The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 18: "Moxie" B

The Knights of Sheba 118 B…Start

 

            Claude hears movement and battle, hears the shuffle of steel on stone, the clashing of blade and armor.  Then, as he wakes slowly, he feels the hard ground beneath him, tastes it in his mouth.  He is lying face down and breathing shallowly, and everything on him hurts.

            He remains still for a moment, willing his head to stop spinning. For him, everything feels a bit like a dream.  He is back at home with Shirley, waking up to another dull day in the dish room.  He will fix a quick breakfast, fret over his broken bow and consider how he will save the world without a weapon to fight with.

            Then he remembers.  Shirley is gone, and so are his powers.  Geneva had pulled him from a tower, and they fell through a glass dome.  The landing was not graceful, and he remembers then how he didn’t trust her in the first place.  His eyes open, and the world remains blurry for a moment longer.

            He sits up.  The room he is in is a large, circular dome.  A balcony is hangs from the far side, looking out into the salty darkness of the sea.  The walls are wrinkled with black stone and the floor an even, hand-laid brick.  A demon stands in the center, wrapped in black cloth and wearing a polished steel mask.  To the left, Geneva is fighting off a group of other demons.

            When she disposes of the last one, she trades words with the masked demon in the center.  Claude doesn’t hear it clearly; his focus is elsewhere.  Near the observatory he sees Shirley, bound and gagged, bruises across her face, blood dried against her lips and nose.  A demon stands beside her, holding her by her hair and brandishing a rusty dagger.

            Claude struggles to his feet and staggers toward her.  His legs feel numb and hardly seem able to support his weight.  Shirley is watching him, and she rises when he does, struggling against her captor, who takes notice now and lifts his dagger to Shirley’s throat.  She stops, and so does Claude.

            The demon barks something at Claude, who looks to Geneva to translate and finds her occupied.  Another demon has her to the wall, his curved blade wet with her blood. So, Claude looks ahead, into his demon’s cruel, broken smile.  It runs its dagger against Shirley’s neck, leaving a shallow line of rust and blood.

            “Stop it!”

            The demon laughs and removes the blade.  It grumbles something while wagging the weapon at Claude, who can see the blood gathering around the hilt.  The demon then grunts and gestures toward the ground, and Claude remembers his bag and slips it from his shoulders.  It is heavier than he expected, and that is when he remembers what is inside.

            Slowly and carefully, while the demon edges its blade closer to Shirley, Claude slips his hand inside.  He feels around while kneeling to rest the bag on the floor.  Beneath his jacket, beneath the maps, he feels the cold, reassuring weight of the pistol and grips it tight.  With his thumb, he flicks the safety off, and he waits for his opportunity.

            Geneva rolls to a stop nearby.  The masked demon had just thrown her after she kicked him in the shin.  She pushes herself to standing and the demon holding Shirley looks away long enough for Claude to draw his weapon.  He levels it, breathes through the shaking of his hand, and pulls the trigger.

            The pistol is heavy, the distribution of its weight is different than his bow.  Even with both hands firm the recoil spreads through him.  His entire body jerks as the bang bounces off the wall.  There is a moment of silence and then Claude realizes that the demon’s face is gone and has been spread across the back wall.

            What is left of the demon goes limp and falls back.  Its dagger clatters against the ground.  Shirley remains kneeling, blood across her face, wide-eyed, and hyperventilating against her gag.

            Claude returns the safety and runs to Shirley’s side.  He yanks the gag from her mouth and pulls her to him, holding her while she cries and coughs against his shoulder.  He kisses her head and whispers to her, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

            Her sobs die slowly as she collects herself with deep breaths.  She leans back to look him in the eyes.  Her left eye is swollen and purpled.  Her lips are dried, chapped, and bloody.  Claude almost touches her face, her bruises, but thinks better.  She smiles at him.  “I knew you would come.  I never doubted you.”

            He smiles back.  “I’m just glad we made it in time.”

            Shirley looks away, at Geneva staggering around the masked demon’s attacks.  Its blade scrapes against her chest plate just before it kicks her in the shoulder.  Another swipe catches her around the same shoulder and knocks her to the ground.  A string of English curses follows her down.

            “Is that Geneva?”

            Claude glances.  “Yes,” he says, and he moves around her to tug on the ropes binding her hands.  “Come on, let’s stand up and get you out of these.”

            Using the dagger, he cuts her wrists free.  Shirley stands while he works on her ankles, which are bound by thicker knots.  It takes a few more seconds to work the blade through them, but Claude is tenacious.  Then, he stands beside her.

            Shirley hugs him again.  “Thank you, Claude.”

            “We’re not out yet.  We still have an entire nation between us and the exit.”

            “I know, but I feel safe just having you here.”  They look at Geneva, who is now being pummeled by the masked demon’s blade.  “She’s losing.”

            Claude picks the pistol up from the ground, where he left it when he reached Shirley.  He flips the safety off and smiles.  “Not for long,” he says, leveling the weapon and staring down the sights.  His hand is shakier, but his target is bigger this time.

            Across the room, from one of the openings cut into the wall, another demon appears.  It is wearing a similar dark robe, a similar steel mask, though the demon is smaller than the one fighting Geneva.  In its hand it carries a long spear that has been broken in half and bound back together.  The haft is blackened with age; the blade is stained with blood.

            The demon hefts up the spear, watching Geneva’s movements, and then throws.  The effort is clumsy but the result smooth.  It sails through the air, with conscious, willful precision.  Geneva stumbles back, arms lifted to meet an attack from her enemy, and meets the spear instead.  It scrapes across her bracers as it passes and finds home in Claude’ stomach.

            Claude jerks, fires wildly into the walls.  Then, he falls back, the gun landing at his side, the broken spear buried deep in his gut.  He can feel it jabbing against his spine.  The pain is blinding.  It is localized at first but then spreads to his extremities.  Soon, he can feel it in his fingers and his toes.

            He holding the wall for stability.  It hurts to breath, and he isn’t even sure that he can.  Shirley shrieks beside him, holding the spear, yanking it from his body.  After that, it doesn’t hurt.  Everything goes numb, and his vision fades again.

            His last memory is of the second demon disappearing into the hole in the wall.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva doesn’t notice that Claude is standing until he falls.  She followed the arc of the spear as it passed her by, and she spares only a glance at Claude after it pierces him.  Then, she returns her attention to Dantalion’s advance.  His blade slides across her left bracer as Shirley’s shouts fill the room.

            She looks away again, finding Shirley holding Claude, working the broken spear from his body.  Before Geneva can react, another blow catches her in the shoulder and knocks her off footing.  She staggers, briefly, curses again, and, in a fit, punches the blade out of the way.  Then, she grabs the demon by the arm as tight as she can and pulls him forward.  His mask meets hers, and hers wins.

            The steel of his mask folds inward and blood runs out of the eyes of it.  Dantalion sways unsteadily, wheezing, and Geneva pulls back and twists, lifting his body from the ground and slamming it onto the floor.  His sword slides away, and he lies there groaning.

            Geneva stands over him for a minute, watches the shallow movement of his chest, considers that good enough, and runs for Claude.  On the way, her armor slides off of her skin and forms into a ring on her right hand.  She comes to a stop beside them, beside Shirley who is holding Claude and holding his wound, beside Claude who is barely breathing.  She leaves footprints in his blood as she approaches.

            Shirley looks up, crying, as she tries her best to apply pressure.  Blood runs through her fingers without end.  “Geneva!  Please, help him!  Save him!”

            “Okay, okay, just take a deep breath, and,” Geneva lifts Shirley’s hand and gazes at the open wound.  It is narrow but deep, and it looks nothing like blood on the snow.  Another wound, Geneva figures, another memory.

            “What now? What do we do?”

            “Well.”  Geneva feels her pockets, pulls the coral signet out and holds it up.  “Um. We could try this.  Ms. O said it could heal”

            “Then put it on him.”

            Geneva looks at Claude’s face, pale and sweaty.  His eyes are closed, his head lulled to the side.  “He’s unconscious,” she says, “So, it may not work right.  I mean, the powers would only work if the armor is on, right?  Gah, I don’t know.”

            “Then give it to me,” Shirley says.  “I can heal him.”

            “No, no, the armor regenerates the healer, so,” Geneva pauses.  “But, if we can find the wand, you might be able to channel it into him. So, it might work?”

            Shirley extends one bloody hand.  “Then, give it to me.”

            “Shirley, if you put this on, you’ll never be able to take it off.  You’ll become a knight.”

            “Fine, I can live with that, but I can’t live without him.”  She shakes her hand at Geneva and blood falls from her fingertips.  Geneva watches the droplet’s descent.  “Give it to me,” Shirley shouts, and she takes it from Geneva’s open palm.

            “Right, sorry.  So, just put it on and, I don’t know, think of something you want to protect.”

            Shirley slides the coral ring down a red finger and closes her eyes, and the ring blossoms around her.  It slides along her form, spreading and engulfing her, coalescing coral plates around a body wrapped in lavender weave.  She stares out at Geneva from inside of her helm and, with surprising calm, asks, “Now what?”

            “Now, the wand,” Geneva says. She examines the armor and looks for something to grab onto, then she points.  “I think it’s there on your left wrist.  Just pull it out and then,” she looks at Claude, “Then, I don’t know, just, stab it into him?”

            “That will heal him?”

            Geneva shrugs.

            Shirley takes a deep breath, and she grabs her wand by the hilt and draws it from her bracer.  It forms into a long, needle-thin blade with a domed guard.  She holds it up, says a prayer, and jabs it into Claude’s open wound.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina paces a circle in front of the gate tree.  The sun is setting, but the tree still casts its own faint light.  She has her arms crossed and a thin jacket on to keep the chill of an early spring sunset at bay.  The air is wet with a fog settling around them, and two days spent in one of the compound SUVs has left fatigued.

            She stops and chews her right thumbnail while watching the tree.  “It’s taking too long.”

            “It’s not,” Viness says.  He is seated nearby on a fallen log.  It was dislodged when Andromalius attacked and was left there afterward.  The wood is slightly damp, but it is better than standing for hours.  He has his legs crossed and is leaning forward on them looking bored.  “It’s hasn’t even been two full days.”

            “It shouldn’t take two full days.  They’re in trouble.”

            “They’re fine.”

            Nina turns on him and glares.  “Now you’re just being contrary!”

            Viness sits up, grins.  “Am I?”  He nods toward her.  “Go ahead, turn around and look.”

            She turns and finds Shirley and Geneva are standing with Claude hanging between them.  All three look tired, pale, and dirty, but they also look very much alive.  Nina allows a brief smile before rushing to meet them.  Viness follows at a more leisurely pace.

            “Ms. Oaks, you’re alive!”

            “Yeah.”  Geneva adopts a wry grin.  “Glad to see you expected it all along.”

            “I never doubted,” Nina says, and she glares at Viness when he chokes on a laugh.  Then, she regards Geneva again, finding her looking older, wearier but also more mature.  In contrast, Claude seems as if he can barely stand.  He is covered in blood, but so is Shirley, and she is standing just fine.  “And welcome back, Ms. Seville.”

            “Thanks.”  Shirley gives a tired smile and adjusts her hold on Claude.  “And thank you for all of your help.”

            “In truth, I was no help at all.  Ms. Oaks and Mr. Sylvain did all of the work.”

            “True, but she has already thanked us a couple hundred times each, so we don’t mind sharing the love.”  Shirley blushes, and Geneva says, “It was a long, long journey.”

            “I would assume so, but you did well.”

            Geneva shrugs.  “I lived,” she says, and she looks at Claude, who is breathing shallowly.  “Hey, think we can get them home?  Claude needs time to recover, and we could all use an early night.”

            Nina nods and glances at Viness, who steps forward and takes Geneva’s place under Claude’s arm.  Together, he and Shirley walk Claude forward, stopping at the edge of the clearing and at Claude’s request.  They turn him to face Geneva, who holds her hands up.

            “No, not you, too. No,” she says, and they exchange nods before the party turns to make the climb up the hill and to the school parking lot.  Geneva waves and shouts through her cupped hands, “And, hey, get better, okay?”

            Nina and Geneva stand in silence and watch the three disappear over the crest of the hill.  Then, Nina, hands on her hips, regards Geneva with another smile.  “Congratulations, Ms. Oaks.  I believed in you, truly, but I am still proud to see you succeed.”

            Geneva shrugs and stretches.  Then, she winces and holds her side.  Nina frowns.

            “Are you injured?”

            “Nothing a day’s rest and a few bandages can’t handle,” she says.

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m fine,” Geneva says, and under further scrutiny, she adds an emphatic, “Really.”

            Nina crosses her arms, sighs.  “Onto other matters, then, did Mr. Sylvain take the ring?”

            “No, but Shirley did.”

            Nina pauses, blinks, turns her attention back to the hill.  “She did?”

            “Yeah, I know it wasn’t part of the plan, but we kind of had to improvise.”

            Nina nods after a lingering silence.  “Well, if you think it is best, then I trust your judgment.”  She fixes Geneva under another one of her heavy gazes.  “And she understands the responsibilities expected of her?”

            “I told her all about it,” Geneva says.  “Like I said, it was a long trip, and Claude didn’t have much to say on the way back.”

            “Yes. He did seem unwell.”

            “He’s fine, or he will be.”  The sun has set now and above them the sky is a black void.  Surrounding the forest there are pockets of light, where the city shines into the darkness.  Near the gate tree, the only thing they can see the effulgence of its bark.  “So, you have another knight now.”

            “I do,” Nina says, “But that doesn’t mean you can quit, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Please, I wasn’t even considering that.  At least, I wasn’t considering that right now.  I was going to give her a few days to make sure she would work out.”

            “Ms. Oaks, you made your decision.”

            “I know I did.”  Geneva takes a deep breath.  The fog hugs them now, surrounds them on all sides.  The cold of it soaks into their clothes, into their flesh, and into their bones.  Geneva’s stomach rumbles, and Nina looks at her.  “Sorry, guess I’m a bit hungry.  Haven’t had much to eat in,” Geneva pauses, “Uh.  Well, I just haven’t ate.”

            “I see.  Then, I will take you out to eat as a reward.”

            “What?  Really?”

            Nina nods and walks away, leaving Geneva to trail after with a more conservative gait.

            “Cool, thanks.  And Ms. O?”

            “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “Think we can get ice cream afterwards?”

            “Of course, if you would like.”

            Geneva smiles.  “Oh, I would like,” she says, following Ms. Olivia up the hill and to her SUV.  “I would like very, very much.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Seere sits alone in his darkened chambers, eyes closed, breathing shallow.  He wears a dark robe tightly around his thin frame.  A cold, wet breeze drifts in through his open window.  Outside, he can hear the storm raging, the rain water pelting the shingles. Waters leaks through in places in the roof, but Seere pays it little mind.  He is waiting.

            His chamber door opens, and he looks to find Yima standing in the doorway.  She carries a torch with her, and her travel cloak is dark and wet.  She leaves a puddle in her wake as she crosses the room.  Outside, thunder roars.

            Seere rises in his seat and adopts a smile.  “And how did it go?”

            “Not entirely as planned,” Yima says, undoing her cloak and leaving it in the most recent puddle.  She crosses the room and throws a steel mask onto the table.  “I had to improvise.”

            “But Dantalion is dead?”

            “The girl didn’t do it, though she made a good show of one of his doubles.”

            “Ultimately, his death is all that matters.  Good work.”

            “There are other doubles,” Yima says.  “And they will know that you tricked him.  That the lance was a fake.”

            “The lance wasn’t a fake,” Seere says.  He examines the mask closely and then rests it on the table beside his maps.  “It is simply old, perhaps too old to function as it should.  And it was broken.”

            “But I mean to say, they will never trust you.”

            “And neither did he,” Seere says.  “None of the nobles do, even those that are fake.  That is why they are so easy to manipulate.  They assume that my lies are on the surface and that they can see each one of them.  They believe I can be manipulated in turn.”

            “I suppose.”  Yima stares out at the storm.  “Whatever the case, this is only one victory, Salamand.”

            “Yes.  This war is far from over,” he says, and he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, a smile stuck on his face.  In his mind, he pictures the map of his world and imagines his own expanding territories.  Soon, he will hold the bulk of the south.  “When this storm passes,” he says, “We will continue our efforts.”

            Yima glances back at him, and then stares out at the storm.  She can see the vague outline of Dantalion’s former holdings, the mountains overlooking the sea. “It’s not like you to rest.”

            “Tonight I must mourn,” he says.  “So much noble blood has been spilled these last few months.  It seems almost as if someone is hunting them.”  He folds his folded hands on his lap.  “Besides, I enjoy the sounds of the storm.”

            Yima snorts.  “Now, that is like you, to enjoy the chaos.”

            “You are free to join me, to stay tonight.”

            Yima takes a deep breath.  “I would prefer not to, but I have nowhere else to go.”  She settles on the table and stares out the window.  Cold air fills the room.  Cold rain slips through the rafters.   She shivers, even beneath her leathers and furs.  “It has been building for some time, hasn’t it? This storm.”

            Seere pats her thigh.  “Oh, dear, the real storm hasn’t even begun.”

 

The Knights of Sheba Season One...End

The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 18: "Moxie" A

Episode Eighteen: Moxie

 

            “I hate waiting,” Nina says.  She is sitting in the driver’s seat of her SUV with Viness beside her in the passenger’s seat.  Each has a fast food burger balanced carefully on their laps, drinks in hand, and sharing fries straight from the bag that is set between them. Viness smiles around his burger while Nina grimaces at her own.  “And I also hate this food.”

            “Now you’re starting to sound like Erak.”

            Nina groans.

            “Anyway, it’s the best we can do since you refuse to go home to make an actual meal.  Or bathe.  It is going to be a very fragrant welcome,” he says, sliding down into his seat and resting his feet on the dashboard.  Nina gives him a sharp look, which he meets with a smile.

            Outside, the night is cool and black.  The sun set hours ago, and they left their spot only long enough to get food.  At Nina’s instance, they can’t go more than few miles away.  Bathroom breaks are taken, quickly and discreetly, inside of the school.

            “They’re going to come back,” Viness says.

            “I know.”

            “Really,” he says.  “They’ll be fine.  That girl is…”

            “Clueless, impulsive, and in over her head.”

            “Yes, yes, and yes, but she’s also got—what’s the word?”

            “Spirit?”

            “Moxie.  And she’s come this far, hasn’t she?”

            Nina takes a deep breath, and then she smiles.  “Yes,” she says, and she stares down the hill, into the forest.  The gate tree looms, swallowing the light, stealing focus.  It extends endlessly into the sky, burrows infinitely into the earth.  “Yes, she has.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva pulls Claude around a corner and sprints ahead with him trailing.  Her signet armor gleams under the dull light of the candles lining the castle walls while the grey stones that compose said walls seem to swallow the light cast on them.  Their foot falls echo around them as they run.

            “So, uh, sorry about that,” Geneva says, glancing over her shoulder.  In the distance she can see a group of pike-bearing demons cresting the stairs.  “I didn’t think they would see me.”

            Claude glares ahead at her.  His face is bruised and dried blood is smeared just under his nose.  “They wouldn’t see you? Your armor is white!”

            “Hey, no one ever accused me of being smart.”  Geneva slides to a halt and grabs the wall to steady herself before taking another corner.  She pulls Claude after her and starts down another long hallway.  At the end she can see an opening.

            They enter another crossroad, where four halls meet and part in different directions.  At the far end she can see another set of spiral staircases leading higher.  Behind them, she can hear the scraping of steel and the angry shouts of demons in pursuit.

            Geneva braces against her knees to catch her breath.  “Great, now what?”

            “We were going for the tower, right?” Claude points at the stairs.  “Then, let’s keep going up.”

            Geneva looks forward, and then shakes her head.  “No,” she says, taking his hand and dragging him after her.  “Always go right.”

            “What?”

            “I’m right-handed.”

            They follow right-hand hall to another set of stairs, where Geneva smiles triumphantly, and then take those stairs up.  She shoves Claude forward from behind while he wheezes and struggles to keep pace.  The pallor of his skin is returning and, at the top of the stairs, he stumbles and falls forward.  Geneva stops long enough to pull him back onto his feet.

            The chase comes to a stop on a long, narrow bridge high above the castle proper.  Another tower stands in the darkness, its roofing collapsed but its stonework solid.  From where they are, Geneva sees it as broken tiles and stone, and she can see rooms inside exposed to the elements.

            She can also see a hole in the bridge, where it had collapsed long ago.  It is nearly fifteen feet missing, and she hangs her head and curses.

            “What?”  Claude is braced against the bridge’s railing, wheezing desperately for breath.  He looks head, grimaces, and then glares at her.  “Always go right?”

            “I’m right-handed?”  She goes back to the entrance and listens.  The demons are still in hot pursuit.  She can see droplets of blood from Claude’s nose on the stairs.  Another curse, and she turns back to Claude.  “Okay, we need a quick solution across, because I so can’t fight my way back down and you can’t—Well, you can’t do much.”

            “I’m fine.”  He leans his full weight onto the railing, which crumbles under him.  Geneva catches him before he can fall. “Why is everything in this world falling apart!”

            “Seen many architects around here?”  She looks over the edge now.  The tower is tall, and the drop is substantial.  Even in her armor she would suffer a few broken bones, and Claude would be made into liquid and bits.  She leans back and rubs her helm.  “Then again, even if we did see one, would we recognize it?”

            “What in the hell are you going on about now?”

            “Just saying, public works would probably help their economy.”

            “God.  Please, can you just think of something?”

            “I am.”

            “Something useful.  They’re almost here!”

            “Right, right, sorry, nervous habit.”  Geneva looks ahead, at the broken bridge, at the tower in the distance.  The wind whips against her, flatten Claude’s shirt to his chest.  She can feel it vaguely through her armor, its presence muted by the weave.  “Claude,” she says, drawing her wand, twirling it with one hand, “How do you feel about flying?”  The serrations in the blade whistle.

            “I’ve never flown.”  He watches her blade with growing trepidation.  His voice cracks.  “Why?”

            She grabs him by the arm and pulls him forward, shoving him toward  the edge of the bridge.  Then, spinning on heel, she thrusts the blade forward and sends the demons falling back down the stairs.  “Right, well, get ready.  Trays up, luggage, and all of that,” she says, spinning her wand faster and then swinging up.  A gust of air catches Claude and throws him up high and toward the gap.  Then, Geneva runs forward and leaps off the edge of the bridge.

            She conjures her wings but waits to open them.  Midway down, her wings unfold from her back and catch the air.  She glides back up and catches Claude on his way down.  They spiral through the air and land on the other side of the bridge together, where they roll to a stop.  Claude ends up with a bruised shoulder and a frown, while Geneva manages to land on her feet

            No one can see it, but she is smiling under her helm.  On the other side of the bridge, the demons have gathered and are screaming.  She stands and sheaths her wand, and then she tries to dance.  For once, she doesn’t care if people are watching.  “Oh yeah! Who’s awesome? I’m awesome!”

            Claude groans and glares up at her.  “Never. Again.”

            “Eh…”  She pulls him up, dusts him off.  “Right, sorry.  But, I saved us.”

            His frown deepens.  “Never,” he says, and then he leans against her for support so they can move on.

            Together they make it cross the bridge and reach the far tower, only to find the tower’s interior collapsed.  So, they forge ahead, Geneva nearly dragging Claude by this point.  A third tower rises in the distance, obscured by fog.  Thunder echoes overhead, shaking the stones beneath their feet.

            Upon arriving they stop to rest.  Geneva leans Claude against the tower wall while looking over the railing.  Below, a dirty glass dome is built into the mountainside, and while she doesn’t know much about ancient, demonic architecture, Geneva feels safe in assuming it is the observatory.

            “I think Shirley is down there,” she says, helping Claude to stand and look at it.

            “Then we need to take the stairs down.”  Claude steps away from her and braces against the tower. He peeks his head inside and stops there.  Below, he hears growls.  He looks back at Geneva, who is waiting beside him.

            “What?”

            “There’s more.”

            “More?”  Geneva stomps and screams quietly to herself.  “How can there be more?  Seriously, how many guards can one guy have?”

            “I don’t know, but we need to find another way down.”

            “I know, I know,” she says, pacing near the railing.  She looks over the side again and stares at the foggy glass below.  It smudged and yellowed with age.  Through it, she can see a murky shadows that look to her like what once might have been a garden, overgrown and long neglected.

            “Claude,” she says, reaching back and drawing her wand, “Do you trust me?”        Claude, resting against the wall and listening as the demons scuffle their way up the stairs, swallows.  “Uh, what?”

            She faces him, her hand extended and wand ready.  Her armor gleams. “Do you trust me?”

            He looks her in the helm, glances at her wand, and then stares into her helm again.  “Honestly, no.  Not really.”

            “Oh.  Well, too bad.”  She leans forward and grabs him, and she pulls him to her.  Then, leaping over the edge, she spreads her wings and hurls her sword into the glass below.  They descend in a wide, lethargic spiral as her wand shatters the glass.

            Geneva folds her wings and drops into the hole, which is narrower than she estimated.  Hanging shards of glass catch her wings and tear them like fabric.  Gravity seizes her then and pulls her hard to the ground.  She holds Claude tight but loses grip on the landing.

            They crash with enough force to fall apart.  Claude lands heavily in the dirt while Geneva falls back into the lush, green foliage around her.  She sits up and stares at Claude, who is unconscious but breathing.

            She sighs.  “Well, went better than expected, but not as good as I had hoped for.”  She stands and finds her wand, slipping it back into place on her armor.  Then, she grabs Claude and pulls him onto her back.  His arms hang limply over her shoulders.

            “Now to the observatory,” she says, and she looks at Claude’s closed eyes, at his head resting on her shoulders.  “Where I get to find a way to save both of you.  Yay.”  She sighs and carries him ahead, into the depths of the castle.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva carries Claude down darkened, empty halls.  Voices echo after them, sinister growls of pursuing demons hunting her even into the depths of the castle.  The walls here are dark grey and seem to swallow the light, and they show considerably less wear or tear than the rest of the building.  It is becoming increasingly clear to Geneva that this part of the castle is not so abandoned as the others.

            At the end of one particularly long, narrow hall she finds a dark, muddy carpet unfurled.  It leads deeper inward, to a domed room cut out of the mountainside.  A foyer opens out of the far wall, where she can see large telescope with a stool set before it.  The room is a perfect circle and standing at its center is a lone figure.

            The figure is tall and, Geneva imagines, demonic.  It is wrapped in thick black robes and has a steel mask covering its face.  Its head is down and, in one hand, it carries a large, curved sword.  When she enters the room it looks up and whistles, and from nearby entryways cut into the wall, five demons enter.  They spread evenly across the wall, each brandishing their own blades and cudgels.

            Geneva sighs and settles Claude on the ground.  Then, she takes a few steps away from him.  “So, I’m assuming you’re the one in charge here.”

            “I am,” the masked demon snarls, “I am Duke Dantalion, ruler of the duchy and of the castle you are standing in.”

            “Right, so, boss fight then.”  Geneva cocks her hips to one side and tries to be sassy.  It feels poorly fitted to her, but she figures it is the closest to intimidation she will get and sticks with it.  “So, here’s the deal: we’ve been stirring up a bit of a commotion, I know, and you might be wondering why.  Well, it’s because, and we have this on good authority and all, you kidnapped a friend of ours.  And we want her back.”

            “We took the human girl to lure you here.”

            “And it worked.  Now, seriously, just give her back.  I don’t want this to get ugly.  Or, uglier.”  Geneva tilts her head to one side.  “Why are you wearing that mask anyway?”

            Dantalion growls again, his voice muted by the mask.  He points to the side with his blade.  “You want her, you can have her.”  Another demon appears from one of the many entryways cut into the walls, and he drags Shirley after him.  She is bound and gagged, and when she sees Claude, she struggles against her confines.  The demon tosses her to the ground and plants a foot on her back.

            Geneva glances at Claude, still unconscious, and then at Shirley.  “Hey, Shirl, don’t worry, Claude’s fine, just sleepy.  It’s been a long, LONG journey for both of us.  Oh, and don’t worry about the whole being held hostage thing.  We’ll get this worked out, promise.”  To Dantalion, she says, “Okay, listen, Count Chocula.”

            “Duke. Dantalion.”

            “Captain Crunch.  Whatever, you’ve got my friend, and I’m taking her back.”

            Dantalion lifts his blade overhead, and it gleams in the torchlight.  “Then take her.”

            With the aid of her armor, Geneva can see the surface of the blade in detail.  She can see the scratches along its length, the dents from old battles past, the dried blood of the enemies it slayed and the glossy remains of their fat.  It has seen a lot of use over the years.

            She reaches back and draws her wand.  “One last warning, cause I don’t know if you know, so if you don’t know, I’ll let you know,” she pauses to sort her thoughts.  “Anyway, you know the big guy, forked tongue, red hair, liked to throw things, name was Count Androgynous or something like that.  Anyway, he was the last one of your demons to start trouble with me, and guess what happened to him.”

            “Count Andromalius.  And he was killed in battle in the human realm.”

            “By a certain little human girl wearing white armor.”  Geneva points at herself.  “Yo.”

            “You do not intimidate me.  Andromalius, while strong, was a fool.  I am not.”

            “You sure about that?  Because you’re picking a fight with me.  You know, the person wearing a magical super armor basically designed to kick all kinds of demon ass.”

            “You talk too much.”

            “You know, everyone keeps saying that, and I just don’t hear it.  For real, though, last chance.  Let Shirley go.  Let us all go.  Then, go back to doing whatever it is you do alone, in a room, wearing a mask and a robe.  It’s brooding, right?  Because I feel like it’s got to be brooding.”

            Dantalion looks around the room.  “Kill her.”

            “Not the answer I was hoping for.”

            A demon approaches from her left and Geneva meets it with a lunge.  The tip of her blade finds soft green flesh and parts it smoothly.  It stops, stares wide-eyed at her as blood oozes through its armor.  Then, it gurgles and holds the wand.

            Geneva stares into its eyes as they go lifeless.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she takes a deep breath and withdraws.  Turning, she deflects an incoming attack from another demon and walks a smooth circle around it while it stumbles passed, and meets the third demon after.

            The third demon swings its heavy, wooden cudgel overhead and brings it down on her.  Geneva catches the attack with the flat of her blade and tilts it to the side, sending the demon falling forward.  Then, she brings her blade up and into its chest.  The steel plate it has roped on parts and blood spreads across her wand, but the blow is shallow enough to leave it standing.

            Third stumbles back, looking more frustrated than hurt, and lifts its cudgel overhead again.  Geneva steps in and elbows it in the face, knocking it to the ground, unconscious.  Meanwhile, the demon behind her has regained its footing and returns with its weapon ready.  It hits her hard across the back, knocking her forward and shattering its blade on impact.  Geneva turns and, with a shout, punches it in the face hard enough to render it unconscious.

            The two remaining demons flank her while Dantalion watches.  They keep at a distance, walking a wide circle around her, and Geneva turns with them, keeping both in her periphery.  When one finally swings, she blocks it, catching the blade with het left bracer and then countering with her wand.  The blow clips it shoulder, and she has to kick it in the chest to finish it.

            The last demon attacks now, using a thin dagger to pierce her side.  It slips in through the weave but fails to go deep before the fine fibers catch it.  The wound is shallow but painful.  Without thinking, she jerks back and hits it in the gut with the hilt of her wand.  It doubles over, coughing and soiling itself.

            When she turns, it looks up at her, small and sobbing, and it holds it hands up as it shuffles away.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!”

            She glares and looks her bloodied side.  Then, she nods toward the door.  “Go.”

            “But they’ll kill me.”

            “You just stabbed me.  I’ll kill you, you jerk.”  The demon pauses, thoughtfully, and then nods before retreating.  Geneva turns to Dantalion and takes a deep, painful breath.  “Now that that’s done, can we go?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

            “After that?  No.”  Dantalion lifts his blade and twirls it in hand.  It isn’t like the other weapons.  It is weathered, yes, but also cared for, and he knows how to use it.  There is skill there, effort, and more importantly, strength.  “I expected more from someone who killed Andromalius.  You didn’t kill a single one of them.”

            Geneva points at the first demon.  “I stabbed that one.”

            “He is still breathing.”

            She sighs.  “Listen, just because I CAN kill doesn’t mean I want to.”

            “And your kindness led to your injury.”

            Geneva puts her hand to her side and then looks at it.  Blood drips from her gauntlet.  She shakes her head.  “Nah, that’s just me being stupid.”  She meets Dantalion’s gaze again, helmet on mask.  “Really, though. I don’t want to fight you.”

            “Then lay down your weapon and die like the coward you are.”

            “Option C, please?”

            Dantalion grunts and closes distance.  His movements are more graceful, natural than the demons before it.  Its robes flutter around him.  He reaches her shortly and steps in with his right, then left, the robe following like an after image.  Geneva lunges forward and catches the robe and nothing else with her wand.

            He grabs her by the wrist and twists the wand from her hand.  It bounces across the floor.  Holding her in place this way, Dantalion sweeps with his curved blade.  It scrapes across the face of her helm.

            Geneva wriggles free and falls back, rolling to a stop and onto her knees.  Dantalion follows, stabbing forward and driving his blade at her.  It catches her in the side, not with enough force to break the weave but she does feel a pinch.  She grabs him by the wrists to hold him there, and he laughs.

            “Now, you’re defenseless.”  He whispers the words, his voice tinny through the mask, and he puts his foot to her wounded side and applies pressure.  Her grip fades, and Dantalion withdraws.  Once away, he leaves her to fall, clutching her side and groaning in pain.  He paces in front of her, blade flashing.  “And soon, you’ll be dead.”  He lifts his blade and holds it over head.

 

The Knights of Sheba 118 A…End