Chapter 24: Treasonous Perspective

The room is chaos, sights, sounds, and smells, senses overwhelmed. Instinct reigned, a sword parried, a riposte, still alive, yet a spray of blood marked the death of another guard. Leo had accepted that he should be feeling something, but numbness owned his mind. His instructor always told him, ‘it is best to have as much steel between you and your opponent as possible.’ Yet, no amount of steel could save him from the unknown. He stepped backwards to execute a defensive push, his foot sliding on blood, the lack of control lasting until he was on one knee, his mighty Greatsword propping him up uselessly. A smug smirk adorned the red soldier who stood over him, the smirker raising his sword before sending it downwards. Time slowed, training kicked in, Leo’s blade sweeping upwards in a defence block, deaths imminent call registering at the edge of the fog. The very next happening far from possibility, his attacker collapsed, ending up beside his downed knee, his eyes vacant, smirking in death. A stunningly beautiful sight owned the space that the dead solider had once occupied, a sight that allowed time to normalise. He gasped in much needed air, as if he hadn’t breathed in an age, “Mind if I cut in, Your Highness?” Bella asked, gripping a pair of wicked looking butterfly swords. Bella’s comment so out of character that he chortled in surprise. “Let’s, do this together,” she affirmed, arm outstretched. She helped him to his feet with surprising strength, then moved to defend as if the crazy situation was an everyday occurrence. Suddenly everything was in alignment, as if Bella’s presence had burnt fear and shock from within. To see her in action was to see her in a new light, gone was the shy, unassuming woman, in its place a fierce, vengeful, angel. Just like that Leo was present, the attackers falling before him, the determination in Bella eye’s fulling him further, he would protect her, or he would die trying.

 

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Her party burst into chaos, disorder an assault on Morgan’s senses. The gold of the kings guard broken and spread throughout the room, slowly but steadily being overwhelmed by blood and numbers. A group of red soldiers were stationed by the main doors, halting any access to aid. The scene would have been depressing to most, yet Morgan had faith in her crew’s abilities, “King’s Guard MOVE TO the Crown Prince! Leave these dogs to us!” She bellowed, the impact of the statement tangible, the duke’s men moving towards her in a determined manner, homing in on their next target. Tired yet well drilled army slammed into rested yet battle-worn pirate, her foe started to drop almost instantly. Before long Sha, who fought beside her, indicated towards the fray, the duke of Rollston pushing his men aside in a fit of zealotry to get to her. When the duke was within her reach, she sent out her short swords in an offensive manner, effortlessly fending all of his attacks. Her enemy grew frustrated, his strikes increasing in ferocity, Morgan refused to bend despite unrelenting attacks. “How did you get here so fast?” The duke asked, the casually delivered words wavering from exertion.

“Haven’t you heard, ships fly now, they are the latest in a line of whimsical fancies,” Morgan replied, her scathing sarcasm sending the target into a rage, his increased attempts vicious. They continued, the room in chaos around them Morgan measuring, the duke seeking her death. When Morgan felt that the time was right, she stopped measuring and launched a series of precise attacks, lighting fast, flicking, biting, and stabbing in her answer to evil, the duke gaining a cut down his arm and the side of the face, a reward for his exertions.

“How are you this good? He spluttered.

“I was holding back,” Morgan said calmly as she sliced upwards, “I have studied many fighting styles. Pirates for example, like to insult their opponents.” She parried before continuing, “Who calls themselves the Master. I mean a little presumptuous, don’t you think? Master of the privy is more accurate.” The only indication that the duke was insulted was a slight narrowing of his eyes, further confirmation that he was exhausted. “It must be hard to be the one who is powerless,” she affirmed coldly, watching for any sign that desperation could lead to unforeseen actions.

“I am but a small cog, you have no idea what is on the horizon,” Fife Dallinger gasped, his darting eyes stopped on Sha. A sickly smile met his features as he hissed hateful words in his nephew’s direction, “I killed your father myself.”

Sha released an animalistic scream before launching himself at the one who had caused all his unhappiness. “SHA, NO!” She screamed. Worry for Sha’s well-being overrode instinct, Morgan planted a foot in preparation, readying herself to execute a lifesaving trip. When the sharp sting of the duke’s sword was felt, she glanced downwards, the sight blood flowing towards an already crimson floor sent fear into her being. Morgan held a hand over her wound as she collapsed, the last thought before consciousness was lost, “Please, don’t let Sha be next.”

 

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Castain sat high above it all, he watched over that which meant the most to him. His lofty position an area that had previously been a haven from the stresses of daily life, such sentiment had long been set aside in favour of duty, his mind on the task at hand. The most pressing issue seemed to be the crown prince’s guards, they were falling one after the other and in more numbers than the soldiers, the army nimbler in chainmail. He directed Bella to the nearest chandelier rope, sending her downwards, her mission to aid the ailing crown prince. Castain didn’t bother to watch Bella’s progress; his mind working on the next problem. Morgan’s disruptive entrance had drawn in the soldiers who were guarding the exits, he set Bob to the task of following Bella down to secure reinforcements. Now alone, he used superior vantage to fire crossbow bolts towards any unfortunate enough to be within his sights.

On it continued thus, breath after breath, bolt after bolt, emotionless until an arresting scene etched into his composure, his senses assaulted by a scream from a man, akin to that of a cornered animal. When he realised that the prince was cradling Morgan in his arms he was hit by a wave of fear, all calm overridden by the sight of her blood flowing onto the marble floor. Fife Dallinger’s sword was on a downward slash, the prince’s death imminent. Desperate, Castain fired a bolt toward his foe. Thankfully, the dukes strike was halted by another’s sword, the sword’s owner none other than Aiden. Finally, his bolt found its home into the side of his target’s skull. Castain guessed Aiden’s treachery was the reason for the surprised look upon Fife Dallinger’s face as he headed downwards in death. Castain’s hands grasped for the nearest rope, down he went, into chaos and blood.

He dropped in, driven by a singular purpose. Aiden called out in Sha’s direction, a request to apply pressure to Morgan’s wound, thankfully the prince followed the instruction. Castain forced himself to help Aiden, and Meena, who were maintaining a protective barrier between the battle and their downed Captain. Thankfully the attackers had lost urgency upon the death of their general.

Only when security was assured, did he move to aid Sha, ripping a strip from his shirt he applied pressure to reduce the flow of blood, watching for any sign of life that his meagre healing knowledge allowed. A breath escaped Morgan’s lips, desperation peaked, if she had any chance of survival, he would need to get her to a healer immediately. “CAPTAIN’S down. Crew of The Tempest to me.” Aiden’s call a beacon to wayward emotions. Morgan’s crew swarmed like a hive of angry bees, their weapons stinging with renewed fury. Castain joined once again.

Before long the battle waned, allowing them breath enough to speak, “Nice swords,” Meena hissed, sending an icy glare in Aiden’s direction.

Aiden looked at him confused.

Castain sighed, explanations as to why he had given Kurja’s swords to Aiden would need to wait. He motioned towards a pocket of soldiers, Aiden and Meena complied, fighting as if they were locked in a deadly couple’s dance, unfortunately for the other performers the ending involved an efficient death.

Bob finally got the doors open, the act overwhelming the last pockets of red, most throwing their weapons down in surrender. The survivors were tired, wounded, some holding on to life’s thread. He grasped a shocked page by the shirt, waking him up with a commanding tone, “Go and find Nia Danforth with all urgency.” Looking relieved to be leaving the room, the page hurried away, sliding on blood as he did so.

Bending, Castain swept Morgan up into his arms one thing was sure, she would either live or die, but he would make sure she was comfortable doing it, not in a room adorned with lifeblood and needless death.