“It could be worse, hmm?”
Her chest felt suddenly constricted. She panted, craving air. Her head became twice as heavy as she fixated on the still form of her would-be assassin. Blood loss caused her racing heart to slow. She felt her energy dwindling. She was parched, and her stomach groaned with hollow hunger. She didn't know how much time she had before she lost consciousness, but she knew she had to start moving.
She stretched towards her dead adversary’s satchel, but reflexively flung herself backwards when a sickening groan pierced the air around the dead attacker. Rapidly-growing arcs of pulsating energy protruded up and away from the body.
The queen swallowed her exhausted surprise.
A doppelcharm?
The flashing arcs continued to strobe out from the body. First low, then higher, they crept upward until they reached the standing height of the dead man. After a few seconds, the flashes ceased, and a semi-transparent replica of the assassin stood over the body. The doppelcharm had detected the death of its wearer, and had his last enemy imprinted upon it. The fight was not over.
Not everyone would have been able to recognize the doppelcharm, and the required knowledge was looked down upon by much of the world. But magic was literally in Jularra's blood. She was haunted and blessed by it. More than that, she was beholden to it. She was simultaneously grateful for and cursed by it. In the past, many of her nights were spent in the libraries of Morganon, or in the forests outside the city, studying and practicing a variety of magic. She dropped her useless sword and focused on her answer to the unnatural foe.
As the assassin’s vengeance-ghost came to fruition, Jularra spoke a rapid incantation.
“Woods of this world, hear my plea. Let my hands craft the life of the forest. I honor you and cherish you. Any who abuse you are my enemy.”
The ending portion was particularly important: a note of respect, followed finally by a sworn promise to benefit the element she requested help from.
While the assassin’s specter stirred, Jularra reached down and covered her wound with her hands. Sharp pain scraped through her body as she grabbed it, dragging the air from her lungs in a violent gasp. She filtered the pain from her mind. As she focused, her hands took on the faint image of superimposed tree branch tips, which expanded quickly and wrapped tangling green and leafy vines around her wound. Once her leg had been temporarily secured, the queen let go and claimed her normal hands once more.
Jularra raced to think how best to combat the magic as she came to her feet. She stood slowly, testing the strength of her leg. It’ll do, she decided.
She looked up to see the assassin’s ghost beginning to nock an arrow. Breathing deep, she focused this time on a ward of protection.
“Warriors of the past, I have studied your ways. Wrap me in a dome of shields. Your wisdom will not die with me.”
Dozens of ethereal shields folded outwards from the queen. They overlapped each other slightly, surrounding her completely. Then the arrow struck and the shield barrier crumbled. Before it disintegrated completely, she had already begun her next spell.
“Creatures of the ages, bears and dragons. Produce from the depths a weapon with which I can dispatch my foe. Your descendants and cousins will always have a home in Acorilan.”
The ground beneath the queen’s feet began to shift. She stepped back, keeping an eye on her approaching attacker. Sounds of tearing roots and grinding stones crept out through the rolling and tumbling soil. And then, at last, it emerged. A glaringly bright segment of some massive beast’s curved rib shot up and out of the ground before smacking down at the feet of the queen. A weapon of magical origin.
Jularra launched herself at the scimitar-shaped bone. A crossguard of sorts was formed by two pronounced, bony tubercles just above the queen’s hand. The single edge and point had somehow been shaved sharp. The bone was petrified, and the weight felt good.
She held the grip with one hand and the flat of the blade with the other, then parried upwards with no time to spare. Jularra looked up at the ghostly clone and saw no emotion in its foggy eyes as she spun out from under the parry, slicing behind her as she did. The bone blade struck the ghost in its lower leg. Jularra stood up and stabbed the stunned shape in its middle, and the ghost slid to its knees before soaking into the ground.
The queen remained standing long enough to watch the vanquished vision disappear, then stumbled back and toppled over. She landed hard near the body of her original attacker and huffed a sigh of exhaustion before gasping for air. Her eyes were blurry, and she blinked rapidly as the ground swallowed her bone sword back to a place or time she wasn’t familiar with. The leafy dressing around her wound withered and died away as well. She needed more permanent medical attention.
The queen clawed at her attacker's pockets and satchel—both empty—before pushing his corpse away, glowering at the dead man’s face. “I hope you’re really dead now,” she muttered.
She rolled her head back and rubbed her eyes before tearing off pieces of her lower tunic with which to haphazardly bandage her leg. Her monthly nuisance would have to wait. After sheathing her dagger and returning her sword to its scabbard, Jularra used a drooping oak limb to pull herself to her feet.
“Queen Jularra? Jularra!”
She snapped her head around, adrenaline spiking once
