At the doors to the throne room, Zedane glanced behind, hoping for some encouragement from Avik, but she had disappeared.
He was on his own. Just him and the plan he’d dreamed up last night—a plan that seemed much more foolish in daylight. Zedane sunk both hands into either pocket and pulled out two crystals. One was blue and the size and shape of a sparrow egg, the other reddish and similarly sized though more irregular.
As the sunlight touched the crystals, magic flowed, and he allowed it to fill him. He absorbed as much magic as he could hold, then returned the crystals to his pockets and shoved open the doors. Halcone sat on the throne with a yosun on either side of him. The High Lord, standing in front of Halcone, turned to watch Zedane enter.
Zedane didn’t hesitate. He dashed around the side of the chamber, spitting out a series of blue flames which shot toward the High Lord. Although his energy magic was weak, he could accomplish that much.
The High Lord would either want to duel or order Zedane executed, and Zedane didn’t intend to go down without a fight. Instead, he would take the initiative and attack before the High Lord had a chance to prepare.
Halcone and the two yosun instantly disappeared, and the three of them reappeared on a balcony high above the throne room. The yosun, naturally, would have known that Zedane might attack without warning and been ready for that.
Zedane sped all the way around to the front of the throne room where he had a better view of the High Lord. Despite being several hundred years old, his face was unlined. A large gold ring pierced his right ear. A crimson cloak flowed around his shoulders, flaring out behind him where it touched the ground. His black hair was pulled tight and knotted into a bun at the base of his head. An indication, if any was needed, that the High Lord had arrived intending to duel.
The blue flames fizzled out as they touched a shield in front of the High Lord. Zedane had expected that; they were meant as a distraction. He knew he wasn’t going to win with energy magic.
Zedane fired another two blue flames, aiming these high so they arched up above the High Lord’s head. Zedane then charged straight at the High Lord, using all his speed. From previous duels, Zedane knew that, against those powerful with shield and energy magic, he needed to get close fast.
The High Lord didn’t even glance upward. He waved his arm in a wide arc and Zedane crashed straight into an invisible wall, rebounding hard. The moment Zedane hit the ground, he scrambled backward. Dizzy, he only barely managed to hold his balance. His breath came in sharp gasps and pain spiked through his side. The blue flames he’d fired hit a shield above the High Lord’s head and fizzled out like the other energy magic he’d used.
“Did you think to fool me with a child’s trick, boy?” The High Lord strode forward.
Zedane wobbled as he backed away, his hand touching the side of his face. He blinked hard, trying to force the wooziness out of his head.
“Do you think right is on your side in this duel?” the High Lord asked. “Do you think you deserve to escape punishment for killing an innocent child?”
Zedane knew not to engage the High Lord. From experience, those who goaded their opponents lost more often than not unless they provoked a reaction. Words were a distraction. Zedane scanned the throne room, looking for something he could use. He needed to figure out how to leverage his strength and his speed. To gain time, he sped away, arcing back toward the entrance. His legs tangled under him and he went crashing into the ground. Skin ripped from his forearms as he skidded across the floor. The High Lord must have tripped him up with a low invisible barrier. Zedane had never seen that used before in a duel. He stood, but before he got fully upright, he was knocked to his left, then hit again from the other side.
The High Lord’s control of his shield magic was incredible, creating invisible clubs that slashed at him from all angles. Zedane tried to use his speed to get away, but it just caused it to hurt even more when he crashed into a barrier. He tried his shield magic, but the strikes from the High Lord’s magic bashed straight through his shields as if they weren’t there.
Zedane battled on until his body gave out on him and collapsed to the floor. He looked up to see the High Lord standing several paces in front of him.
“How did Kae feel when you used your magic on her?” the High Lord asked. “Was she powerless before you? Did you want to squash her like a bug?”
Zedane tried to get up, fell, then he rose again. Pain stabbed through his chest with every breath, and he was seeing double. He shook his head to clear it. The magic that had surged through him earlier had faded to a trickle. He wasn’t ready to give up yet though. The High Lord’s pride could be his downfall. Zedane had seen it before: the powerful magic user who goaded his weakened opponent and ultimately lost.
He saw the throne over to his left and sped toward it, grabbing its armrest and—only half-pretending—leaned on it to keep him upright. The High Lord, his hands folded behind his back, walked after Zedane, his crimson cloak flowing along the ground behind him.
“I went up to the top of that tower,” the High Lord said. “I dropped Kae’s childhood doll over the edge and counted the number of heartbeats it took until it smashed to the ground. For six heartbeats Kae fell. Six heartbeats in which she knew she was going to die. Did you wonder what she was thinking in those moments? Did she feel despair? Sorrow? Hatred? Was she seeing your ugly face, or remembering happier times?”
Zedane, barely able to stand, waited until the High Lord was just ten paces away, then he summoned the remains of his magic, the remains of his willpower, the remains of his strength. He lifted the throne and threw it.
It flew true, straight at the High Lord. A spark of hope flared within Zedane, then the High Lord dashed to the side so the throne missed him. He then reached out, used his strength to grab the throne and placed it gently on the floor.
Zedane realized that he was a bug trying to defeat a giant. He’d never had the slightest chance. The High Lord lifted a hand and a wall of red energy magic sprung into being above Zedane’s head. “Kneel,” he said.
Zedane wobbled, sweat trickling down his forehead as heat beat at him.
“Kneel,” the High Lord repeated, and the wall of energy lowered further.
Zedane fell to his knees, lowering his gaze to the floor.
The High Lord reached down to a pouch at his belt and pulled out a necklace. He threw it to the ground at Zedane’s feet. “Put that on.”
The necklace had three dark crystals folded into gold threads. A ketac. Zedane had seen criminals wearing them and he knew what they did: they shielded the wearer from using magic.
Zedane felt empty. Empty of magic, empty of strength, empty of hope. He had lost. He reached down, picked up the necklace and clasped it around his neck.
The High Lord let his energy magic dissipate and turned to look up at Halcone on the balcony. “I will take him back to the Mountain Kingdom for execution.”