Page 92 of Arise the Queen
Escaped a gilded cage.
The ground beneath her feet was hallowed by the blood of the fallen, and she would not let their sacrifices be in vain. With each flaming pass of her sword, she called upon the wrath of the Ancients, every thrust a declaration that justice would be served…
For her father.
For her uncle.
Her cousins.
For her innocence.
For this land.
For Plowonida.
For Caradoc.
For Durotriges.
And every injustice Loc ever committed.
With a sudden burst of energy, she lunged forward, driving Locrinus back with a flurry of blows. Their swords clashed and met and met in a shower of sparks, every strike fueled by pent-up animosity. Gwendolyn spun and twisted, her movements fluid and precise as she fought against his relentless assault. The smell of sweat and blood mingled in the air—some of it hers. The taste of adrenaline grew sharp on her tongue as she pushed back against her foe—the man who’d dared to violate and shame her.
Who broke her heart!
Stole her hope!
He who came dressed in golden robes to deceive with a serpent’s tongue. The man who’d accepted her torc as a promise of peace and tore this land apart with every heinous act he committed.
His men shoved a blade into her father’s back as they’d supped at his table, and then dragged him through the streets, lopping off his head to decorate Loc’s gate—her final “wedding gift.”
Their dance of blades continued, a deadly gavotte that threatened to disarm them both, the clash of steel filling the air punctuated by grunts and curses as they strained against each other’s skill and strength.
When finally, Locrinus staggered beneath the weight of her relentless assault, he stumbled backward onto his rump and Gwendolyn’s gaze scanned the field…
Elsewhere on the battlefield, Málik faced a phalanx of adversaries. With movements honed by his years of training, he dispatched them.
Nearby, having opted for his bow instead of his sword, Bryn release arrow after arrow with unerring precision.
Esme and Taryn fought beside him, their assaults a mixture of blades and arrows, moving between the two so quickly that it was impossible to predict her movements—all this Gwendolyn witnessed in the fleeting moment that she turned her attention from Locrinus, and when she returned her gaze to him, she pressed forward, resolved.
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Gwendolyn’s warriors beat Locrinus’ back to give them room to fight—to end this battle once and for all. Both afoot now, both wielding swords. There was no mistaking the advantage Gwendolyn held.
Not even in Loc’s ignorance could he fail to be cowed by the flaming steel, and his moment of hesitation was his undoing. His gaze locked with hers, but where his eyes were wide, flickering with the specter of defeat, hers burned with the unassailable light of retribution.
“Your reign ends with me!” she vowed, her voice slashing through the uproar, her pursuit relentless as she cut down one of Locrinus’ lieutenants who surged forward to stop her, the gap between her and Locrinus narrowing with every heartbeat, her grip on the ancient hilt tightening, sword pulsing.
But as Aengus once saw fit to remind her, he who wields the Sword of Light will command unconquerable armies!
Locrinus dared to lunge at her, and Gwendolyn parried his first vicious thrust, sidestepping the swipe, and with a cry of vengeance, she lunged forward, her blade singing through the air, finding its mark—a decisive blow to his ribs that sent himstaggering backward again, lighting his tunic aflame. Squealing with terror, he stumbled backwards, then collapsed, and the tumult of combat faded to a distant echo in Gwendolyn’s ears. All she could hear now was the pounding of her own heartbeat at her temples. The air about them crackled with the intensity of her enmity, even as he slapped out the last of the flames on his tunic, and his head thumped back on the blood-spattered ground. At last, she stood towering over him, her chest heaving, the Sword of Light a quivering flame that flickered in his malevolent eyes.
A tempest of emotions raged within her, conflicting tides of vengeance and mercy clashing. Memories of her fallen kin, the smoldering ruins of her kingdom—the screams for justice, screams for retribution. And yet, a softer voice murmured of forgiveness and for a heartbeat, or mayhap an eternity, she wavered, her gaze fixing upon the man who’d been her nemesis.
Two souls.
Some, like Locrinus’, were equally vile.
