Princeps’ Fury

And it was terrifyingly clear that she could not meet him sword to sword for long. He would slice her weapon apart like a stick of chilled butter. For that matter, she doubted that her armor would stand up to his blade any better. If she allowed Raucus to keep diving upon her, he would carve her to bits one pass at a time. She had to ground him.

With another lifted hand, the snow around her began to whirl in another vortex, rising in a blinding, stinging curtain to veil her from his sight, to make swift charges through the curtain of snow an unattractive option.

Instead, she maintained the watercrafting that kept the snow stirring around her and cooled her still-hot sword in the snow at her feet while she waited.

A moment later, a shadow broke the whirling snow, a dark shape, and Antillus Raucus appeared, frost clinging to his beard, his hair, and to the leather of his armored coat. His sword was in his hand.

On an impulse, Isana maintained the snow curtain, and waited.

“Bloody crows, Isana,” Raucus said. His voice was not loud, and was more tired than angry. “An excellent choice of a dueling ground.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Isana said quietly.

He shook his head. “All you’re doing is drawing things out. You’re determined, and you think quickly. But this is only going to end one way.”

“I can’t help but wonder,” Isana said quietly, “why you are so obstinate about refusing to cooperate with me.”

“I think we’ve just about talked this to death,” he said bleakly, and started forward.

Isana lifted her sword. “I’m not so sure, Raucus. Is this because of me? Or because of Gaius. I think you owe me that much of an answer.”

“Owe you? Owe you?” Raucus said, and with a flick of his hand sent a gout of flame rushing toward her.

She raised a shimmering shield of ice halfway between them, and the flame vanished into a cloud of steam.

“As you point out, I can’t really do more than draw this duel out, Your Grace. I’m well aware of that. It seems a small thing to ask of you in exchange for my life.”

Raucus gave her a hard, bitter smile, hovering just outside what Araris had taught her would be the striking range of his weapon. “Gaius would be reason enough. That treacherous snake doesn’t deserve the loyalty of the worms that will feast on his corpse.”

“As much as I would like to,” Isana replied, her tone frank, her sword at a low guard position, one that would be easiest on her arms to maintain, “I cannot say that I disagree with you, sir.”

Raucus frowned. His stance shifted subtly, as he lifted his sword to a high guard, both hands on the weapon’s handle, the blade almost directly in line with his body.

It was something of a ludicrous ready stance for such a short weapon, but all the same, it dictated that Isana had to adjust to the new potential threat. She lifted her blade to a similar stance, overhead, but with her arms slightly to one side, holding the weapon’s length across her body.

“Eastern style,” Raucus noted in a calm, professional tone. “Araris always loved bringing out that Rhodesian tripe in his high defense.”

He took a step forward, closing into range, and swept a blow down at her. Isana managed to divert it, at the cost of another long sliver of steel from her blade, but then Raucus’s shoulder and hip slammed into her as he continued forward, his entire mass impacting simultaneously along the center of her balance. Isana was flung violently back to the snow, and desperately wrought a working, flattening it to smooth ice, so that she slid several yards backward.

Raucus had taken quick steps forward to follow up the attack, but as his feet touched the slick ice, he was forced to slow. Another effort of will, and the snow gathered beneath her, lifting her to her feet again. She brought her sword up, her back against the wall of whirling snow that still enfolded them, and faced him, ready.

Raucus lifted his weapon to her in a smooth salute. “The Rhodesian school never allowed enough for brawling techniques, in my opinion.” He began to pace around the icy patch, stalking her. “What do you have against Gaius?”

“He murdered my husband,” Isana said, with far more heat than she’d intended. “Or stood by and allowed it to happen. It’s the same to me.”

Raucus froze in place for an instant, before he continued his stalk. “Then why are you here toadying for him?”

“I’m not,” Isana replied. “I’m here for my son.” She decided to test a theory, and took a quick step forward, lashing out in a conservative slash at the fingers gripping his sword.

Raucus parried her with the automatic ease of ridiculously disparate skill, nearly taking the sword from her hands-but he waited for her to step back out of range, rather than immediately counterattacking.

He wants to talk. Just keep him talking.

“Your son,” Raucus said. “You and Septimus.”

“Yes,” Isana said.