"But Flaila did not flinch before his taunts and simple insults. She merely waited, and asked his choice of weapon. In an amusing coincidence, he chose Flaila's namesake. It wasn't his final mistake, but it would number among the last of them.
"I'll never forget the match, however short it was. Flaila chose her flail and provided the Alban with one. His squire inspected it and found it acceptable. They squared off against each other, and General Bellows signaled for them to begin.
"Flaila let the Alban test the weight and balance of his weapon, let him show off what skill he thought he had. Her only taunt was to beckon him nearer. He laughed and flicked out the spiked end of the flail as if to tease her. It was during one of these foolish taunts that she caught his chain in hers and pulled him close.
"Flaila planted a fist in the man's faceplate, denting it inward with an audible crunch. I would swear the woman was made of iron. She let the Alban fall back, disentangling the chains of the flails. He was forced to retract the faceplate, and his nose bled profusely. Agrathor laughed at him from my side. I couldn't see his eyes from the ramparts, but the Alban's tense bearing said he now knew this fight was no joke. There were no more flashy maneuvers of his flail.
"Flaila and the Alban traded a number of feints and strikes, though I believe she could have ended him any second. She blocked an overhead swing, then flicked the spiked ball down low and into the Alban's greaves. So great was her strength that the metal caved inward. The Alban began to limp. He circled Flaila, slyly trying to get in range of his squire. I saw the squire ready a spear inconspicuously, but so did Flaila.
"When the Alban spun away from her to accept the spear - dishonorably, I might add - Flaila flung her weapon at him, spiked ball tumbling end over end. The handle of the flail struck the Alban's helm in just the right place, and the chain curled around the curve of his skull. The spiked ball lodged in his face, and he fell to the ground, dead."
Pierce imagined it - an impressive feat to behold.
"The battlefield was shocked, and our men cheered, a deafening roar. General Bellows ordered his men to fall back, and they obeyed, with many an irate glance back toward the city."
"So he was a man of his word," Pierce said. "He did what he'd said."
"For the afternoon, yes," Ess said. "It was the nighttime that brought us treachery. We had been furnished with little apartments in an annex to the barracks. Agrathor was asleep in his room, and never forgave himself for not standing watch. It wasn't something we had been in the habit of doing, so why would he this night?
"Sometime, in the deepest hours of the night, a spy or mage must have gained access to Flaila's room. In a most heinous and disgusting display of dishonor, they poured a powerful poison down Flaila's throat. It probably took effect within seconds. She would have foamed at the mouth, convulsing, waking from a well-deserved slumber to the horror of her own murder. By the time the sun had crawled up out of the east, she had been dead for hours."
Ess went quiet again, looking up toward Agrathor, further down the road.
"Agrathor had long since learned to harness the lightning in his soul, but his rage and mourning brewed up a storm that he could not contain. The Alban battalions were slain before the smells of breakfast had even begun to waft out of the kitchens, and the siege was ended, just like that. I would have counseled him to take General Bellows prisoner at least, but Agrathor electrocuted every last one of the besiegers, with no regard to station."
"He doesn't talk about Flaila," Pierce said. "Too much pain, I guess."
"He does not often talk about losing his flesh either," Ess pointed out. "Even though he will not admit it."
"So Scythia took up the flail," Pierce realized.
"The very one that her sister used to slay the Alban champion. It is her memorial, enchanted against decay."
"And that was your first mission together," Pierce said. It was a wonder they had kept their wits after such a devastating loss.
"Of course we did odd jobs in the years leading up to the siege," said Ess, "but yes. Officially that was our first big job. And the beginning of a real sense of honor among us. If that was how the world treated such a diligent and talented champion, we had to be better. We resolved to be the best version of ourselves that day."
Pierce glanced up at the sun, feeling the heat of that cursed day outside the city of Ija. Not just Agrathor's, but Scythia's heart had been cut out. It was one thing to be disowned by family - at least Pierce knew they were still alive and safe. Loss to treachery, poison of all things - and to death - he could only imagine the devastation.
Belatedly Pierce realized his sparring with Ess had ended with the mention of his family and the telling of Flaila's tale. Had she thought to dampen his spirits on purpose? Or had it been a natural course of conversation... He was preparing himself to re-engage when Scythia called back to Ess from up ahead. She glanced down at him with a smile and floated off toward the others.
Next time, Pierce thought.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Warnings
Ess caught up to Scythia, Flaila's tale still playing in her head.
All those years ago, and now so fresh in mind. The memory was a wonderous thing.
"Ess, we ask a favor of you," Scythia said. It was peculiar, almost eerie, how the woman's eyes recalled her sister. A dash of blue upon that yellow, and do not dampen the brightness, and they
