The time for Laranthel’s duel with her mother’s cynot was fast approaching and Mythiara was nervous. She had downplayed how lethal the man was to Laranthel, but she knew the man was her mother’s most elite killer. He’d slain the leading Ladies of entire houses and slaughtered many of the clerics and priestesses the other Matriarchs sent to defeat him.
“He’s a rougher version of what mother wants Laranthel to be,” muttered Mythiara as she made her way back to the Halana compound from her introductory courses at Nicesa. She had been distracted by the fate of her nascent husband during the entire class session, her life was entwined with his now, after all.
What worried her the most was how the battle would affect Laranthel’s outlook on the Kynotoro. It was already a brutal place, being savaged by the best warrior ever created by the program might only serve to destroy Laranthel’s mental state completely rather than harden it. Mythiara disliked both outcomes. She didn’t want her brand-new toy to become a brute like her mother’s bound killer. She sighed in exasperation, responsibility had to creep up sooner or later. She just hoped the waves wouldn’t crash down upon her with enough force to wash her away.
She continued through the blue hued streets of Nokros towards the bridge that led into the Halana compound’s western entrance. The street emptied out into a clear cobblestone walkway beside the canals that acted as a moat for the stone fortress she lived in. Standing at the front of the bridge beyond the port cullies were five armed guards wearing the red uniforms of the Halana house. They stepped aside and allowed Mythiara to cross the bridge with no hassle, the five women bowing as she passed them by.
At least he’s well mannered, Mythiara thought as she made her way back to her room. She’d taken to continuing her clerical studies in her reading room before evening prayer at ten O’ clock then headed to the family chapel when Laranthel returned from his own practice with the house arms master. An old Prince from the Prenicas family, Mythiara knew him to be a veteran soldier and savvy politician. He was who most assumed would be her mother’s consort, but Mythiara believed no one would hold that spot again. The old prince and the bound killer were probably just useful entertainment for the Great Matriarch, John in particular seemed to hold great interest within the Matriarch’s eyes. The thought of the two sharing a bed together made Mythiara shutter, her mother was such a messy woman.
“Princess,” said one of the servants with a bow as Mythiara passed him by in the halls. She waved her hand allowing the man to raise his head and continued on her way.
Mythiara made her way to her room and sat at her desk, studying through scriptures and spells until Laranthel knocked at the door three times and entered the room, his clothes fresh and hair still wet from a bath.
“You bathed without me?” Mythiara looked up at Laranthel incredulously. He looked down at her confused.
“Yeah, I was at the yard training. I don’t think you’re mother would appreciate me going to prayer all filthy.”
“You’re all the way in the back with the other males, no one would notice. Bah, I wanted you to comb my hair tonight...” Mythiara looked down at her book disappointed. “Ah well there’s always tomorrow. Let’s head to the chapel.”
“You are a very unstable person my Lady.”
“Call me Mythiara or Princess when we’re in private from now on. That’s my reward to you for all the hard work you’ve put in these past few weeks.”
Laranthel nodded. “Alright Princess. Shall we depart?”
Mythiara nodded her head and rose from the table, walking side by side with Laranthel to the family chapel where they had been married a month ago. She laughed as the memory floated into her mind. What a ridiculous ceremony.
“What’s so funny?” Laranthel asked.
“Just thinking about Briseis getting flogged open,” Mythiara lied. Laranthel hated hearing about their marriage day. She only brought it up when he was acting particularly willful, which was rare these days. He really was well behaved.
Mythiara drew close to Laranthel and nuzzled up to his side as they walked towards the chapel.
“What’s on your mind Princess?”
“I don’t think things will go on like this for much longer,” Mythiara replied. “I fear cute little moments like these will soon be few and far between.”
Laranthel let out a dry laugh at that. “Before I left for Eliran I felt much the same. And then I ended up here.” Laranthel smiled ruefully and shook his head, squeezing Mythiara tightly, too tightly.
“Aw, do you hate me still?” teased Mythiara.
“Absolutely despise you,” answered Laranthel, eyes cast forwards.
“Aw, my poor pet,” Mythiara reached up and planted a peck on Laranthel’s cheek. “Maybe if you pray hard enough to Nyxa tonight she’ll spirit you home!” Mythiara let out a wicked laugh and the two turned the hall to the chapel’s entrance.
They separated as they normally did, Laranthel filtering out into the pews near the entrance while Mythiara took her place at the seats in the front. Soon though, when she herself became a priestess, she would be up by the goddess’s statue. Leading the family in their offerings and prayers. She waited as the rest of those not on guard duty entered into the chapel and took their seats.
Malanthea then began the opening chant, words of praise and worship lavished upon the stone Goddess that stood above all in attendance. Soon the entire room joined in on the prayer, their voices coming together to form a hymn of service and gratitude to their great Night Mother. Mythiara wondered if the goddess was even listening this night, sometimes like during her wedding ceremony, she would let loose some of her aura into the room to let her presence be known. Such occurrences were few and far between, often a sign that a great reward would soon be bestowed upon the members of the chapel she had blessed. Or perhaps for the Halana’s it was a challenge, their work had only just begun after all.
The hymn died down and the room fell silent, awaiting Malanthea’s next words. She smiled out towards the pews, raising her arms high.
“Good evening my children! As you all know the winter solstice is almost here and with it the end of our campaigning in the west.” Malanthea paused. “We will soon be reunited with those we have sent to plunder the Free Kingdoms and celebrate our decisive victory over the westerners and their heathen overlords. Until then there is much preparation that has to be done!”
She continued to list out all of the tasks each of the clans needed to carry out to prepare for the Lowlight, which was when Nyxean magic was at its strongest. Essentially, her mother was asking everyone to prepare their sacrifices for the diviners and the oracle, since this was when future sight and predictions were at their strongest.
Mythiara searched the room as her mother spoke, trying to get a gauge of the emotion in the room.
“Excited for the solstice this year, Princess?” Vanae had spoken, a fellow priestess in training from Vizartas family.
“I am actually,” replied Mythiara quietly. “I’m hoping for a big party before our sendoff to Nicesa.”
“Oh, me too. It should be wonderous! Maybe the Matriarch will even summon a few demons to spice up the festivities this year.” Vanae had a hungry look in her eyes, smiling as she fantasized about a no doubt grand affair. “Last year’s celebration had to be cancelled because of all the raids, but the wealth we’ve stolen should be able to fund this year’s celebration.”
“Indeed, and no doubt my mother will seek to increase our spirits before we go sailing across the Meridian to stop all the raiding being done. A grand party is almost assured.”
Almost thought Mythiara. There was still the matter of Laranthel’s bout which still had yet to pass. It was on the 19th of the month, two days before the winter solstice began. Mythiara wondered what her place would be in the ceremonies if Laranthel was left bedridden, which was assuredly what was going to happen after fighting John.
Mythiara vanquished such thoughts and focused on their evening gathering. The whole sordid affair was starting to annoy her. Laranthel was never supposed to fight in a duel anyways, he was meant to be shown to the other Matriarch’s alongside her in a regular ceremony, two nobles meeting in a party or in religious gathering. An exhibition through sword fighting was ridiculous!
“I’m letting my mind wander,” Mythiara muttered.
Their gathering continued until Malanthea had delegated every task that needed delegating, and they said their final prayers. The Matriarch finished with a sermon on Loyalty, and the importance of the ties that bind...
“Remember, when you greet the Matriarchs, you get down on your knees and completely prostrate yourself until they all say you can rise,” said Mythiara. “Which will likely be after one of them asks you your name. Remember not so speak unless granted permission or asked a question. Though, I’m sure those three witches will test your ability to distinguish what is permission, a question, or rhetoric.”
“I’m not worried about any of that. I’ll take whatever punishment they feel like giving me when I get up there,” replied Laranthel.
The two were out in the courtyard, leaning against one of the stone railings that separated the bushes of the garden from the footpaths. Above them hung the waning moon, its white light made into a blue-purple shine by the miasma that covered the Land of Night. Laranthel was leaning up against the railing, his head hung low looking over the bushes. Mythiara stood beside him, staring up at the moon.
“Ah, how the hells did it turn out like this,” Laranthel snarled. He buried his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped as he put all his weight on his elbows.
Mythiara reached her hand out and rubbed his back to comfort him.
“You’re surprisingly tender sometimes. For a snake,” spat Laranthel.
Mythiara ignored his words and continued to comfort him. “You’ll get plenty of pain from John and the Matriarch’s tomorrow. Honestly, despite myself, I worry about you.”
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Laranthel remained silent, his head buried in his hands and his body still. He was lost in deep contemplation.
“You asked me if I could ever come to love you. I don’t think I can,” said Mythiara. “But I don’t hate you like the other women hate men. In fact, I hold a great deal of respect for you.”
“As a tool,” said Laranthel curtly. He sighed, “Well I think that’s a fair assumption, but I can’t deny you’ve treated me better than you probably ought have. For that I thank you, Princess. I don’t hate you either.” He rose from the railing and turned to Mythiara.
“Done crying,” Mythiara teased.
“Yes, let’s head back to your room.”
“Are you sure you’re alright? We can stay for a while longer, what you’re going to go through tomorrow isn’t going to be easy. And you’re going to have to go through much worse in only two weeks.” Mythiara put her hands on her hips.
“I think what I need right now is somewhere inside...” Laranthel gave Mythiara a curious look and a smile.
“Hah, look at you,” Mythiara circled Laranthel examining him. “Fine, but you better treat it like its your last meal before the gallows.”
“It might just be,” said Laranthel nodding his head.
Laranthel met the Matriarchs in a large room with three thrones at its end. From its entrance, massive columns lead the way to the three women sitting powerfully on their raised pedestals, illuminated by the stained-glass window behind them. The whole hall was littered with large paned windows, but only the one behind the Matriarchs was made of stained glass. In it was a mural depicting the three women who were currently enthroned. Pale blue Matriarchs in their house’s colors, blue, red, and green from left to right. A score of clerics dressed in lamellar and chain mail armor stood guard in two columns leading up to the thrones, eyeing Laranthel with suspicion through the metal faces of their helmets.
After he made his way to the front of the three women, he got down on his hands and knees and prostrated himself like a supplicant before a god.
“You may rise, child,” said one of the three women. She was to his right, dressed in a green dress, conservative by Nyxean standards. Laranthel obeyed her command and got up from his hands and knees. “State your name, given and clan.”
“Laranthel Ase—,” Laranthel cleared his throat, he had nearly given his father’s name. “Astrea. Laranthel Astrea.”
“Yes, the name is familiar. Curious.” The woman in green stroked her chin.
“Tell us of your mother young Astrea. Malanthea says she is a powerful sorceress, is this true?” The Matriarch to Malanthea’s left spoke, she wore a blue dress and an intricate white headdress.
Laranthel nodded his head. “Magic came naturally to her, and she excelled at it. Before I was born, she had garnered a name for herself as a powerful warrior and a master of magic. She isn’t very old either, a true prodigy they say.”
The three women laughed.
“Look at him, he’s proud,” said the Matriarch in green. “Well pride in the mother is an admirable trait even for one who was born lost.”
“And inheriting her gift would surely prove to be an even more admirable trait I think,” the blue Matriarch chimed in. “I’m sure you think so as well, Malanthea?”
Malanthea nodded her head, her expression a mixture of amusement and contemplation. “Certainly, it makes him very valuable to me.”
“’Certainty it makes him valuable to me’ she says, oh how rich!” The blue Matriarch let out a laugh, the melodic sound ringing through Laranthel’s ears like sweet honey.
“Don’t sell him short Malanthea, if he and Mythiara produce a line of sorcerer children your family’s power would soar!” The Matriarch in green joined in on the teasing. “But I suppose for now all we have is the boy. Ah what a shame.”
“Patience is a Matriarch’s most lethal virtue,” replied Malanthea in a cool tone, silencing the room. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves with questions today sisters, we have an exhibition to witness!”
“Ah yes, an exhibition,” said the blue Matriarch. “You insisted on picking the opponent yourself and telling no one who you chose. I’ve been wondering what your decision ended up being.”
“Well, I had to keep it a surprise, to keep things interesting.” Malanthea looked towards the entrance doors to the meeting hall and called, “Come!” Moments later John emerged, strolling briskly towards the three thrones at the end of the hall. He gave a bow, hinging at the hips and stood at attention. It was an improper gesture, as Laranthel understood it, but perhaps that was how slaves and soldiers showed respect. He had two sheathed sabers tucked under his right arm.
The blue Matriarch frowned, and the green Matriarch turned her nose up at the man.
“Why is this beast here Malanthea?” The blue Matriarch turned to Malanthea, a look of disgust on her face.
“He and Laranthel are going to do battle for our entertainment,” replied Malanthea matter-of-factly.
“Oh, come now Malanthea,” said the green Matriarch. “This is cruel, not to mention wasteful. You’d be better off sacrificing him at an altar during the festival if that is your intention. Handing him over to this beast...is unacceptable.”
“I agree, I will not allow this. If you mean to waste such a promising princeling on such a worthless gesture, then you have taken complete leave of your senses!” The blue Matriarch frowned and looked over at Malanthea.
“Ladies, ladies, calm yourselves! Of course, I’m not going to allow John to kill the boy, I only mean to really get a measure of his skills,” Malanthea turned her head and tapped at the arms of her throne. “Which sometimes requires an extreme situation. But as far as the boy’s life is concerned, it is all well in hand.”
The other two matriarchs looked from Laranthel to John, clearly still skeptical of Malanthea’s words. Laranthel found himself getting nervous, just how dangerous was John to have the Matriarchs acting this way?
“Well, if you say so, they are your dogs after all,” said the blue Matriarch finally.
“Wonderous, I knew you two would see things my way, as you so often do!” Malanthea rose from her throne and descended it until she was standing in front of Laranthel and John. “Oh, before we continue sisters, I think you should introduce yourselves to my little princeling here. I thought it would be best for him to hear your family names from your own mouths.”
The Matriarchs nodded.
“I am Esther Orkon, Matriarch of the Orkon family and leader of the Great Eight houses,” said the green Matriarch.
“I am Hypatia Aspasci, I lead the Hill Houses,” said the blue Matriarch.
Laranthel bowed his head in reverence as the women finished giving their names and titles. John stood frozen and stone-faced during the entire affair.
“So, is the boy going to be bled here, or have you set up a venue? Either is fine with me,” said Hypatia.
“Come now Hypatia, use your common sense,” said Esther. “The beast has two blades with him and we’ve gone through all the trouble of scheduling all of these clerics to the room. The bout shall clearly be here.”
“Oh, no need to be so rude Esther I was only making sure!” Hypatia moved her hands around in exasperation.
“Sure, sure. Let’s get this started, shall we? Not that I’m expecting much...” Esther looked down at Laranthel and John, clearly annoyed at Malanthea’s choice of opponent.
Malanthea nodded up to Esther and pulled John close and whispered into his ear. He nodded and looked to Laranthel, holding a saber out to him.
“Here Prince, this one’s for you. You’ll be keeping it after the fight,” said John. Laranthel reached out and took the blade from him.
It was a curved saber sheathed in a black scabbard with some metal framing running down its sides, coming together at the scabbard’s end. John drew his blade and Laranthel followed suit, pulling the steel blade from the black leather with a satisfying zip. He tossed the leather aside and spun the blade around in his hand a few times to get a feel for it. He and his father had trained with curved swords more than a few times, but he wasn’t nearly as good with sabers as he was with straight blades. But if John was as good as everyone said, his training wouldn’t matter.
“Let’s get a few practice swings in,” said John stepping forward.
He let loose a few slashes that Laranthel promptly blocked and deflected. Easy slow swings anyone could read. They separated and circled each other; John’s stance was cool and confident. Laranthel stood poised, his blade up to intercept any attack, crouched to explode in any direction if he needed to.
“You may begin whenever you see fit,” said Malanthea backing away from the two.
“Let’s do this, kid!” John lunged forward with a swiftness Laranthel had never seen before.
John was on top of Laranthel before he knew it, striking and slashing with enough force and vigor to immidealty put the younger man on the backfoot. John kept his guard high and slashed or parried from that position as he steadily walked Laranthel backwards. Laranthel tried to force the man back with his own sword, slashing at the larger man from his right. His attack was parried, and John took the pommel of his saber and rammed it into Laranthel’s forehead as his sword arm was in recovery, sending the young man stumbling backwards.
John continued his assault, his stamina seemingly endless. Laranthel barely managed to regain his footing and set up his guard again before the beast of a man was once again on top of him. Laranthel realized that John was forcing him into a rhythm of fighting that favored the larger man. He was pushing Laranthel back while directing his sword hand to places where the bigger man could punch and bash Laranthel with impunity. If he wanted any hope of winning or surviving their bout, he’d need to knock John out of the cadence he had created.
Laranthel let loose a swing from up high that John parried, then as he moved to bash Laranthel with the pommel of his sword, Laranthel reached out and grabbed the man’s sword arm and headbutted him. John reeled and gave Laranthel a sharp kick in the stomach to force the younger man away.
“Ah haha,” John laughed wiping away the blood that was seeping from his nose. “That was smart!”
“Does that count as first blood,” Hypatia asked from her throne.
“Doesn’t matter, this isn’t a duel,” replied Esther. “Though I admit, that was very satisfying to watch.”
Both John and Laranthel got back into their stances and once again began to circle each other. John lunged forward at Laranthel, feinting high but striking at the younger man’s flank. Laranthel backed out of the attacks reach and unleashed a few attacks of his own, determined not to let John dictate the flow of the engagement again. The two got into a heated engagement as their blades clashed again and again, the sound of metal crashing together ringing through the open hall each time their swords met.
Laranthel felt fatigue growing in his sword arm, and his lungs were starting to burn. He’d spent too long copped up in the Halana compound and had lost the stamina he once had back in Greenhill. John saw this and began to press his attack, forcing Laranthel to continuously dodge, block, and parry the big man’s blade. After a few more parried attacks, Laranthel forced John into a clasp and the two men went stumbling into a pillar, causing one of the guards to hurriedly dash out of the way.
“You’re tired, I can see it,” said John, baring his teeth. “What a shame, I was having a lot of fun!”
John forced Laranthel off himself with his superior strength and began to attack in earnest, holding nothing back. Each time he parried Laranthel’s blade away he punched him in the face, bashed his stomach, or kicked him. As Laranthel’s sword grew sluggish, he used his superior speed to lay a few cuts on the boy, opening parts of his left arm and thighs. Laranthel backed away, barely able to stand anymore. Blood started to seep through his clothes, coloring the tan wraps on his ankles red and darkening his blue tunic. The exhibition was nearing its conclusion.
“Oh, wrap this up I can’t stand to see anymore,” said Hypatia. “The beast lays low another promising Prince, praise be!”
“Yes Malanthea, call him off,” said Esther. “As much as I love a good thrashing watching this animal do it is demeaning for all of us.”
“Finish it John, bring this bout to it’s conclusion!” Malanthea crossed her arms and smiled, standing at the foot of her throne.
John pressed forward and came down hard upon Laranthel from up high. The younger man blocked the attack but was sent stumbling backwards as a result. John continued forward and elbowed Laranthel in the chin, sending him stumbling to the ground.
“Uhh,” Laranthel groaned, his mind fuzzy. He tried to get up but felt his stomach sear with pain as John kicked him in his ribs. Once, twice until Laranthel brought his sword across his body to try and sever the man’s leg.
John stepped aside from the sloppy attack and continued to stomp on Laranthel until the young man released his sword and curled up in a ball to try and protect himself. He continued to stomp and kick Laranthel until his ribs shattered and his organs felt like they were going to explode. The pain seethed worse than anything Laranthel had ever felt before, but he kept his nerve and laid curled up in a ball, weathering John’s savage attacks. Finally, the larger man stopped and looked down at Laranthel, then turned towards Malanthea and nodded. The exhibition was over.
“Well, that was certainly something,” said Hypatia finally. “He shows promise. A boon as you’ve always said, Malanthea.”
“Indeed, with proper training at the Kynotoro I’m sure he’ll be able to avenge this injustice one day.” Esther looked down at John and scowled. “And perhaps others...”
“Good, I’m glad you think so,” replied Malanthea beaming. “Guards, please take my young prince here to a healer and have him back at my compound by the evening.”
One of the armored women stepped forward and gave a bow, then two more came forward and carried Laranthel out of the hall to be healed. He coughed up some blood and groaned as they touched him. Then, as he felt the cool outside air hit his skin he felt his consciousness begin to drift away.
