A Simple Shepherd's Cottage, Glacia, Late Saturday Afternoon (Fandom Time)
The further south their great procession had traveled, the more things had changed. Some of that was purely geographical, of course. They'd left the mountains and the great pine forests long behind them, trading them in for fields and rivers made mighty by the runoff from the mountains that only stopped when the weather turned water to ice. They
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The male he'd blocked countered that with a blast of Purple Dusk to Morton's face. Morton's shield absorbed the power, leaving Morton to shake his head and slam his opponent to the floor with the Blood Opal. "Yield honorably and I won't have to kill you."
The male's response was succinct, but most definitely not of the yielding persuasion.
"Had your chance," Morton sighed, and finished him off in short order.
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What he respected even more was the young Summersky Warlord who stood back a moment longer, long enough to draw his own conclusion, and then moved to stand between the Queens and the fighting, blade drawn, but not pointed at Warren or Morton. He stood with back to the pair of females, stood in full trust that this young woman who was cradling his Queen wouldn't do him harm.
Warren smiled, something almost soft that turned into something far more fierce as he dove out of the way of a blast of Tiger's Eye, and then doubled back to neatly sever the hand of the male that had used it.
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Heh.
...The situation in which they found themselves in. Her macabre sense of humor was only one such example.
"ENOUGH!" she shouted, both aloud and on a psychic thread, both enhanced by the power of the Ebon-gray. Winces around the room showed her strategy was effective, especially considering it gave pause to everyone, even the most die-hard of Marva's attackers.
Karla didn't pause for smugness, though. "You are disturbing your Queen," she continued in a voice closer to normal volume. "The next person to raise a weapon will have to deal with me."
Any takers on that?
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One by one, the swords vanished.
Warren made a note of those that were slower doing so than the rest.
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"Who is going to see to the Lady Marva!" one of the males shouted. Karla looked up at him long enough to memorize his face with a flinty blue stare, then went back to Healing.
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*Watch my back,* he sent to Warren, before turning around to lift Marva's limp form in his arms and place her on the table. Not an idiot he made sure to put Opal shield around her. He didn't trust her OR most of the males in this room not to do something stupid and violent.
Holding up her right hand, he created a witchlight to hover behind it. "Look," he said, and pointed to the shadow on the floor. "How many fingers do you see?"
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And, from recognition, to anger. Some directed their hateful looks toward Marva, recognizing her as a traitor, as a Black Widow allied with Hobart.
As the reason their Queen's mind had been growing more and more polluted.
And some of them directed that anger toward Morton, for revealing her, toward Warren, for daring to be a landen standing up against men that were so much more worthy than himself, and for Karla, for being the catalyst for their ambitions crumbling around them.
"Black Widow," one man cried. "Kill the traitorous bitch now for what she's done to our Queen!"
A few of the guardsmen nodded their agreement, though they didn't dare raise their weapon. Not with the Ebon-Grey Queen still in the room, her threat looming over them.
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There weren't many people to Heal; Warren and Morton had been thorough in their attacks. Considering most of the people who had rushed them were likely Marva's own allies, Karla was having trouble caring they were dead.
Once she was done, she looked to Fetya and inclined her head. "Lady, I defer to you. What would you have me do with your sister?"
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He wasn't going to suggest that they kill her, but he wouldn't argue against it, either.
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The sword was a good weapon when there wasn't anything else at hand. His sticks, on the other hand, were practically an extension of himself. He could kill, with a sword. That was fine enough. It was all he was really required to do. But if a sword was efficient, his sticks were art. Lucivar had trained him well.
*Feyta needs to know that there are still men in this room that mean to do her harm,* he thought in Karla and Morton's direction as he sheathed his blades at his hips.
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As it was, she was watching her people tie up her sister with tears glimmering in her eyes. Even so, she did glance over at the men who were not moving and her eyes lingered over each of their faces in turn.
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*I think she and her males can handle it, then,* he noted, and then looked at one of Fetya's, tentatively reaching his bloodied hand out to get his attention. The man tensed a little, looking up at Warren not with contempt, but with the memory of him cutting down his companions fresh in his mind. Warren only offered him a half-smile, raising his other hand as well, showing the man that he wasn't going to reach for his sticks. "I need you to tell me about the males that are coming after our army ( ... )
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