EN: Volume 1, Chapter 1
Anawyn’s sword struck sparks off her opponent’s blade, but even with all her strength behind the blow she failed to make him so much as stagger. The force of the colliding steel made her sword bounce back, and she was forced to surrender more of the battlements as the deathknight lunged into the opening and lashed at her with the rim of his shield. She leapt back, willing to lose ground to evade the blow, and brought her weapon before her.
Zaere, the deathknight, shifted to a side stance, shield arm leading and sword diagonal to the ground. Even in the pale moonlight, Anawyn’s elven eyes had no difficulty making out every detail of his movements. He was a faceless beast: a human so foul he’d become a demon in hell; then been summoned in spirit and bound to a full set of black, spiked platemail by the lich Vessadial. He moved noislessly, the plate and chain of his physical form sliding against itself as silently as oil flowing over water, and he spoke with the same silence: a voiceless pressure that echoed in Anawyn’s mind and soul, an impression of laughter mocking her failed assault.
“Give up, little bird. I don’t want to damage you before I hurt you.”
Anawyn shuddered, all too aware of what she would face in defeat, but her sword did not drop. The penalties for surrender were far, far worse.
Zaere lunged forward. Anawyn lashed out with her sword but Zaere’s shield knocked it aside contemptuously. She dodged away from a vicious downward slash, but the narrow battlements gave her no room to maneuver away. She ducked Zaere’s backslash, and then fell against the ground as a steel boot shoved into her chest.
Anawyn tried to recover, but Zaere followed the kick too quickly. His foot slammed against the stone to her left, and he dropped to one knee on her right. Trapped between his legs, Anawyn couldn’t rise or roll away. She tried to bring her sword to bear, but Zaere’s was already whipping around and up, poised to plunge into her chest.
“Surrender, birdie?”
Anawyn’s heart thundered in her chest. Zaere only asked when she didn’t have a choice, and commanded when he wanted to be disobeyed. Anawyn’s breath came in heavy gasps, and the rise and fall of her chest scraped her armor against the tip of his blade. “I…I give up,” she whispered, and let the hilt of her sword slip from her fingers. The blade clattered against the stone of the battlements.
“You continue to improve,” Zaere mused more to himself than to her. He raised his sword from her chest and sheathed it. “If I were killable, that would be troublesome. As it is, I think the rest of tonight’s entertainments have been well earned.”
Zaere’s gauntlet closed on the chainmail between Anawyn’s breasts. He hauled her up to sitting – and she let out a choked off mewl of agony as a deathly chill swept over her, as though her entire body had been immersed in ice.
The deathknight’s demeanor immediately changed. “Burning Saints,” his mind hissed into Anawyn’s. “What does he want now?”
Anawyn’s muscles trembled as another wave of ice swept over her: more of her immortal life being siphoned off as magic for the lich Vessadial’s use. “It’s the coastal wards,” she gasped. “Two ships have crossed them, and he’s bringing the drowned men awake.”
“Fuck.” Zaere stood and slung Anawyn over his shoulder. The spikes of his armor bit painfully into her gut, blunted only by the flexing of her own chainmail and the padded leather beneath it. “What a fucking waste of a good evening,” the deathknight growled into Anawyn’s mind as he turned towards one of the castle’s corner towers.
Hanging upside down over Zaere’s back, Anawyn’s body was wracked with another set of shudders. Tears that should have frozen from the cold trickled down her temples and into her hair. She had lost, like she always did, and Anawyn had no doubt Zaere would collect – but tonight he strode toward the part of the castle that housed her rooms, and not the deeper dungeons. When Vessadial’s rituals grew intense enough for Anawyn to feel the drain on her essence, there was little she was good for beyond powering the lich’s spells and writhing in pain.
A few minutes later, Zaere carelessly threw Anawyn onto the thatch mattress of her bed. She curled in on herself, and Zaere watched her agony for a minute before spinning on one heel and striding from the room. “I am going to fucking kill any of those fuckers who make it to the beach for this,” his mind snarled into Anawyn’s as he departed. “It’s not as fucking good when I’m not inflicting it myself.”
Interesting start. I’m not a big fan of fantasy but I was able to easily visualize what was going on.