Luther's Pride Part 53

Lucas glared at Luther with defiance in his eyes. The healers had reattached his left arm, but Luther took comfort in knowing it must have been a painful process. Lucas’s suit had finer clothes than he’d seen him in before, and Luther noted the etchings threaded into the material of his cloak. His hands were bare, but his cuffs bore runed studs. Protection runes. They’d burn away with each attack, but it meant he had more armor to cut through than the clothes on his back. It explained the lack of heavy armor on either of them, though so did Branan’s powers. 

“I see our host has gifted you handsomely during your period of grief,” Luther said. “And Branan too, it seems.” 

Branan’s gear was the same as he’d worn before, but his jewelry was new. The rings on his fingers were runed bands of solid metal. Spells of protection would aid them in some ways, but he left it to Rhosyn to discover how, as per their strategy. They had prepared for trickery. Of course, their opponents knew Eira, Rhosyn, Jowangshin, and Helena’s arcanas, so they’d likely keep their thoughts away from weaknesses. Still, the items the duke gave them weren’t going to outlast the battle, meaning they wouldn’t fall into Luther’s hands.

Luther eyed the duke’s spouses, wondering which of them was clever enough to suggest such gifts. 

“He found your oaths of sacrilege in ill taste and wishes me to keep my bones after our battle,” Lucas said, his head held high. He didn’t appear afraid. His eyes were haughty, and his chin was as cocky as ever. “And don’t worry, we’ll burn your wives after we win the battle, as is the law. We’re still not sure if we have to burn yours, since you’re only half human.” 

“That’s not something you’ll have to worry over,” Luther said, leaving it at that. 

Branan coughed and put his hand on Lucas’ arm to stop him from saying something in rebuttal. He had trimmed his beard and combed his hair. Neither he nor Lucas showed the traditional signs of mourning their fallen partners. Instead, they appeared pampered and refreshed.  

“You still refuse to withdraw your challenge?” the duke asked, eyeing Lucas’s and Branan’s rainments. 

“I refuse,” Luther answered. 

Duke Beaudivere released a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Very well.” The duke gestured, and a servant brought three chalices forth on a tray. “I had hoped to drink to your peace, but let us drink to declare friendship with whosoever wins this challenge. Let it be a sign of civility in such barbarous times between my union and yours.” 

Each chalice was ornate, with an etched silver basin rimmed with white dragon horn. Traditionally, many believed such materials changed color to detect any poison within them, proving the host’s trustworthiness. Red liquid swished within them, filling each glass a quarter of its depth. Duke Beaudivere took one chalice, and Branan took the other. 

Luther didn’t hesitate to take his chalice, lifting it in the air in a toast. He didn’t need Rhosyn’s whispered warning in his mind to tell him not to drink the contents. Traditions be damned, Luther had learned long ago that such materials could hold enchantments to detect poison, but the materials themselves did not do so alone. Besides, the ring to detect enchantments did not buzz when he touched the goblet, but he did not trust his host. 

He and Eira had spent time in their divination spellcraft looking into the future, and he used that craft to spy different outcomes of this battle. Eira believed their path was doomed if seen, but Luther didn’t. Every time he looked into his future, it changed, which was a curse in itself. Now he walked a tightrope and hoped he reached the end without losing anyone he carried with him. 

Branan and Duke Beaudivere raised their glasses with him. Each held their chalice before them above their heads, lifting it toward the heavens for the gods above to bless.

Luther closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if preparing the words he was about to speak. Instead, he used the opportunity to cast a silent spell. He chose one of Criella’s that he had studied from a book. He’d spent late nights in his father’s library during the three days of training, studying his father’s collection of arcane manuals. Luther had searched for any treatises on spell theories for the arcanas his wives possessed. 

He learned from the same tomes Criella had attempted, but with a better foundation in magical knowledge, and thus made more use of them. Conjuration was not a beginner’s magic. The natural philosophies behind it required advanced calculations and processing, so he’d chosen the spells to study carefully. He’d learned the portal spell, intending to use it against Lucas, but this was as good a time as any. Not to chop off limbs, but to siphon his drink.

A small portal appeared within his cup, unseen, and a second appeared in the duke’s. One pulled the liquid into it, and the other spewed it forth, draining his cup into the duke’s. Then he emptied the other half into Branan’s, leaving himself a few drops. Many expected the concentrated pause in the proceedings, given that Luther had no warning for the toast, but had taken it upon himself by raising his glass first. 

“In honor of our most gracious host, may the might of our empire be praised! Let the gods above favor the honorable. May the gods below claim their own,” Luther said. His ominous ending made several of the surrounding guests shift in discomfort.

The crowd had gleaned their knowledge of his feud with the Feothes from the Feothes and their allies. No doubt the people in the crowd considered him a prideful monster who spent more time outside the empire than in it. Still, he didn’t let that deter him. They could think of him as a villain if they wished, and he might even play the part today. 

Branan and the duke shared a glance at his toast, but drank from their cups as Luther ‘drank’ from his. He sniffed the empty chalice, detecting an earthy wine with notes of deep black cherries. A pity; he would have liked to drink such wine without the venom in it. He swallowed his spit instead of the wine, but the duke grinned in his mistaken ignorance. 

Luther set his empty chalice on the tray, and Branan and Duke Beaudivere set theirs beside his. The duke licked his lips. 

“A fine vintage,” Luther said. “Thank you for the honor, Your Grace. How generous of you to gift us a sip of your best wine before battle.”

He wondered what poison the duke had used. Masking the flavor with wine seemed clever for the duke. Was half a dose still deadly? He hoped so. Of course, some might try to pin the duke’s poisoning on Luther, but many witnesses had seen the duke present the drinks and drink from his own chalice. If anything, they’d conclude that the duke’s attempted poisoning of Luther or Branan went awry, and he drank from the wrong chalice by mistake.

“It was nothing,” the duke said. “Thank you for indulging me.” 

“Let’s enter the arena,” Luther said. “I’m eager to remove Lucas’s limbs and head.” 

The duke grimaced, but he and his partners moved to their place of honor in the stands. The duke showed no signs of illness, so the poison must have been slow-acting. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to kill him, but to inhibit him in battle and make it that much easier for Branan to kill him. In that case, Luther hoped half a dose would be enough to grant him half as much an advantage over Branan. 

The walls of this arena were taller than Luther’s, made of larger stone bricks until the wooden seats above them ran around. The duke’s pavilion in the center of the oval space stood high and prominent over the lower seats beside it. He sat in a chair like a throne, overlooking the battlefield. His partners filed in and stood beside and behind him, forming a raised tier around him. 

Beside him, in every chair, were nobles of the empire. Luther recognized some, like the Cerul and Grey families, from those in his valley. Others, he recognized from his father’s funeral, the procession of greetings the following morning, or from swearing his oaths to the duke. That left plenty of faces unrecognizable in the crowd, but he turned his attention to the two faces he most wanted to kill. 

Branan and Lucas stood across the arena, with Branan standing behind Lucas, an anticipated choice. The sky rumbled with thunder, and raindrops fell onto the field, darkening the sandy dirt beneath their feet. The crowd under their awnings and canopies remained dry, but no rain was going to keep Luther from his goal, even if it played to Branan’s advantage. 

Luther stood in the middle of his spouses. His armor was light metal plates reinforced with enchanted leather. He left his sword in its sheath, ready to cast his spells before he used it. Instead, he held a spear in his hand, holding it like a staff despite its metallic tip pointed toward the sky. Livinia’s rod was behind him, sheathed on the back of his belt where others might keep a knife. 

Ahead and to his left, Jowangshin readied herself for battle. She sank into a fighting stance, her legs wide and her fists raised. Her long black hair twisted in its braid, and her crimson robes wrapped over her in tight silk weaves from her wrists to her ankles. 

Ahead and to his right, Helena raised her shield and banged her sword on it. Metallic armor covered her shoulders, torso, legs, and the outer parts of her arms. Her round wooden shield had a metal hub in its center with a rune carved into it. Her reinforced, enchanted sword cut through the air as she adjusted her stance and readied herself. 

Behind and to his left, Eira stood ready to cast her spell. Her armor was light, similar to Luther’s, but tailored to her and flaring out in a skirt rather than greaves. Her thin arming sword wasn’t as long as Luther’s longsword, but the throwing knives sheathed on her belt meant she didn’t have to close the distance before she could strike. 

Behind and to his right, Rhosyn bore a fistful of small spears in her left hand. She carried a rectangular spear-throwing device in her right hand. She and her sister shared willowy frames with graceful limbs, but the simple mechanism made her a fearful spear-thrower. However, none of their weapons hinted at the danger their magic could produce. 

The duke stood, and a hush fell over the murmuring crowd. He blinked slowly, then looked at the field and yawned, as if bored. A spell amplified his voice, projecting it across the battlefield and its spectator stands. “Good morning, fair nobles! I have agreed to preside over this challenge. Though I find it to be in poor taste, Lord Le Fey’s pride has demanded satisfaction from the honorable Feothe clan. Yet from adversity comes opportunity. The Feothe family has dutifully served the empire, and I am eager to see them ascend to their proper place among the nobility. We stand in witness to this challenge! May honor be served! May the mighty prove victorious! Fight!” 

Luther sighed at Duke Beaudivere’s spin to the gathered nobles in the stands. They saw the Le Fey clan as prideful villains carrying out a vendetta against the underdogs, the noble Feothe clan, who suffered their losses and hardships for the duke’s sake. Luther would correct such misunderstandings after their fight. He didn’t care what the gathered nobles thought of him, but he couldn’t allow such a reputation to precede his wives. 

For now, he had Branan and Lucas to worry about. 

Spells and weapons flew as soon as the duke finished speaking. Lucas raised both hands and shot a blast of light at Luther from his fists. 

Helena stepped into the beam’s path, blocking it with her shield as their formation shifted. 

Rhosyn hurled a spear at Lucas as he fired his blast, and the shaft flew true, but the wards on his armor caused the blow to glance away. They wouldn’t last forever, but eating through them would take time. 

Eira surged forward, and Lucas brought a dome of light over himself and Branan, just like he had when fighting Criella. Branan wouldn’t need long to gather his lightning spell with a storm already in the sky. 

Jowangshin cast a spell, pulling the earth on either side of them into the air, creating cover. Several bolts of lightning cracked from the sky, doing Branan’s bidding from within his shield, but they struck the cover Jowangshin had made and blasted dirt into the air instead of flesh. 

Luther cast his spell as this was happening, binding his spirit to Jowangshin’s. She gasped as he connected, then he stomped the ground as he cast her breaking spell, as they’d done in the training ring. He targeted the ground beneath Lucas’ dome, confident that Lucas’ protection didn’t extend under the earth. 

An explosion of earth and stone cracked the inside. The dome faded as Lucas lost his concentration. A circle of broken earth astonished the audience in the stands, though it did minor damage to Branan and Lucas. It bruised them, but their protections and lack of stones had kept them from genuine harm.

Branan sent a surge of wind toward them, opting for a more direct approach since he didn’t have to summon a storm. As a spheromancer, lightning wasn’t his only spell, even if it remained his deadliest. Wind was still a weapon, though, and it threatened to rob them of their breath, which they needed to fight. They moved out of the cover Jowangshin had made, closing the distance toward Lucas and Branan. 

Lucas fired a blast of light at Helena again, as if testing her defense, but her shield proved strong enough to take it without breaking. 

She answered his assault by pushing forward against the gusting wind; the white cloths hanging from her armor flapped behind her as she strove forward. Helena hadn’t activated her magic yet, though. She was strong enough without it to move forward. 

Lucas stepped back as she approached, trying to keep his advantage. If Helena closed into melee, he stood little chance against her. 

Rhosyn cast a spell, linking their minds so they could communicate without having to shout against the wind. Her psychomancy bore many passive spells, but they’d agreed communication would be vital so long as it didn’t break anyone’s focus. This let them speak and listen to one another, but only to the thoughts they intended to speak. 

Eira cast her foreshadow spell, watching her enemies and weaving to the left just ahead of a thrown knife from Branan. It sliced through the air with the wind behind it, straight and without spin, but it missed as she avoided it and fell to the dirt behind her. 

Jowangshin, meanwhile, opened a hole in the earth and jumped into it, closing it behind her. The arena rumbled, but no billow of earth arose to mark her presence. “Don’t worry,” she said over their link. “I’ve found some good stone to use, but it’s further down than we’d hoped.” 

That meant it would take longer than they’d hoped, but not more than they’d planned for, to use the stone. Luther switched his spirit to that of Helena. She shuddered, accepting the cue as she ducked behind her shield and held it before her. Luther moved behind her and cast her spell of durability. They charged forward together, with Helena and her shield providing cover for Luther as they closed the distance toward Lucas against the fading wind. 

Lucas scrambled, running sideways to avoid the charge as Helena blew past his position. 

Branan’s eyes widened, but he was too late. Helena cast her spell as she charged forward, and while Luther lingered behind, Helena surged forward with inhuman speed like a blur. Branan jumped aside, but it was too late. The shield clipped his side, sending him spinning through the air before he landed on his wounded side on the ground. It was as if a charging bull’s shoulder had slammed him. 

Luther followed in Helena’s wake and brought his spear down. 

Branan cried out and threw his cloak over himself. The spear hovered over the material, pressing against the magic shield as if repelled. A repelling charm woven into the fabric would keep missiles and weapons at bay. Cleverly made, though it might have one weakness that Luther could exploit. He kicked the dirt between them, sending a spray of sandy earth into Branan’s eyes so close to the ground. The cloak didn’t deflect them, and Branan cried out in pain. He rolled away. 

A blast of light shot toward Luther, but Helena intercepted it. She protected his flank from Lucas even as Eira and Rhosyn threw their weapons and made Lucas dodge and weave to avoid their knives and spears. He was running out of protection charms, but they were running out of weapons. 

Helena kept her focus on Lucas, letting Luther deal with Branan. 

“The cloaks,” Luther said to the group over their mind-link. “We have to destroy them, or rid them of their tools. Metal won’t pierce them, but wood or stone should make it through.” 

Luther spun his spear shaft in his hand and struck at Branan with the butt end of it. Sure enough, the wooden shaft contacted the cloak with no problem. It knocked Branan in the ribs, even as he rolled away. 

Branan brushed his face off, wiping his eyes as he regained his feet and struck at Luther with his staff. 

Luther parried the blow and jumped back, higher and farther than the crowd expected, given their gasps. He might not have his father’s full strength, speed, or stamina, but even a half-fey was stronger than a human. 

“Use your arcana!” Branan bellowed. “Let’s see what you can do!” 

“I already have,” Luther answered, speaking aloud in a quiet voice that didn’t reach the stands. “It protected me from the duke’s poison.” 

Branan’s eyes went wide, but the surprise was at the mention of Luther’s arcanum, not the duke’s poison. He’d known about the duke’s plan then. 

Luther cast his spell again, connecting to another spirit and readying another spell. It was hard to maintain Criella’s peace, but connecting to her while fighting her killer? There was satisfaction in that. He didn’t know if she’d followed and was watching from the stands, but he liked to think that she was. 

“How are you feeling?” Luther asked. “By the way?” 

Branan grunted. “What are you talking about?” 

“I gave you some of the poison the duke intended for me,” Luther said. “I wonder how long it will take before it takes effect?” 

“How?!” Branan screamed and swiped at him again, but Luther jumped back, creating distance again. Distance that Branan counted on. He swiped his hand down as he cast his spell, firing lightning from the sky at Luther. 

Luther grinned, and the lightning blinded those who looked for him as it struck. Thunder slammed against the arena in its wake, and Branan stumbled back. There was no body where Luther had once stood, only blackened earth. 

The crowd held its breath, then exclaimed as Branan backed into Luther, who shoved him forward. 

“Try again,” Luther said. “If you can.”