Path of Lyssa
is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!
Current word count:
39,585
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Chapter 4 - Heroes
The Dusk Ford was a tall pair of stone towers, one on either side of the mighty Dusk River. The bridge spanning the raging water's surface between the goliaths was an architectural marvel here in the Era of Shadow, though Claire's reading had told her that its construction had been just one of a number of such projects from that year. This had been during the Era of Magic, of course, when miracles had been commonplace and Oculus All-seeing had walked the earth. Erecting a wide, stone platform all the way across a river whose far bank was invisible save on the clearest of summer days hadn't been so impressive in those days.
The stone had persevered all throughout the Era of Mundanity, when humans gradually had lost their respect for the sacred and the arcane and placed their faith in the observable. And the bridge had been maintained rigorously throughout that time, mostly out of need. Crossing the Dusk and passing into the jagged mountains of the east necessitated the Dusk Ford's massive bridge, since sailing a boat across the choppy north-south flow was a risk few captains would choose to undertake. And going around would either require a trip into the icy peaks of the far north across the source of the river, or down to the southern coast and the endlessly flooding continental delta. Such was the case for Claire and her friends in the modern age, also. There were no boats left to ferry them across, and Charisse's unpredictable curse meant they didn't have the years required to go around. They had to take the bridge.
Claire lay on her belly at the top of the last hill before the great dip down to the water's edge. Around her, granite slabs of rock poked out of the soil like the vertebrae of ancient leviathans. These natural shields kept her form hidden from the tall western tower and the rheumy eyes of its inhabitants, whom she was currently spying on for the little party. The supernatural sight granted her by her endless, breathy prayer to Oculus kept her abreast of the ghoul's comings and goings. She also bore witness to the dark swishing of black cloaks through the fortress windows, the attire of the much more alive Dark Adherents who acted as castellans of the Dusk Ford in the Dark Lord's stead.
Passing across the bridge meant also passing through both sides of the structure. Each tower's structure was made up of three stone-walled courtyards that would all have to be navigated, leaving prospective invaders constantly out in the line of sight of the high windows at the river's edge. Each of the heavy wooden doors separating the courtyards were closely guarded by a full complement of undead soldiers that didn't need sleep or sustenance. And Claire had spotted three black cowls in the western tower itself, living custodians who may have access to the Dark Lord's fearsome magic. Across the bridge, who could say? Claire and her friends would need to rush across the wide platform in full view of the eastern defences. Even Lyssa's newfound confidence in her enchantments would struggle with that challenge. Her voice needed to be heard for her command to be obeyed, and a shot with an arrow could take her down long before she could even see her attacker.
Claire narrowed her eyes as the misty, glowing shapes of the Dusk Ford's inhabitants moved about behind their walls in her empowered vision. There had to be a play here, but she could not see it. And with Lyssa bold as brass these past few days, Charisse his usual reckless self, it fell to her to find that play for them. Maybe if they waited for a change in the guard, the Ford's forces would be distracted enough to let three disguised heroes through to the lands beyond. Or maybe if they took the time to fashion a canoe out of the copse of trees at their backs, they might-...
A whisper of wind across the grass atop her hillock preceded cold steel against Claire's neck.
"Speak quietly an answer to my questions and nothing else," came a rich, resonant and masculine voice above her. "What is your name?"
"C-Claire," she managed. Lyssa's encounter with the bandit camp was still fresh in her mind, and the recollection caused Claire's prayerful focus to shatter. Why hadn't Oculus warned her someone was sneaking up behind her?
"Well then, Claire," said the man, savouring her name like a fine wine. "Whom do you serve?"
This was the decisive question. If a Dark Adherent was the one holding the blade at her throat, she would need to plea for the mercy of his Dark Lord. Otherwise... Otherwise, what? What other answer was there? Claire swallowed, her throat wobbling against the sharpness of her captor's weapon.
"Only my friends," she hissed. "My friends and... m-my god. Oculus All-seeing."
"Not the dark?" the man teased.
And Claire, manic with fear, found herself grinning. "Fuck the dark," she said.
And the sword's edge immediately came away from her skin. Claire let out a long sigh of relief as the man began to laugh in his musical, mahogany voice.
"Coarsely spoken, but I cannot help but agree!" he assured her. "Well met, Lady Claire! I am pleased to find an ally of the light in these dark lands!"
Curious by nature and unable to hold herself back, Claire rolled over onto her side and glanced down her body at the newcomer. And her breath caught in her lungs. Standing over her was easily the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Gorgeous skin that was almost onyx black, tight curls of short dark hair that would be soft to the touch, an immaculate beard just barely grazing at his full lips. He had Charisse's broad shoulders, but a tight waist and long, lithe legs clad in tight silk that spoke of a honed athleticism. His waistcoat was a luxurious blend of red and blue stripes, audacious and magical compared to the dull tones of the usual garb of survivors of the Era of Shadow. And his blade was a curved scimitar of silver metal with a rounded sapphire worked into the pommel. A weapon fit for a hero of legend. And his smile! Claire briefly forgot to breathe in the incandescence of his lovely, boyish, handsome grin.
The swordsman extended a gloved hand for her, and she took it without a second thought. His skin was warm beneath the thick fabric, his grip unquestionably strong. He lifted her up to her feet as if she weighed nothing at all, in full defiance of the enemy stronghold now visible beyond the grassy rise.
"A-And you are?" she somehow managed around the pattering of her heart.
"My name is Delain," said the swordsman, bending into a courtly bow at his waist and pressing his lips to the back of Claire's hand, which he still held. His trim beard tickled her skin like a brush of silk. "I am at your service, my lady."
Claire found herself giggling absently. But through the haze of heat in her cheeks and the giddy spinning of her belly, the man's name broke through. A familiar name. She gasped.
"Delain of the Ten Cities?"
"The very same," he said with an achingly charming smile.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Holy shit," she said.
---
"Holy shit!" laughed Charisse, rocking back and forth on his seat at the edge of the fire with a silly, childlike grin. "I mean... holy shit!"
Delain chuckled, one hand demurely laid on his chest. "You do me honour, my lord..."
"Ch-Charisse!" he said at once. "Th-That's my name!"
"My Lord Charisse," Delain bowed from his seat. "My utmost pleasure to meet you."
Lyssa's ears pricked at the sound of snickering coming from deeper into the cave they were using as a shelter from the light rain outside. This fascinating Delain fellow seemed like a polite sort, but not all of his company shared his manners. Accompanying the handsome swordsman were four adventurers. A muscular woman with a thick, black bow across her lap, her face a maze of ritual tattoos. A slight girl with a wide-brimmed hat and a staff of gnarled yew leaning against her shoulder. And a pair of twins, both with Claire's red hair but braided into matching styles, and with a matching pair of clubs affixed at their belts. It was this pair who had thought to laugh at Charisse's feminine name. Not that Charisse had any idea he was the subject of ridicule.
And Lyssa had to admit, the gravity of Delain was undeniable. He was a superb specimen of masculine grace and strength. His dark eyes held that same bright intelligence that Lyssa recalled from Tabitha and Tomas, only magnified astronomically. When his eyes turned on her, and they appeared to be turning quite often, Lyssa felt as though she was all he could see. Delain looked up from his humble chuckling to catch eyes on her again, and Lyssa held his smile with one of her own.
"And might I have your name, my lady?" he asked her softly.
She grinned. "My friends call me Lyssa, sir. But you may call me whatever you desire."
The curve of his lips and the widening of his eyes as he breathed in her flirtation were magnificent, careful without appearing forced. He could not have looked so lovely even if he'd had time to prepare. From somewhere deeper in the cave, someone hissed out an impressed gasp at Lyssa's sultry words.
"You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Delain," she continued, running one hand idly across her chest as if brushing away a stray fibre. Her target obediently let his gaze trail along the swell of her chest, made all the more obvious by the alterations she'd made to the navy dress she'd taken from the bandit camp.
"Do I?" Delain replied with a coy smirk.
"All here appear to know you as a man of great fame, but I have lamentably suffered a loss of my memory of late. I would love to hear of your accolades for myself."
"Well," he said with a rich chuckle, "I do not normally partake of blowing my own horn."
"I'll do it!" Charisse butted in at once. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, his dark fringe framing a grin that reflected the dancing of the firelight. "Delain of the Ten Cities is a living legend, Lyssa! He single-handedly unseated the ten tyrants of the unaligned lands to the south and restored them to peace! He duelled the evil Carnelian Swordsman on the walls of Fort Tychus and rid him of his malevolent blade! He ended the carnage of the devil-drake at Goldfields by simply staring the beast down and willing it be gone!"
"That one was me, actually." This reedy voice came from beneath the wide-brimmed hat of the girl sitting by Delain's side. When the hat raised, Lyssa saw the blonde girl beneath smirking. "Delain was there, though. I can attest that he didn't wet himself on seeing that nasty brute of a dragon, so that's reasonably impressive."
