woman had left the logic aside to follow that bloody instinct that always harbored in her.  She was so furious at having been disarmed that she didn't care about their opponent's identity.  That old man had to die, only because he had dared beat her on duel.

"No, General. Stop, please."  Degarre told her, stepping back, because the woman was heading towards him with the clear intention of pulling the sword out of his hands.  "I don't want to fight against you. Now calm down."

"You are so full of resentment ..." the stranger murmured.  "... and it's understandable. I know what you've been through. I see it through you."

Goneril turned to him, her long, disheveled hair framing a face still shocked with rage.  "I too will see through you, when this sword will open your chest!"

She grabbed Degarre's wrist.  "And you are a traitor. You will pay for it once I've killed the sorcerer."

The latter raised his white staff and pointed it at her.  Goneril was pushed against a tree trunk by a mysterious force.  It almost seemed that a violent gust of wind had dragged her away.

"I tried to use the most conciliatory tone with you. But you leave me no choice."  the old man said.  "Don't make me turn you all into stone statues. I could do it, you know?"  That said, he turned to look at the two men.  "You, throw the swords to the ground."