Standing her ground, Lydia set her feet and raised her daggers with one ahead and one tucked back. Flutterstep was incredible, but each bamf did seem to take a lot of her. Would she use it again to gain distance? If she kept teleporting around, she could tire Emily out.
As Emily’s muscular legs pumped like a steam engine, she shifted her grip on her axe in both hands. She ran with her weapon out and low.
Lydia didn’t move. When would she flutterstep? As Emily barreled in for the kill, the dagger Lydia had tucked behind her back rocketed into the center of Emily’s chest. It bounced off with a loud crack and went spiraling away.
Drake blinked. He hadn’t even seen her throw! Yet Emily howled and slowed, then lowered her axe. “You said you wouldn’t throw your daggers this time!”
“You said I wouldn’t,” Lydia reminded her firmly. “I never agreed to that.”
“Oh, poo.” Emily stomped on the pavement. “Even when I cheat you’re still too quick for me.”
Drake decided now was a safe time to step closer. “Hold up! How did Emily cheat?”
Emily snorted. “If you ask me, her flutterstep is cheating.”
Lydia took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself, and wiped sweat from her brow. “To be clear, lord, what is and is not cheating in our duels is a matter of opinion. In a real fight, there would be no rules. We simply make agreements to keep things interesting.”
“It’s also why we don’t duel Valentia,” Emily said. “Every time we’ve talked her into it, she simply snaps her fingers when the duel begins, says ‘Done’, and walks off the field.”
Drake chuckled. “I suppose you can’t duel someone who can freeze blood. Or rather... you can only duel them once.”
“No, lord. And Olivia would just burn us up. So the dueling here is me, Lydia, and Nicky.”
Nicole was the battle maid who had almost died after escaping the Redbow ambush to warn the manor. After this display, Drake couldn’t wait to see her fight. Or rather... not see her fight. Since she could use her rarity, penumbra, to turn invisible.
“I don’t care who actually won the fight, that was incredible,” Drake said honestly. “And I still want to know how Emily cheated.”
“It’s her rarity, lord,” Lydia said. “I learned something the first time I dueled her. When I flutterstep, I focus on where I wish to be. It seems my soul appears in that space just before my body transitions. I never knew this until I met her, and obviously, it usually isn’t a problem.”
“But I can see souls,” Emily said with a wide grin. “So basically, whenever she tries to ambush me with flutterstep, there’s a bright flash wherever she’s going to be. That’s the only chance I have of beating her.”
“This flash only exists for the length of my step,” Lydia said. “The fact that Emily can spot and anticipate me in that short time vexes me to no end. And also, Emily, it’s not correct that you have no chance of beating me. You often swing so wildly I can’t even step into range.”
“You still seem to dance around every swing I take, even when you aren’t turning into butterflies. It’s like trying to split a cloud.”
“Yet my rarity only serves me against a single opponent, and only one I see coming,” Lydia reminded her firmly. “Were we to face multiple enemies, your range, stamina, and ability to ignore armor would see us through the battle more than my ability to evade.”
Drake shook his head. “I can’t do any of that.”
“That’s okay, lord!” Emily smiled his way. “If you ever turned into a dire rat, you’d probably tear both of us to shreds. Shapeshifters are my least favorite enemies to fight, because they’re almost always immune to pain and really hard to kill.”
That sounded encouraging. Either that, or Emily was just trying to make him feel better. “You’ve killed someone with a shapeshifting rarity before?”
“Oh no, but I got to duel warriors from other manors the few times I traveled to Korhaurbauten with Lord Dickcheese. There’s a lady in Lord Mistvale’s army who can shift into a dire wolf, and I don’t ever want to duel her again. She almost chewed my face off!”
If only the shifting soldier Emily mentioned hadn’t belonged to Mistvale Manor, which was part of the four manor alliance currently seeking to ally with Brightwater and tilt the table. If the woman with the dire wolf rarity had been a part of Skybreak Manor, Drake might have considered looking her up and asking for tips. He’d need to report to the capital soon, so it wasn’t like his rarity would remain a secret.
“Aww, lord!” Emily beamed as she looked past him. “You ordered lunch for us? You didn’t have to do that!”
Drake looked in the direction of the wall toward which Emily was now smiling. “I didn’t order anything.” The courtyard remained empty.
“Then who are the people coming to join us?” Emily asked.
The door to the inner courtyard opened right then. Four people in servant’s outfits emerged, carrying covered silver platters. Each looked to be rather muscular.
“Those are not our people,” Lydia said quietly.
The meaning of her low words registered at the same moment the four servants dropped their platters and pulled small crossbows from inside them. Drake had just enough time to shout “Down!” before they unloaded a full volley directly at his face.
Bolts slammed home at the same moment Lydia appeared in front of him, warping from her position paces away in a blast of butterflies. A sharp pain in his arm told him a crossbow bolt had gone into his arm, but as he looked down at his chest, he found only the one.
It was only after Lydia collapsed against his chest with a quiet, pained hiss that he realized where the other three bolts had gone. She’d just taken them in the chest. For him.
As Emily raised her glowing soul-rending axe and charged the assassins with an eager cry, Drake caught Lydia’s now limp body and ran with her to the nearest square pool. There was no cover out here save for the small amount of wall that made up the pool. Judging from how quickly the assassins were reloading, they were much quicker at it than he was.
They’d never reach the assassins in time to kill them, and Emily might not be able to drop all four alone. His bleeding arm ached as he almost dropped Lydia, but if he did that, she was as good as dead. He pulled her against him with a grunt and dived.
As he dove into the shallow cover of the pool, a previously quiescent Lydia thrashed in his arms. The shock of the chill water must have snapped her out of her shock of being shot three times. Even so, the blood that covered them both now told him she was in bad shape.
The way the majority of the bolts protruded from her feathersteel armor assured him only the tips had penetrated, if that. Still, she was bleeding all over the place... and on him. The pool was shallow enough that he had to crouch to keep his head below the edge of its wall, and with the weight of her armor it was a struggle to keep Lydia’s head above water.
She coughed a small spat of blood and stared at him. “They’re coming.”
She looked frightened, but Drake doubted she was afraid for herself. She was afraid for him. His arm ached where the crossbow bolt had lodged in it and the fire he remembered from when he’d been abducted was burning in his belly, but he hadn’t shifted yet. Why hadn’t he shifted? Was he not wounded enough?
As the sound of four crossbows firing in unison echoed through the courtyard, he heard Emily roar in pain. Evidently, she hadn’t been quite fast enough to reach them.
He poked his head up out of the pool to find Emily still barreling forward with bolts embedded in her arms, chest, and leg. She wore a murderous grin. She might make it to the assassins before they reloaded, but she’d never taken them all down while injured, and then...
Drake yanked the bolt from his shoulder and gasped as the pain ripped through him. It was excruciating, but the fire inside him refused to grow. No transformation. It seemed ripping a single crossbow bolt out of his arm wasn’t enough to trigger his rarity. Fortunately, he had a solution for that problem on hand.
“Fuck me.” He dragged the agony bracelet from his pocket. “Time for the field test.”
As he slipped it onto his wrist, Lydia’s eyes widened. “Don’t.”
“Lock,” he said.
“Don’t!” she whispered desperately.
“Get out of here, get Emily out of here, and stop me when I’m done.”
She bared her teeth. "I'm ready, lord."
Drake raised his wrist and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “By the power of Grayskull!”
Agony snapped through his bones with such intensity he was only aware he was howling because of the way Lydia’s eyes widened. His mind was awash in pain and screaming, his screaming, but the fire he’d stoked earlier finally ignited. The agony was a bonfire.
“Run,” Drake croaked, as his mouth grew and the pain became rage. “Now!”
A moment later, all he could smell was blood, and he liked the smell of blood. Fresh meat was right there waiting. He dived toward the juicy, bleeding morsel ahead, but it vanished in a cloud of spectral butterflies. Rude! How could meat just disappear?
He thrashed about in the shallow pool, searching for his missing morsel, and then scented more blood in the distance. It was pounding, hot, and fearful. It smelled wonderful.
He leapt out of the pool and was greeted with three sharp bursts of pain for his trouble. They’d shot him? He would teach this meat not to shoot him! He hurt, obviously, but the meat held tiny crossbows. Tiny bolts. A nuisance to him.
He was vaguely aware of three delicious morsels scattering as he sprinted across the courtyard. The fourth was down and smelled... odd. Like ashes and char. Some part of him cheered to see an assassin dropped, but the rest was annoyed to have his prey stolen.
As the three living pieces of meat crossed over each other in an odd pattern Drake skidded to a halt, momentarily confused by his prey’s movements. He settled on the slimmest meat and charged. She smelled the most frightened.
She was quick, which pleased him, but he was quicker. As he ran her down, she spun at the last moment and raised a blade. More sharp pains lanced through his chest, his claws, and even his nose, but then his teeth found her face and her face was tasty. So good.
Yet there was more meat. Fresh meat. Drake could come back and enjoy this meat after he downed the rest, one of which he spotted running for the exit. He charged after the meat and reached it just as it opened the door.
He slammed the door closed with one outstretched paw, then took his prey to the ground. The screaming was delightful, and the thrashing as he gorged made it so much better. As Drake tore the body limb from limb the screams quickly stopped, which was disappointing. He pawed and ripped experimentally, but this meat was no longer interesting.
He needed more blood. More meat. There was another morsel nearby, not moving, so it didn’t interest him. He could eat it at his leisure.
The morsel approaching with drawn swords became his focus. Even as more doors burst open and new meat flooded the courtyard, Drake charged the meat holding the swords. The fact that it held weapons felt like a challenge. He liked challenging prey.
The meat’s legs moved in some sort of dance as it spun about in a manner intended to be a threat. A dumb beast might have charged in to be slashed apart, but Drake was no dumb beast. He was simply a very hungry beast, and as he charged at his target, he skidded to a halt just before he arrived... and then leapt high into the air.
His powerful legs launched him in an arc, a movement that sent his meat stumbling backward in alarm. Even as it attempted to stop his thunderous descent with its silly swords, he landed atop the meat. He ripped and tore as it shrieked and swung.
Drake hurt as he was stabbed, but his meat hurt more. He expected to be stabbed in the back by the others and was surprised when it didn’t happen. He took the opportunity to finish the heart of vanquished prey. The heart, he had decided, was the yummiest part of all.
Soon, however, curiosity overcame his hunger. He hopped off his meal and spun to confront the rest of the meat. So much meat, gathered in the courtyard around him.
New meat had arrived as he finished the old meat, and there were too many figures for him to pick which one to eat. He picked the nearest meat and charged.
A string of livid flame whipped by directly in front of his nose, and he slid to a halt just in time to avoid having his whiskers burned off.
Standing her ground, Lydia set her feet and raised her daggers with one ahead and one tucked back. Flutterstep was incredible, but each bamf did seem to take a lot of her. Would she use it again to gain distance? If she kept teleporting around, she could tire Emily out.
As Emily’s muscular legs pumped like a steam engine, she shifted her grip on her axe in both hands. She ran with her weapon out and low.
Lydia didn’t move. When would she flutterstep? As Emily barreled in for the kill, the dagger Lydia had tucked behind her back rocketed into the center of Emily’s chest. It bounced off with a loud crack and went spiraling away.
Drake blinked. He hadn’t even seen her throw! Yet Emily howled and slowed, then lowered her axe. “You said you wouldn’t throw your daggers this time!”
“You said I wouldn’t,” Lydia reminded her firmly. “I never agreed to that.”
“Oh, poo.” Emily stomped on the pavement. “Even when I cheat you’re still too quick for me.”
Drake decided now was a safe time to step closer. “Hold up! How did Emily cheat?”
Emily snorted. “If you ask me, her flutterstep is cheating.”
Lydia took a deep breath, visibly gathering herself, and wiped sweat from her brow. “To be clear, lord, what is and is not cheating in our duels is a matter of opinion. In a real fight, there would be no rules. We simply make agreements to keep things interesting.”
“It’s also why we don’t duel Valentia,” Emily said. “Every time we’ve talked her into it, she simply snaps her fingers when the duel begins, says ‘Done’, and walks off the field.”
Drake chuckled. “I suppose you can’t duel someone who can freeze blood. Or rather... you can only duel them once.”
“No, lord. And Olivia would just burn us up. So the dueling here is me, Lydia, and Nicky.”
Nicole was the battle maid who had almost died after escaping the Redbow ambush to warn the manor. After this display, Drake couldn’t wait to see her fight. Or rather... not see her fight. Since she could use her rarity, penumbra, to turn invisible.
“I don’t care who actually won the fight, that was incredible,” Drake said honestly. “And I still want to know how Emily cheated.”
“It’s her rarity, lord,” Lydia said. “I learned something the first time I dueled her. When I flutterstep, I focus on where I wish to be. It seems my soul appears in that space just before my body transitions. I never knew this until I met her, and obviously, it usually isn’t a problem.”
“But I can see souls,” Emily said with a wide grin. “So basically, whenever she tries to ambush me with flutterstep, there’s a bright flash wherever she’s going to be. That’s the only chance I have of beating her.”
“This flash only exists for the length of my step,” Lydia said. “The fact that Emily can spot and anticipate me in that short time vexes me to no end. And also, Emily, it’s not correct that you have no chance of beating me. You often swing so wildly I can’t even step into range.”
“You still seem to dance around every swing I take, even when you aren’t turning into butterflies. It’s like trying to split a cloud.”
“Yet my rarity only serves me against a single opponent, and only one I see coming,” Lydia reminded her firmly. “Were we to face multiple enemies, your range, stamina, and ability to ignore armor would see us through the battle more than my ability to evade.”
Drake shook his head. “I can’t do any of that.”
“That’s okay, lord!” Emily smiled his way. “If you ever turned into a dire rat, you’d probably tear both of us to shreds. Shapeshifters are my least favorite enemies to fight, because they’re almost always immune to pain and really hard to kill.”
That sounded encouraging. Either that, or Emily was just trying to make him feel better. “You’ve killed someone with a shapeshifting rarity before?”
“Oh no, but I got to duel warriors from other manors the few times I traveled to Korhaurbauten with Lord Dickcheese. There’s a lady in Lord Mistvale’s army who can shift into a dire wolf, and I don’t ever want to duel her again. She almost chewed my face off!”
If only the shifting soldier Emily mentioned hadn’t belonged to Mistvale Manor, which was part of the four manor alliance currently seeking to ally with Brightwater and tilt the table. If the woman with the dire wolf rarity had been a part of Skybreak Manor, Drake might have considered looking her up and asking for tips. He’d need to report to the capital soon, so it wasn’t like his rarity would remain a secret.
“Aww, lord!” Emily beamed as she looked past him. “You ordered lunch for us? You didn’t have to do that!”
Drake looked in the direction of the wall toward which Emily was now smiling. “I didn’t order anything.” The courtyard remained empty.
“Then who are the people coming to join us?” Emily asked.
The door to the inner courtyard opened right then. Four people in servant’s outfits emerged, carrying covered silver platters. Each looked to be rather muscular.
“Those are not our people,” Lydia said quietly.
The meaning of her low words registered at the same moment the four servants dropped their platters and pulled small crossbows from inside them. Drake had just enough time to shout “Down!” before they unloaded a full volley directly at his face.
Bolts slammed home at the same moment Lydia appeared in front of him, warping from her position paces away in a blast of butterflies. A sharp pain in his arm told him a crossbow bolt had gone into his arm, but as he looked down at his chest, he found only the one.
It was only after Lydia collapsed against his chest with a quiet, pained hiss that he realized where the other three bolts had gone. She’d just taken them in the chest. For him.
As Emily raised her glowing soul-rending axe and charged the assassins with an eager cry, Drake caught Lydia’s now limp body and ran with her to the nearest square pool. There was no cover out here save for the small amount of wall that made up the pool. Judging from how quickly the assassins were reloading, they were much quicker at it than he was.
They’d never reach the assassins in time to kill them, and Emily might not be able to drop all four alone. His bleeding arm ached as he almost dropped Lydia, but if he did that, she was as good as dead. He pulled her against him with a grunt and dived.
As he dove into the shallow cover of the pool, a previously quiescent Lydia thrashed in his arms. The shock of the chill water must have snapped her out of her shock of being shot three times. Even so, the blood that covered them both now told him she was in bad shape.
The way the majority of the bolts protruded from her feathersteel armor assured him only the tips had penetrated, if that. Still, she was bleeding all over the place... and on him. The pool was shallow enough that he had to crouch to keep his head below the edge of its wall, and with the weight of her armor it was a struggle to keep Lydia’s head above water.
She coughed a small spat of blood and stared at him. “They’re coming.”
She looked frightened, but Drake doubted she was afraid for herself. She was afraid for him. His arm ached where the crossbow bolt had lodged in it and the fire he remembered from when he’d been abducted was burning in his belly, but he hadn’t shifted yet. Why hadn’t he shifted? Was he not wounded enough?
As the sound of four crossbows firing in unison echoed through the courtyard, he heard Emily roar in pain. Evidently, she hadn’t been quite fast enough to reach them.
He poked his head up out of the pool to find Emily still barreling forward with bolts embedded in her arms, chest, and leg. She wore a murderous grin. She might make it to the assassins before they reloaded, but she’d never taken them all down while injured, and then...
Drake yanked the bolt from his shoulder and gasped as the pain ripped through him. It was excruciating, but the fire inside him refused to grow. No transformation. It seemed ripping a single crossbow bolt out of his arm wasn’t enough to trigger his rarity. Fortunately, he had a solution for that problem on hand.
“Fuck me.” He dragged the agony bracelet from his pocket. “Time for the field test.”
As he slipped it onto his wrist, Lydia’s eyes widened. “Don’t.”
“Lock,” he said.
“Don’t!” she whispered desperately.
“Get out of here, get Emily out of here, and stop me when I’m done.”
She bared her teeth. "I'm ready, lord."
Drake raised his wrist and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “By the power of Grayskull!”
Agony snapped through his bones with such intensity he was only aware he was howling because of the way Lydia’s eyes widened. His mind was awash in pain and screaming, his screaming, but the fire he’d stoked earlier finally ignited. The agony was a bonfire.
“Run,” Drake croaked, as his mouth grew and the pain became rage. “Now!”
A moment later, all he could smell was blood, and he liked the smell of blood. Fresh meat was right there waiting. He dived toward the juicy, bleeding morsel ahead, but it vanished in a cloud of spectral butterflies. Rude! How could meat just disappear?
He thrashed about in the shallow pool, searching for his missing morsel, and then scented more blood in the distance. It was pounding, hot, and fearful. It smelled wonderful.
He leapt out of the pool and was greeted with three sharp bursts of pain for his trouble. They’d shot him? He would teach this meat not to shoot him! He hurt, obviously, but the meat held tiny crossbows. Tiny bolts. A nuisance to him.
He was vaguely aware of three delicious morsels scattering as he sprinted across the courtyard. The fourth was down and smelled... odd. Like ashes and char. Some part of him cheered to see an assassin dropped, but the rest was annoyed to have his prey stolen.
As the three living pieces of meat crossed over each other in an odd pattern Drake skidded to a halt, momentarily confused by his prey’s movements. He settled on the slimmest meat and charged. She smelled the most frightened.
She was quick, which pleased him, but he was quicker. As he ran her down, she spun at the last moment and raised a blade. More sharp pains lanced through his chest, his claws, and even his nose, but then his teeth found her face and her face was tasty. So good.
Yet there was more meat. Fresh meat. Drake could come back and enjoy this meat after he downed the rest, one of which he spotted running for the exit. He charged after the meat and reached it just as it opened the door.
He slammed the door closed with one outstretched paw, then took his prey to the ground. The screaming was delightful, and the thrashing as he gorged made it so much better. As Drake tore the body limb from limb the screams quickly stopped, which was disappointing. He pawed and ripped experimentally, but this meat was no longer interesting.
He needed more blood. More meat. There was another morsel nearby, not moving, so it didn’t interest him. He could eat it at his leisure.
The morsel approaching with drawn swords became his focus. Even as more doors burst open and new meat flooded the courtyard, Drake charged the meat holding the swords. The fact that it held weapons felt like a challenge. He liked challenging prey.
The meat’s legs moved in some sort of dance as it spun about in a manner intended to be a threat. A dumb beast might have charged in to be slashed apart, but Drake was no dumb beast. He was simply a very hungry beast, and as he charged at his target, he skidded to a halt just before he arrived... and then leapt high into the air.
His powerful legs launched him in an arc, a movement that sent his meat stumbling backward in alarm. Even as it attempted to stop his thunderous descent with its silly swords, he landed atop the meat. He ripped and tore as it shrieked and swung.
Drake hurt as he was stabbed, but his meat hurt more. He expected to be stabbed in the back by the others and was surprised when it didn’t happen. He took the opportunity to finish the heart of vanquished prey. The heart, he had decided, was the yummiest part of all.
Soon, however, curiosity overcame his hunger. He hopped off his meal and spun to confront the rest of the meat. So much meat, gathered in the courtyard around him.
New meat had arrived as he finished the old meat, and there were too many figures for him to pick which one to eat. He picked the nearest meat and charged.
A string of livid flame whipped by directly in front of his nose, and he slid to a halt just in time to avoid having his whiskers burned off.
