The battlefield spread out before us, a huge, open expanse of grasslands, the rough green carpet damp with dawn dew. The Gastion stood across the wide-open field, arrayed in tight lines, so many warriors in silver armor glinting brightly in the early morning light. Mist spilled out of the thick forest behind them, but the field on which they would battle had cleared. The morning would be cool and bright.
A good day to die, Eian would say.
I wouldn’t let that happen.
The leaders of our two people rode out first, to the center of the field. The Gastion ruler, a powerful woman in her prime, rode a large bay stallion, holding the massive beast under control with impressive ease as it danced under her. Even with her silver armor, her seat looked relaxed, her hands on the reins steady and low.
Our leader, Bastia MacMoor, was also an impressive sight upon their black horse, another huge stallion whose manner was less excitable than the Gastion ruler’s horse. The MacMoor rode looser limbed, their leather armor revealing their posture and demeanor more fully than the Gastion’s silver armor. Done to intimidate. The MacMoor hadn’t even bothered with chainmail or extra weaponry. They didn’t even have their sword as they rode to the center of the open grass. Nothing but themselves and their army behind them.
And me.
The Gastion ruler, whose name I refused to think or speak, raised her arm overhead. A bright blue glow rose up her arm, coalescing in the palm of her hand until the sphere was the size of her own steed’s head.
“Let the battle commence.” Her voice boomed across the open field like lightning and thunder. She dropped her arm and the blue sphere flashed into the ground, spreading out in a circle of power, moving so fast it washed over both armies in moments, extending to the very back of each. Closing in the battlefield.
No one would run away now. No one could retreat. We were locked on this field.
Until someone was victorious.
The MacMoor nodded their head, a small smile played over their mouth. “Our champion is ready.” Their voice boomed less, but carried just as well across the open space. Impossible to ignore the confidence, the ease. “Is yours?” the MacMoor asked, smirking at their rival ruler.
I hoped I could live up to their confidence.
If I failed, it meant the destruction of my people. The Gastion would roll across our lands, take as they pleased, and we would have to step aside and allow it. So went the rules of combat in this section of Faery. Too much magic let loose in a Fae war could destroy everyone, everything. This way of battle, this ancient tradition, was the only thing that kept warring factions from tearing the realm down to its knees.
And the responsibility for everything now sat with me.
The MacMoor’s armor now danced with a bluish purple light, their magic building and encircling them, a glittering shimmer of light to remind the Gastion ruler that our people were not the weak clan the Gastion assumed. The purple-blue light traveled into the MacMoor’s dark brown hair, sparking in little electrical jolts over the jewelry woven into their braids, across their dark skin, lighting up their purple eyes in a way that was visible to both armies. Truly, the MacMoor was an impressive sight. If only the leaders were the champions, no one would doubt the MacMoor’s strength of will.
But the rulers weren’t allowed to take the field as champion. By law and tradition, it had to be one of their people.
This time, it had to be me.
From the Gastion army, a large man stepped out onto the field. He was easily seven foot tall, with shoulders as wide as a spreading oak. He wore a silver breast shield over his leathers, the symbol of the Gastion—an oak leaf on a circular field—embossed in gold on the center. But that was his only concession to armor. He had a sword strapped to his hip, the long sword in that position ensured the man looked impressively tall in comparison. His long blond hair was pulled away from his face into a single braid, with glinting, multicolored stones decorating the golden plait.
His dark-eyed gaze found me across the field, though I hadn’t stepped away from my army yet. He smiled. I didn’t return the gesture. I didn’t show any expression at all.
At a subtle hand gesture from the MacMoor, and a quiet word from Eian, I finally moved away from my army, stepping out in front of them.
And pulled my sword from its scabbard across my back.
The sound of the silver blade running against the decorative silver at the top of my scabbard sent a shiver down my spine. The noise was loud. Obvious in the clearing. Even with the giant armies at my back and before me. Thousands strong each. Yet silent. The sound of my sword coming free heard clearly over that silence.
The Gastion champion pulled his sword, another rub of silver against silver. Clear and full of foreboding.
No steal or iron alloys here in Faery. Most of us, even the high Fae, couldn’t stand the touch of iron. But we had other ways of making metals we could tolerate into strong and functional weaponry. The army behind me mostly carried bow and arrow, the arrows tipped with glass sharp flint arrowheads. Some carried shorter silver daggers. Very few, like Eian, had full swords. Their chainmail was also made of silver or gold, strengthened into protective armor with magic, just like the swords.
The army behind the Gastion’s champion was the same. Those arrows were the weapons to fear, though. The arrows were the entire problem. One of the reasons this type of combat had developed.
When the rulers of our two clans separated and turned back toward their armies, the Gastion champion and I moved farther forward. The MacMoor gave me a nod as they passed, their black steed steady and solid beneath them. I bowed my head in respect until they were past. A fleeting glance confirmed the Gastion’s ruler had rejoined her army as well, her battle steed continuing to dance beneath her with restless energy.
Then my gaze settled on the enemy champion. This was it. The time had come. And everything depended on this one fight.
We crossed to the center of the field, remaining several hundred yards distance from one another as we assessed each other. Could I stand strong against him? Could I take the best the Gastion had in this moment? Could he take the best my people had?
I raised my sword first, high overhead, the tip toward the sky. Purple lightning raced down the length of the silver blade, spiking from the clear sky into my sword. I held the Gastion’s gaze as he brandished his own sword. More purple lightning pulled from the surrounding magic, filling our weapons. Filling us.
I swung the sword back, circling it over my hand into a firm grip, took it in two hands with the tip now pointing at the ground, and drop to my knees, driving the sword deep into the earth. Waves of magic rippled from the contact, a rock into a pond. I stood, letting the sword remain where it was, and spread my hands wide.
Extending my magical shield.
The Gastion did the same, driving his sword into the earth, widened his stance, spread his fingers…
And the first volley of arrows filled the clear sky.