“Your parry is ill-timed.”
“Your lunge set the bad timing.”
The sword sang as it sliced through the air, held by dark skinned and well-manicured hand of a veiled woman. Her long black hair was pulled into a tight bun, a high collar covering the lower half of her face, allowing only the bridge of her nose and the dark brown irises of her eyes be seen through the veil. She chuckled, her voice rich and warm as she poised the blade at her side.
Bast wore leather armor that seemed sewn and cut to
perfectly fit her physique. The woman was tall, like all southerners, and her
body outright flaunted the femininity that she so gracefully accepted. Yet
instead of being wrapped and held in the delicate sheer fabric that the rest of
the women in the city wore and pranced about in, she stood in her armor.
“Perhaps we should inform the King that Aideen's training was cut short and I'm in the midst of a duel with his preferred advisor?” The man asked, reaching up to his neck to unclasp the gold chain that held the black cape around his shoulders. He arched his back and rolled his shoulders, clenching the gloved fist he had around the hilt of a steel sword. His molded armor was of silver and black and the lining of his cape a rich purple identifying him as a general, specifically of the third rank.
Using his spare hand he brushed the mess of russet brown hair from in front of his eyes and drew a few short breaths, scanning Bast's each movement. They had been sparring for hours, and all they had to show for it was small nicks in their leather armor, and a massive array of boot prints in the sand and dirt of the training grounds. Metal clinked at his belt from the other blade that rested in its scabbard, the intricate silver and gold handle of the second sword polished to perfection and glinting in the soft light. The famous blade that only saw battle when it was being plunged into someone's chest.
“The King will be able to see me again shortly, we both know how this always end.”
“Why don't you refresh my memo-”
Without the chance to finish his speech, Bast lunged. Her blade skimmed the very surface of the ground as she brought it up. The flat side of the sword clapped against Hilt's wrist, knocking it up and disabling the grip he held on his sword. She grinned and pivoted on the ball of her left foot, spinning ever so slightly as she swept her right leg up and delivered a sharp kick to the General's chest.
“... memory...” General Noden coughed, laying on the ground as the woman in front of him held her blade to his throat, only seeing her come into view as the dust settled.
“You’re sloppy. It’s amazing you haven’t been
killed yet,” Bast said as she calmly extended a hand and pulled General Hilt to
his feet.
“Hey,” the General growled, “I’ll remind you that I
am the youngest man to earn my title.”
“And yet you were beaten by a woman,” Bast
retorted, sheathing her thin blade.
The general grumbled softly and tried to ignore the
snickering from the other foot soldiers practicing.
“You will best me one day, General,” Bast said
quietly.
“It doesn’t seem to be in the near future.”
“Someday. Though you shall never best my master.”
Hilt smirked. “I would enjoy sparring with him someday—“
“THERE YOU ARE!” squealed a high pitched voice.
Both the General and Bast turned in time to see a young woman sprinting into
the arena. She wore the same leather training pants that Bast wore, but had a
rather exquisitely made dress of silk and chiffon over it.
“Aideen,” the General started, “you missed your
practice.”
Aideen ignored him, still beaming. “We should go! I
don’t want to miss another execution!”
The General rolled his eyes and glared at the girl.
“An execution is no place for—“
“I want you to take me,” Aideen demanded.
Bast chuckled and started to walk off. “Isn’t it
such a wonderful responsibility to guard the daughter of the King?” she teased.
The General remained silent as he escorted young
Aideen out of the training grounds and toward the castle gates.
“You don’t have to act so angry,” Aideen pouted.
“You were late. Again.”
“I wasn’t late,” she corrected. “I never showed up.”
The General was not amused. “What were you doing,
then?”
“Exploring,” she said simply.
“How did you manage that with a full guard at your
side?” The General inquired.
“I didn’t.” Aideen beamed and skipped a few paces
ahead of him before he could snatch her and flick her nose for being so
ridiculous.
The General sighed and wrapped the purple cloak
around her shoulders as he lead her through the winding corridors of the inner
castle.
The castle of Beinn was arranged in an equal-armed
cross that was then made with a set of walls joining the end of each arm. At
the four points, one that rested in each cardinal direction, was a tower that
shone and glimmered with rich color. To the west the tower was awash in
crimson. The stone was a deep red, taken from the rock of the Vertun Canyon. A
crimson flag was raised at the top of the battlements. It was the tower the
Fifth General resided.
The scheme continued for the south (Emerald), the
east (Amber), and the north (Amethyst). In the center of the cross was a final
spire, one that held a single flag atop its peak that was carved out of pure
marble. Black.
The flags indicated the presence of the God Generals, and as it were, only three flags were flying that day. The second and fourth Generals being away on duties for the crown.
The flags indicated the presence of the God Generals, and as it were, only three flags were flying that day. The second and fourth Generals being away on duties for the crown.
“It
would do you good to listen every once and a while, Aideen.”
“Oh,
stop trying to be my father, Damien,” Aideen teased, stepping through the
ornate steel gates that separated the castle from the city.
They took one of
the many lifts that were required to traverse the city down to an upper-middle
section. As they stepped out into the crowds, the people quickly dispersed
enough to give them plenty of room. Even those who did not know the General’s
face understood the meaning of his uniform and who the young girl alongside him
was.
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