The Source (Creasan #1)
Chapter 5

Two tents had been rendered on the green in the garden of the palace. One for Thea, the other for Fendrel. The boundaries would be held by the expanse of wooded forests making up the perimeter of the gardens. Carac helped dress Thea in her armor as she stared across the expanse of snow-covered grass at Fendrel’s tent. The king had just arrived and handed over a long sword to Fendrel. They were talking about it; probably a family heirloom of some kind, if Thea had to guess.

“You’re going to be fine,” Carac assured as he pulled her armor sleeve into place.

“Not your best idea, is it,” Thea said. “Either I lose and we die, or I kill the prince and commit treason again. And we die.”

“He cannot kill us.” Carac looped the leather bind through the latch. “It is law. He must accept the outcome of the match.”

“How do you know all this rubbish anyway?” Merek asked from where he slouched on a chair in the corner.

“I make use of the library. You ought to try reading some time. You’ll find it’s rather—“

“No thanks.” Merek held Thea’s sword in his own, checking its weight. “It’s light, lighter than the one you’re used to. You’re going to have to adjust—“

“As long as it’s sharp, it’ll do,” Thea interrupted. “But thank you, Merek.”

Carac finished with her armor and she turned to face them. “You really shouldn’t have stepped in front of us,” Carac said gently.

She smiled sadly. “You are my friends. What else could I have done?”

Carac returned her smile as a tear fell from his eye. In the world they lived in, it was easy to forget Carac was only fifteen years of age. Thea had come to think of every soldier in their army as the same, but they weren’t at all. Carac was sensitive with a sharp eye for words, better suited to being an advisor than a fighter. Yet there he stood, a prisoner of the king with a piss stain on his trousers. This was what Favian had done to them. Thea pulled Carac into a tight hug.

Merek stood, limping to them, clutching at his ribs. He put a hand on Thea’s shoulder. “Remember,” he said, “you’re the best bloody fighter there is. Broken hand or no, he’s no idea what he’s gotten himself into. I suppose they’ve patched it up as best they can, but it’s definitely going to hurt, so be prepared for that. As long as you stay level-headed, you should still win. Sword fighting is about strategy, not just brute strength.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Thea mocked a salute. “Wow, you’re good at this. You should teach. Oh, wait…”

He grinned. “Yeah, yeah, just get us back home so I can get back to my grateful students.”

She sobered up. “I’ll do my best.”

“Right then.” He gave her a masculine slap on the back. “Good luck.”

“I’m going to hug you,” she warned.

“It’s not necessary.”

“Just let her do it,” Carac argued.

“I’m injured. You’ll just end up hurting me.”

“Hugs could never hurt,” she said.

“No, I—“

“Oh, too late!” She wrapped her arms around him, giving an extra squeeze for good measure.

“Ow!” he yelped.

“Whoops, guess I was wrong.” But she didn’t let go.

Carac laughed.

Merek sighed in defeat and hugged her back. In her ear, he whispered, “Lief would have been proud.”

She pulled back to meet his eyes. Though she did her best to fight them off, tears shone in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want a hug,” Merek said, pointing at Thea’s face and then Carac’s widely smiling one. “It makes everyone all emotional, as if we’re saying good-bye. Which we’re not.” He pointed at her accusingly.

“Of course not.” She let out a deep breath, glancing over at the prince’s tent. He looked about ready, sliding his sword into place and picking up a shield.

The armor for a challenge was different than the armor used in battle. Though there were different challenges—first blood, to the death, et cetera—the goal of the armor was always the same. It provided just enough protection to prolong the challenge but not enough to really stop injuries. It helped give the audience a show. Because of this, Thea’s shoulders were exposed, her knees and upper thighs, her lower stomach, and, of course, her chest, throat, and face were open.

Thea peaked around the tent’s opening to see the lords and ladies from earlier had made their way to the gardens. Makeshift seats had been fashioned for them, and they perched there as they awaited the king’s opening declaration. The air among them had changed drastically. Before, they’d been somber and grim, but that was when it had been an execution. This was a show, something to laugh at and cheer for. This was a game. It made Thea sick.

Merek offered her the sword and Carac gave her a shield. She blew out a deep breath. She wasn’t nervously, exactly, but her adrenaline was rushing through her veins. Excited, that’s what she was. Because this was her domain, this is where she thrived. She’d be in control in this arena.

Merek touched her shoulder. “Remember what he taught you. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded once, and then the trumpets sounded and Fendrel was jogging out of his tent. She followed suit, heading for center field.

The king sat in between the rest of the lords and ladies in a throne. Thea briefly wondered how many he had just floating around the palace, waiting to be used. She noticed vaguely that Queen Ana was absent from his side, but she didn’t put much thought into that before the trumpets softened and the king stood. “Today we gather to witness a trial by combat between the prisoners of His Majesty, King Favian of Creasan, and His Majesty’s champion, Prince Fendrel of Creasan. Do both sides know the rules?”

Thea was loathed to admit ignorance, and thankfully Fendrel asked, “It’s been awhile since these have occurred. Best explain it anyway.”

The king nodded. “This is a fight to the death. The victor will be declared absolved of any sins or crimes he might have committed. This means, should the prisoner’s champion win, he shall be released from my custody. Only him,” Favian stressed, meeting Thea’s eyes.

She stopped herself from pointing out that none of them had been given a trial so this challenge should apply to them all, but there would be no point. This fight was meaningless anyway. She nodded obligingly.

“Right, then. Opponents will begin the fight between their two tents. Good luck to you both.” He turned to the audience and threw his hands in the air. “Let the challenge begin!”

The audience applauded, and Thea and Fendrel moved to their designated spots. A circle had been drawn to indicate the halfway point between their two tents. Thea stood on one edge and Fendrel stood across. They locked eyes, and Thea’s lips tipped up at the corner.

A horn blasted, and Thea pounced, sword raised above her head. Fendrel was ready, and his blade came up to meet hers, the metal clashing together loudly. The feeling reverberated familiarly up Thea’s arm and she almost laughed. After being held so long, it felt so bloody good to get out and stretch her muscles.

Fendrel countered with a swipe at her midsection, but she blocked it, both hands on the sword. She groaned, teeth gritted, as pain shot up her left her arm. Her fingers had already begun to throb, but that sparked the pain a notch high. Thea noticed Fendrel’s eyes linger on her wounded hand. He grimaced in sympathy and she snorted.

She kicked between his legs. Though armor was there to block any real damage, Thea had learned very early on that it didn’t matter whether or not a man felt pain from a kick there; he would still move to hold on to his goods. Which, of course, the prince did. Thea brought her knee up, colliding it with Fendrel’s nose. He grunted and blood dripped down, but there was no crack. Not broken, just as she’d intended. “I’ll admit,” she said as she ducked away from his next swing, “I’m impressed.”

“As am I.”

Thea jabbed up with her sword and he parried, the blades sliding off each other with a satisfying zing. He pushed away from her and paused, twirling his sword as he breathed heavily.

She grinned. “I do hope you’re holding back.”

He smirked. Fendrel’s next attack was vicious and brutal, and it took every skill Thea had gathered to dodge his swings. She was too slow on the last one and his blade sliced across her right shoulder, blood flowing out quickly. Bugger! Now it pained her no matter which arm she used. Still, she kept her taunting smile on her face. “I’ve had paper cuts worse than this.”

Fendrel grunted out a laugh. “Do you usually talk this much when you fight?”

She shrugged. “I find it more entertaining that way.” Now it was her turn to bombard him with assaults, her sword moving so fast through the air it was little more than vague image of silver in the cloudy sky. Each movement sent stinging pain through her, but she had trained herself to block out such feelings. She knew how to stay focused. But if she could throw him off… “You really don’t belong here, Highness.”

He swiped her last swing aside and frowned. “Pardon?”

“You aimed for the shoulder? Really?” Fendrel’s blade shot straight for her midsection and she spun away, kicking her foot back so high that her strawberry blonde hair touched the ground. Her foot collided with his face and he stumbled back.

He shook himself out it quickly and was ready by her next swing of the sword. “I won’t miss next time.”

Their swords locked, and Thea jerked him close. “I think you will,” she whispered. The comment gave him pause and she shoved him back.

Back in the tent, Carac and Merek watched, enraptured. Merek sat in his chair, but he was leaning forward, forearms on thighs, as if he had money wagered on the outcome. Carac gripped the fabric of the tent flaps anxiously. “What do you suppose she’s saying to him?” he asked.

Merek shushed him.

Carac’s eyes moved to the king. He was angled forward, hands clutching the arms of his throne. He had noticed Thea talking too. But no one could hear a word she said. Carac swallowed. “She needs to be careful—“

“Shh!”

Fendrel knocked Thea’s legs out from under her, and she landed on her back hard. He lunged on top of her, but she was ready and had her legs up before he even got close. She launched him over her head. “You don’t have hatred in you,” Thea said. “Not yet anyway.”

“How would you know?” He’d rolled back to his feet and stood at the ready.

“It’s in the eyes,” she told him. “Yours holds no contempt or judgement. Your eyes…are tranquil.” Then she ran at him, knocking his sword aside easily and tackling him back to the ground. Lying on his back, his arm came up, aimed for her throat, and she held it just an inch away, her throbbing arm trembling with the effort. She looked down, straight into his tranquil eyes, and said, “Go see your people. I don’t mean the falsely staged ones meant to make you think highly of yourselves. Walk around Vuterra, Gentis, Steokar, and Nonid. Look at the people there, I mean really look at them, and you’ll see—“

“I’ll see people unwilling to pay their taxes.” He jerked his head forward, knocking his forehead against hers so hard that stars danced across her vision. She fell off him instantly and it was no his turn to bear down on her. He brought his blade down just as she brought hers up, and they locked like that, their swords shaking as they battled for dominance.

“If only it were the taxes,” Thea said, grimacing as her left hand and right shoulder flared. “Go. See for yourself what your brother has done to this kingdom.” She looped her leg around his hip, pushing him off of her and rolling back to her superior spot atop him.

“Why?” he grunted, teeth bared as she pushed her sword’s tip against his throat. His skin was tense beneath the slowly penetrating blade. “Do you know you will lose this fight?”

Thea nearly laughed as she stared down at the man completely at her mercy. Right, it was she who would lose. “Do you hate me?” she asked.

“I can’t say I’m your biggest fan at the moment.” Blood had begun to well up as she pressed her sword a little harder.

“But do you hate me?”

He gazed up at her. “I do not know you.”

“Nor do you know your own people. Nor do you know The Source. Look at me, look at my face.” She leaned closer to him so he could really see her as she was, dropping her mask of indifference and arrogance. She wanted him to see her as human. “I am The Source. If you cannot hate me right now—“ With a blade to his throat, she thought, “—then how can you condemn the rest of them? They do not want the king gone, they just want this king gone.”

With furrowed brows, he did as she said and looked at her, really looked at her. He studied her face as if it held the answer to something Thea did not yet know. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“So you remember my face when you next target my people.” The trees behind her rustled loudly and she grinned. “And to buy some time.” Then she rolled off him as a mass of ogres came charging out of the woods.

Though Thea was no stranger to the face of an ogre, she couldn’t help the awe that filled her each time she caught sight of one. And this stampede of about ten of them…well, it was enough to leave her sitting on the grass in dumbfounded wonder.

Contrary to popular legend, ogres were not bald beasts of human proportions. They were nearly as tall as the pine trees they’d just exploded out of, nearly fifty feet or so. Tall enough that it was nearly impossible to see their eyes unless one was far away. As they charged across the field, their long flowing hair rippled behind them. In some light their hair appeared nearly black, but with the sun shining white through the thick clouds above, their hair glimmered with ocean blues. Their faces were twisted with fury, a particularly frightening sight in their already distorted faces. Bones protruded unnaturally in their cheeks and foreheads, and their noses swelled too large in the center. Their mouths were open wide as they let loose battle cry. Their large yellow eyes bulged out of their heads as if even their body struggled to contain such outrage. They held swords and spears in their hands—weapons far larger than anything fashioned in Vuterra—and made a beeline for the king.

The Guard had moved to block Favian from the attack, but the ogres just swiped them aside like they were unwanted crumbs at their dining table. Though Favian’s eyes were wide, he stood straight and assured in front of the ogres. One of the ogres, the leader presumably, bent with his hands on his knees so he could see the puny king.

“Welcome, friends,” the king said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

But the ogre did not answer, simply tilting his head to the side.

This seemed to scare the king more than any response could have. “Food has been in short supply this winter, but I assure we that I am doing all I can to maintain our agreement—“

“No more agreement.” The ogre straightened back up to his full height, giving his back to the king.

“What—what do you mean?” Favian stammered, squinting up at the ogre, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “We have a signed—“

“No food, no agreement.” The ogre turned around, lumbering across the field, leaving enormous footsteps in his wake. There was no mistaking the tightening of his fingers around his battle axe.

“I-I-I’m afraid that’s not how the law works,” the king said, eyes darting to the Guards standing near him. “There are rules that must be followed—“

“Human rules.” The ogre exchanged a glance with his friends, all of whom either looked excited or angry. A few bounced on the tips of their toes, more than ready to fight.

Then the lead ogre’s gaze fell to Fendrel still lying on the ground. The ogre’s lips turned up. In a move much quicker than a being of his size should be able to, the ogre snatched up the prince, dangling him upside down. Fendrel immediately tried to struggle but it was useless; he’d dropped his sword on the ground anyway.

“Put him down! Guards!” Favian looked to his army, but they had frozen in their attack. What was the point in fighting a boulder which felt no pain but could crush any opponent?

The ogre chuckled, the sound as low as a roll of thunder. He lifted the prince higher. The ogre opened his mouth and brought Fendrel to the edge of his lips.

Favian’s face had gone pale and he was shaking his head vehemently. “Unhand him! Unhand him right now, by order of the king!”

The ogre lowered the prince to just about seven feet off the ground, the whole while maintaining that grin. He kept his yellow eyes fastened to the king’s. It was like Favian had no idea where to look—his brother, the ogre, the ground, the distance from the ogre’s hand to the ground…Calculations were running through the king’s mind.

Then the ogre released him.

The prince’s arms flailed as he plummeted to the ground. Thea watched, her face impassive. Fendrel landed hard, the air knocking out of him and a small amount dirt puffing out around him.

The ogre gazed up at the king, pointing at Fendrel. “Warning. Next time our bellies rumble, no longer just a warning.” He slapped the back of the ogre closest to him. They exchanged a nod and then with one last hateful glance at the king, the ogres made their way back into the forest. For creatures so large, it was fascinating to see how quickly they could disappear among the trees.

Guards rushed to Fendrel’s side, a healer among them. The healer, an older man who’d tended to the king since Fendrel could remember, dropped to his knees beside the prince. He drew open his bag of medicine and herbs, speaking a mile a minute. “Can you hear me, Highness? Are you all right? Where does it hurt?”

But Fendrel shoved the healer away, grunting as he forced himself to sit up. His gaze quickly sought the three prisoners. Though he isn’t sure why he bothered; he knew the answer before he even looked. He gazed at the king over his shoulder just as Favian came to the same conclusion.

Amid the distraction of the ogres, the prisoners had escaped.

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