Luther's Pride Part 45

Luther worked hard to keep his eyes open as the fight began. The impulse to look away tugged at him, but he kept his attention focused on Criella. She deserved that much, and hope had yet to abandon him. 

Criella drew the sword from her hip, brandishing her rapier in her right hand while her left held a short-sword.

Lucas wasted no time in raising his hands before him and casting a spell, sending a beam of solid light from his open palms in a straight line for Criella. To shared astonishment, Criella was gone in a puff of smoke when the light cut through it, and kept going, striking the fence behind where she’d been. The concussive force of the beam distracted Luther, who wondered how much energy it took to make the light solid. 

Criella’s exertion from their shared pool hardly registered. Teleporting didn’t seem to take much of a toll on their power. He wondered if she noticed the difference between her own reservoir and the shared well of power she could draw from now. 

Luther searched the field for her, expecting to see her suddenly appear or to find her among Branan and his spouses, who huddled closer together. Branan seemed the most obvious target, which was likely why his spouses protected him. It took him time to summon his power, which he’d immediately started chanting to draw the clouds together in the sky. Instead of her sudden appearance, he saw no one but the Feothe family and her teleportation was instant. She should have reappeared by now. 

“Has she fled the battle already?” The Duke complained. “She could have just forfeited and saved us all the trouble.” 

Fleeing was the worst possible dishonor. Forfeiting allowed one to live with their dishonor, at least, but to flee? That was a death sentence. Criella knew that. There was no way she’d agreed to the battle only to flee it in her opening melee. 

Luther looked to his wives, each searching the arena for her, but she wasn’t there. 

Then one of the duke’s spouses cried out and pointed toward the sky. Luther followed the gesture to the speck plummeting above the arena, where Criella pointed head-down in a dive. 

“Does that count as leaving the arena?” The duke asked one of his spouses, who shook their head no. 

“Above the arena is not the same as outside of it,” Luther said. “The space above is part of the challenge, or Branan wouldn’t be able to summon his storms.” 

The duke heard him, but made no response as he returned his eyes to the field. 

Lucas, also following the gesture and the noise of the people on the stands, turned his eyes skyward. He cried out, alerting Branan and the others to Criella’s presence above them. 

Raoul started a spell, and suddenly the arena had multiple copies of the huddled group, each moving the same way, and even casting the same shadows that slanted along the length of the arena from the dawning sun. 

Marne began her spell, casting a spell of enchantment, though Criella was still too far above them to hear her. She couldn’t affect Criella until she fell closer. Even then, she wouldn’t survive whatever impact she made. Luther knew what she was doing, but the Feothes clearly thought she was trying to bypass their defenses by falling from above. 

“What is she doing?” The duke asked, lowering Luther’s opinion of his intelligence with every question from his mouth. It should have been obvious what she was doing, even as one of the duke’s spouses explained that she was probably buying herself time to think of a plan. 

She wasn’t buying time. She was building speed.  

Branan changed his spell, causing the winds to surge through the stands, roughly brushing their clothing as it swirled, and clouds gathered above ceased their movement. Between them and the clouds, Criella continued her descent, her arms at her sides, her face searching the ground below for her opening, or trying to discover which grouping was real. 

Saehild and her copies cast a small skull onto the ground, and a singular hissing black serpent appeared. It writhed on the ground, twisting and flicking its tongue through the air beside the main group. A mistake. Even if Raoul’s illusions had tricked Criella’s eyes she knew which was the non-illusory grouping now if she had even a lick of sense. 

Luther returned his gaze to Criella, larger now, and close enough that Lucas felt confident enough to send another beam of light in her direction. He raised his hands over his head and cast his spell.

Criella turned her arm and braced it with her other hand, making her sword a crossbeam to her descent. Then she vanished before Lucas’ beam reached her. 

She reappeared on the field of battle, flying from a low horizontal position to shoulder height just as she reached Marne's shoulders. Her speed was boggling, and before anyone had the chance to react, she was gone again.

Marne's severed head fell from her shoulders as a geyser of her lifeblood spewed from the clean cut. Criella’s blade, braced in her arms, was thin, sharp, and moved at the speed of a diving hawk. Marne’s voice cut off with her spine. 

Lucas screamed high and shrill as Marne's blood fell on him, Brannan, and Raoul. Raoul broke formation, sputtering and wiping at his face to clear his vision. He let out a curse, something about the snake giving them away, and he hurriedly repeated his spell, creating even more copies, this time with the black snake among them. 

“Damn,” Helena muttered. “That was savage.” 

Stunned silence among the servants gave way to riotous applause and cheering. The duke sneered at the common folk beneath him, as if their presence, not to mention their support of Criella, offended his sensibilities. The common folk didn’t seem to care. They knew and loved Criella and cheered her on from the stands, even though they didn't always know where she was. 

Lucas fired another blast into the sky, earning him a rebuke from Branan as it dissipated long before it reached the speck that was Criella above them. Branan shouted for him to focus on defense and leave the offense to him. Then he returned his attention to the clouds above, the distraction from Marne’s death enough to have broken his focus. 

Luther grinned. Perhaps Criella didn't need the boost their illicit marriage gave her. A simple spell of teleportation could be applied in unconventional ways to devastate any opponent, and it only took a portion of power to cast it. Criella was so adept at her art that she didn’t even need to speak the spell aloud, and Luther had yet to discover whatever gestures she made to cast it. 

His eyes widened in realization as he considered her spellcraft. Criella didn’t have the education he did, or the training. She wasn’t casting spells. Her teleportation was a reflexive, intuitive manifestation of her arcana. Did she only know the one use? Was it even a spell? The recklessness of it daunted him, but she’d clearly practiced. Besides, his father must have given her some instruction, right? 

Luther cheered after the servants had died down. “First blood! Congratulations, Criella!”

There was no way for her to hear him, but the cheer wasn't to encourage her, so much as to insult and discourage the Feothes, currently scrambling to protect themselves from a second strike. He hoped she’d take Lucas next. He probably wasn’t the most significant threat on the field, but his ability to fire at range while the other relied on close combat was a disadvantage Criella could do without. 

“Such a cowardly strike, from a cowardly creature. Barely legal.” The duke scoffed. 

“A wise, effective strike, from a cunning woman.” Luther protested. “And perfectly legal.” 

The duke turned, having heard Luther’s remark, and scowled at him. Luther pointed to the arena below. As the official governing this match, the duke couldn’t afford to look away, even for a second. 

The duke scowled further, but turned his eyes to the field and lifted them to spot Criella. “It won’t be as effective a second time. Stupid demi.” 

Luther wondered if the duke had ever fought a challenge before, or if his title and union insulated him from reality. Plenty of people must want the wealth and status that came with ruling a duchy, but having the capital to sustain a large enough union and convincing that many people to take the risk for a share of the spoils was no small feat. 

It followed that many preferred to join the already strong union, or to go along with the status quo, and enjoy their lives in other pursuits. Not everyone wanted political power, and most who did either already had it or were removed before they became a threat. Spies like Branan were helpful to people like the duke, until they weren’t. 

Luther wondered if the duke would forsake his defeated associate, disavow their connection, or pursue some petty act of retribution against Criella when she won this match. 

Criella teleported again, not having to fall as far this time to reach her full speed. In a blink, she was on the field again, her sword leveled and braced as she appeared before Lucas. 

Lucas cast a shield of light around himself, and Criella nearly collided with it, but disappeared at the last moment, reappearing from beneath Raoul, who jumped aside. Branan and Saehild jumped away from their positions, too, each in a random direction, hoping to avoid sudden decapitation. 

The black snake struck, but missed. Raoul threw a dagger, but it sailed through the air and sank into the ground without hitting a single target. In a few blinks she’d broken their formation, making them sprawl and spread themselves without any attention given to their illusory duplicates. 

Watching all of the copies mimic their movements was a fascinating, almost hypnotic observance of a dance. Perfect synchronization with no delay gave the impression of teamwork and combined effort. Still, despite the attention to detail in the illusions, their efforts were insubstantial. Only the genuine articles presented any threat to Criella. 

“We have to move!” Raoul shouted. “Scatter!” 

Criella knew which grouping was theirs, after all, so it followed that if they fled among their copies, she might lose track of them, and that would create a better defense than huddling together. 

Lucas obeyed the command immediately, dashing forward and moving to the side. His copies followed suit, shuffling themselves as several blinked out of existence for going too far from Raoul. More took their places behind him, each bearing his same fearful expression. 

Poor Lucas wasn’t as battle hardened as the other Feothes. He’d joined them out of greed, and perhaps a desire for adventure. After all, Luther hadn’t presented himself as a fearsome opponent, and picking Criella off the field of battle should have been effortless. 

The reality of imminent death had struck him in his heart, which must have been beating like a dance drum at the prospect of sudden, unanticipated ceasing.  

Saehild moved to the right, shuffling into the copies as best she could. Branan remained where he was, still chanting, likely hoping that Criella would think he’d moved. If the snake moved, Luther didn’t spot it doing so. It tasted the air, twisting in every direction as it searched for Saehild’s enemy by scent. It struck quickly, but even its sudden, darting bite was no match for Criella’s speed or teleportation. 

Raoul, for his part, disappeared and his copies along with him as he cast his invisibility spell.  

Suddenly, Criella appeared, moving slower this time and in a straight line with her sword held in front of her in a thrust. She must have slowed her descent by redirecting her momentum above the arena until she had a speed she could safely turn into a thrust without breaking her arms. She might not be a warrior, but she was smart.

The illusory copies of the others evaporated in the breeze, and Raoul appeared, the basket hilt of her rapier pressing against his chest just below and beside his heart. She’d pierced a lung, at least, even if she hadn’t hit the heart she aimed for. 

Raoul stood, stunned. His mouth opened as he said something Luther didn’t hear. “How?” If Luther read his lips correctly. 

Despite the sword in his chest, Raoul swiped at Criella with a short sword. She blocked the blow with her short sword and brought her forehead down onto his with a crack that thundered through the arena. Raoul’s skull was no match for her reinforced bones and the two ram’s horns that curled over her forehead and around her ears. They weren’t for decoration, and although the points by her ears wouldn’t impale anyone, the base and top of her horns were hard enough to shatter the thin, pulpy bones of Raoul’s forehead. 

Raoul sagged on her blade, and she left it lodged inside him as she cut his throat with her short sword and vanished, just in time for Lucas’ beam of light to collide with Raoul and blast him backward. He would have fallen back, had the tip of the sword not pierced the dirt and stuck there, leaving him on his knees, leaning back, gagging on the blood pouring from his open throat. 

His death was noisy, and painful by the sound of it. No words formed, but the wet gagging noises that followed his spray of blood was enough to make Lucas sick. 

The commoners and servants watching the fight laughed as Lucas turned aside from Raoul’s leaking throat and skull and vomited into the dirt of the arena. It would have been a good time for Criella to appear and capitalize on his weakness, so Branan and Saehild readied their throwing knives for her sudden appearance at Lucas’ side. 

Criella appeared behind Saehild instead, even as she gave a cry of anguish at Raoul’s fate. Branan cried out, warning Saehild, who spun and slashed at Criella with a long, jagged knife. 

Criella blocked her blade with her second rapier, taking a fighting stance and twisting, maneuvering to place Saehild between herself and Lucas, who gave a frustrated cry at not being able to blast Criella from where he knelt. 

Branan raised his staff toward the sky, the darkening clouds threatening rain as thunder boomed above. Lightning danced between the clouds, and it was only a matter of time before he had enough energy to direct the bolts toward the ground. 

The duke’s entourage gave an appreciative coo of approval at the display of power. Luther wasn’t impressed. The rumble above them was nothing more than a timer, a warning that Criella didn’t need. She was working her way through the Feothe clan, and Branan would get his. 

The servants gave a cry of alarm followed by an approving cheer as the black snake slithered with surprising speed across the dirt, only to have its head removed mid-strike by a dagger fastened to the spade-tip of Criella’s tail. She stomped on its skull for good measure, ruining Saehild’s hope of summoning it a second time. 

The duel between Saehild and Criella continued longer than Luther thought necessary, but Saehild’s skill with her dual longknives proved adept at holding off Criella’s thrusts with her rapier. Criella was talented with her sword, but Saehild was the more skilled fighter, and it became more obvious the longer they fought. She was spending too much time on the ground, Luther thought. She needed to move again, but with her targets dwindling, they’d be more prepared, expecting her to strike from behind like she had Saehild. 

Which was probably why she appeared directly in front of Branan and slashed her rapier across his gut. 

The duke’s companions gasped in surprise. 

Branan jumped back and struck Criella with his staff, swinging it in front of him as he kept chanting, not letting the pain of his new wound derail his spell. The cut was too shallow, and despite Luther’s sincerest wish, his guts remained in his belly. 

Criella took the blow from his staff in her chest, her armored breastplate clanging with the strike. She staggered back from him, letting blood drip from her blade as he clasped his hand over the wound. One of Saehild’s knives landed in the back of Criella’s thigh after she threw it, clearly landing lower than she wanted. 

Criella cried with pain and struck at Branan again, but he held her off with his staff, swinging it between his hands as a well-practiced and experienced fighter before knocking her back, and grinning as he cast a spell. 

Criella vanished, taking Saehild’s knife with her. A lightning bolt struck the earth where she’d been, blinding nearly everyone who wasn’t prepared for it. 

Luther was on his feet, searching the field and the sky for any sign of Criella. She had to know the sky was no longer a safe place to be, with the lightning surging between the clouds and striking at anything Branan targeted. 

Criella appeared by Saehild’s empty hand. The woman spun and struck at Criella, who gripped her wrist to prevent the knife from diving into her. Criella tried to smack her horns into Saehild’s forehead, but Saehild shifted to avoid the blow and followed it with a punch to Criella’s throat. If she’d had her knife she might have ended the fight, but even bare-handed the blow was enough to cause Criella’s retreat. 

She vanished again. This time, however, she vanished with her opponent. Both Saehild and Criella were gone, and everyone gasped. 

“Did you know Criella could do that?” Helena asked, surprised. 

Jowangshin nodded. “Her arcana is teleportation, not just the one spell. She’s not as practiced with it as her usual transportation, but I’ve seen her conjure objects, or even create portals between points, before.” 

“Well, shit,” Helena said. “She might just win this.”