The Vernesse and Her Pursuit
A bolt of white streaked across the field, spilling forth a sea of blood. A cacophony filled the air—bellows of rage, screams of pain, agonized cries from those who were dying in despair. Through it all, the white light remained pure, yet painted over with deepest black. The crossing of the hues bred more corpses, an unstoppable advance that reaped lives like grain.
In a hideout nestled in the mountains of Baum, three hundred bandits were fighting five hundred of the Crow Legion.
“What a one-sided battle. It’s positively dreary to watch.” Claudia sipped from her teacup as she gazed down on the battle from the Crow Legion’s camp atop the cliff. “Lord Surtr shines brightest when great armies clash. His talents are wasted on a field such as this.”
She turned from his battle toward the depths of the gully. There, in the heart of the enemy stronghold, a woman fought like a rampaging lion.
“What a pitiful sight you make. Born heir to a throne, yet now you spend your days in a foreign land, letting a man you despise keep you on a leash. I shall never understand what pleasure you find in it.”
The former princess had fallen into Lord Surtr’s keeping during the battle with Six Kingdoms. Now her empty left sleeve flapped in the wind as she swung her greathammer in her liege’s defense, keeping the enemy from his back.
“How simple these bandits must be,” Claudia murmured. “Had they only ventured south, they would have found far less risky pickings in Lichtein.”
The bandits were holding out for all they were worth. Judging by their numbers and the uniformity of their gear, they were ne’er-do-wells who had filtered in from the empire; hired by some noble to harass Baum, perhaps. Whatever the case, Claudia could only pity them. Why they had chosen this place, she could not for the life of her comprehend. The gully made a fine location for a stronghold, nullifying the numbers of a larger force, but even a single warrior of elite caliber would turn it into a deathtrap, let alone the two or three that the Crow Legion could field. The vanguard must have shuddered as they saw what they faced.
Claudia giggled. “You’d love to turn tail and run, no doubt, but he won’t let you.”
She could not make out the bandits’ faces from the clifftop, but she could imagine their expressions all the same. Anybody could. It was all too easy to understand what they must be feeling. To face Surtr was like standing against a storm. Resistance was hopeless. Victory was impossible. Strength? Weakness? The gulf between him and these bandits was nothing so easily overcome. Before the wrath of nature, they had no choice but to lay down their lives. That was what it meant to face the Black-Winged Lord; to stand in his way without understanding that was unthinkably naive.
“Storms are fickle things. They bestow blessings as easily as they wreak destruction.”
And the wise knew to learn to live with them rather than challenge them. An enemy that could not be defeated was better not provoked.
“Die knowing you were fools who did not realize who you faced—fools who gave no thought to how my lord might be overcome.”
She likened him to a storm, but he was still a man, possessed of a human heart. That was the key to victory over him. Those who ignored that stood no chance.
“His flaws are not visible to the eye, but spend long enough by his side and you cannot fail to notice them. Lord Surtr is contradictory to his core.”
He was kind to those he cared for. Callous to the rest, yes, but kind to them—a tenderness like cloying honey, so sweet that it was tempting to brand him a failure as a ruler. Yet that was his privilege, a distinction that he alone was strong enough to uphold.
“It is his allies, not his enemies, who turn his head. And once you have worked your way into his good graces, he will willingly bleed in your name. That is his failing: that he is kind. So very, very kind.”
Yet if she did not offer equal love, his would quickly shatter. Their interests aligned, she had said, but in truth, their arrangement was less an alliance of convenience and more akin to a suicide pact.
“I mustn’t allow myself to be lured too deep...but my, if that is not a difficult line to draw.”
Fighting by his side was like wading into a bottomless mire. Once it caught hold, one’s fate was sealed; they could only watch themselves slowly sink deeper, like water seeping into wool. There was a clear and present danger of being caught in her own web, and her mind begged her to withdraw with almost paranoid urgency.
“He is simply marvelous.”
Lord Surtr—a man who was both sides of the coin of life and death. He frustrated her, but that was all the more reason to want him. That was her goal. That was her reason for joining forces. The zlosta would never rise again without him—he alone in this world had the power, the authority, the renown. To kill him would be a waste. Far better to make him her plaything and let him wait forever on her hand.
“I will have you, Lord Surtr. And I will stop at nothing to make you mine.”
A sigh spilled from her lips as she watched the last of the bandits fall by his hand.
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