As knights, Ollie and Franc couldnât be more different if theyâd tried. One had been born into his lofty station while another had risen from far more humble origins. One had been trained in weapons from the time he was old enough to listen to his fatherâs instructions, while the other had only played with a hand-carved wooden toy.
These things and a dozen others had shaped Sir Ollie and Sir Franc into very different knights, but at the moment they met, two differences mattered more than any others. Sir Franc wore a full suit of interlocking plate over his coat of mail and padded gambeson, while Ollie wore only the first two layers. Worse, while Ollie carried a blade in each hand, two blades couldnât make up the reach advantage granted by Sir Francâs longsword.
The night that Ashlynn had granted Ollie the title of knight, sheâd transformed Frost Fang into a sword of ice. Right now, the smartest decision Ollie could have made would have been to do the same, or failing that, to use it to summon a shield of ice that would help to protect him from Sir Francâs blade.
Unfortunately, the power of the Blood Acorn sang in his veins, rich with the strength of wood, earth, and fire... but offering none of the control over water or wind that the Cypress Witch usually commanded. In the inner bailey, heâd managed to call the guardian winds, but it had taken tremendous effort and concentration.
Now that the fury of the Blood Acorn had taken hold, it was impossible for him to use Frost Fang the way he should, and Francâs first move put Ollie instantly on the defensive.
Francâs first thrust came fast enough to prove that the hours of poison-induced misery hadnât completely robbed him of his training. The blade shot forward in a clean line aimed at the center of Ollieâs chest, exploiting the reach advantage that a longsword held over a cleaver and a fighting knife, and it was only Marcelâs training that allowed Ollie to twist out of the way, keeping the edges of his blades between his own body and the edge of Francâs sword.
In the corridors, the soldiers had been obstacles. Dangerous in numbers, deadly with their polearms, but ultimately unable to match Ollieâs strength or withstand the darksteel cleaverâs edge. Franc was different. Franc was enclosed in steel from head to toe, and every piece of that armor was a barrier that Ollieâs weapons had to overcome before they could reach the man inside.
Worse, the longsword gave Franc a reach that turned the space between them into a killing field. Ollie had to cross two feet of sharpened steel to get close enough for the cleaver to do its work, and Franc was smart enough to make him pay for every inch.
Behind Sir Franc, the captain hefted his own weapon, preparing to give his men orders to charge when the woman in the feathered hat who claimed to be Ashlynn Blackwell stopped him with a single phrase.
"This chamber belongs to a duel between knights, Captain," Ashlynn said coldly. "Donât mistake it for a battlefield."
"Are you serious? Your ladyship," the captain added belatedly as he stared at the woman. The sounds of steel ringing against steel filled the room as Sir Franc pressed his advantage, while Ollieâs position became increasingly precarious as he fought to close the gap between himself and the fully armored knight.
"You expect us to stand here and do nothing?" the captain asked.
"I expect you to act with honor," Ashlynn said, staring down the length of her nose at the veteran soldier. "You donât see my captains or my knights charging you, do you? The men of Blackwell donât cast off their honor so easily, but then again, when have the men of Lothian ever demonstrated a shred of decency or valor?"
"Ignatious," Ashlynn called over her shoulder. "If Sir Francâs men make a move, leave nothing but ashes for their widows."
"As you wish, my Lady," the youthful-looking Inquisitor in the antique robes said, stepping forward in answer to Ashlynnâs order and raising a hand wreathed in golden Holy Flames. "But I hope it wonât be necessary."
"Wait, wait!" the captain said, raising one hand in a gesture of surrender and quickly rounding on his men. "Stand fast, donât, for the love of Light, donât do anything stupid," he said as beads of sweat formed on his brow.
A common soldier might not know much about the miracles of the Inquisition but after spending more than half his life fighting everything from bandits to demons, the captain had seen more than his share of Inquisitors... enough to know that the prayers required to summon Holy Flames werenât casual things and that men who summon a wisp of Holy Flame with just a few words were treasured by the Inquisition above all others.
So what did it say about this man that he could summon Holy Flame without saying a word, calling it up as easily as he turned over his hand?
The captain didnât know, but for the first time since this whole nightmare began, he was starting to understand why this strange group that included a pregnant woman and a lady who was supposed to be dead had crushed everything in their path so easily.
"We wonât fight," the captain promised as his men quickly followed his orders and laid down their own weapons. "No matter what happens with Sir Franc and Sir, um, Sir Ollie," he said. "We wonât interrupt their duel, and we wonât do anything after either."
"Wise decision, Captain," Ashlynn said, letting out a sigh of relief as someone finally did the rational thing and stood down instead of fighting to the death.
Now, all that remained between her and the door that led to Owain and Jocelynn was a duel between knights... and from the look of that duel, it wouldnât be long before it was over. It seemed like Ollie had finally made his decision.