The unshattered sword, p.1
The Unshattered Sword, page 1
THE UNSHATTERED SWORD
KAT SIMONS
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Thank You
The Trouble with Black Cats and Demons
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Books By Kat Simons
About the Author
The fate of her clan depends on the strength of her sword…
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In the land of the Fae, when clans go to war, destruction spreads throughout the realm. To prevent disaster, the clans fight ritual battles through single combatants. One warrior, standing between her people and utter devastation.
Lilia knows that losing the coming fight will mean the end of her people. Everything rests on her shoulders, and her sword. Her ability to stand against the powerful magic of their greatest enemy.
Because if her strength falters…
Her people will die.
THE UNSHATTERED SWORD
Copyright © 2021 by Katrina Tipton
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Cover design: © 2022 T&D Publishing
Cover Art: © Melkor3d | Dreamstime.com
Published by: T&D Publishing
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First Published in: Haunts and Howls and Guardian Spells, 2021
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T&D Publishing: https://tanddpublishing.com/
Kat Simons Website: https://www.katsimons.com
Kat Simons Newsletter: https://bit.ly/KatSimonsNewsletter
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All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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eBooks are not transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
For my own clan.
1
The fire crackled gently in the giant open fireplace next to her seat as she stared at the hard, gray flagstone floor. The scent of peat filled the spacious, airy room, mixing with a soft, damp loamy smell filtering in through the opened windows. Despite the glass panes being pushed back, allowing the dawn in, the room was warm. Maybe too warm, but that hardly mattered now.
Not with the fate of her people resting on her shoulders.
Soft velvet curtains hung solid, unmoving despite the open windows. No breeze this early in the morning. Everything had stilled and settled. Unlike her heartbeat. The point was to settled herself. The privacy. The quiet. This time alone without the others. She was supposed to be settling and preparing. All she felt was the rapid thump of her heartbeat. The hard support of her wooden chair despite the generous cushions covering the base and back. The heavy weight of her leather armor on top of her thin, cotton underclothes.
So much depended on her. On this day. On her strength.
They’d brought her a feast of course. There was always a feast the night before. Roasted meats and fowl, smoked river fish, vegetables prepared with buttery sauces, thick slabs of bread and honey, rich pastries filled with sugared fruits and topped with thickened cream. Plenty of drink too. Caskets and barrels of beer and wine. Flowing freely through the dining hall below and in the village surrounding the stone keep. That was good for others. To dull the fear. Her flagon of wine remained untouched. She’d drink it if they survived the day. And if they didn’t…
Well, it was good wine. The best her people made. Someone else would likely drink it. Or toss it onto the flames of her clan.
All of that depended on today. Who was the strongest. Who could overcome their strongest.
Whether or not they could get through her.
The heavy oak door eased gently open as her second came into the room. Eian was older than her by several decades, and not able for the coming fight any more for reasons no one discussed, but he’d been a reassuring presence as she’d trained and prepared. A mentor of sorts, though not her teacher. Twenty years ago, he’d been the one to stand before the army. Now it was her turn. And having his experience at her back brought more comfort than she could offer in return.
He’d bathed recently. His dark, steal gray hair was still damp, the tiny braids through the top holding his thick mane back from his strong, wide face, the ends of his hair curling around the raised collar of his leather jerkin. Later, he’d strap his short sword to his hip. Mostly for show.
No one fought except her.
And the Gastion’s Champion.
“Are you ready, Lilia?” Eian’s voice was deep and rumbling in the large space, quiet but still managing to boom despite his best efforts. No one in the entire community had a voice like his.
He held up the long sword he’d brought into the room, the blade pulled just a little from its scabbard, the weapon resting across his spread hands.
Uniquely forged for the battle to come. The double-edged blade made of silver, etched with ancient runes. Purple gems decorated the knotted silver pommel. The grip wrapped in hardened purple leather. The cross-guard spread in a wide T shape, the ends curving down and molded to resemble ancient monsters. A swirling, knotted silver designs decorated the top of the leather scabbard.
The Champion’s sword.
Standing, moving to face Eian, she took the sword from him, holding it as he had across her palms. Staring at it for a long moment.
“Are you ready, Lilia?” he asked again.
I settled the strap of the scabbard over my head, letting it fall across my back, feeling the weight of the sword on my shoulders.
I smiled. Feeling the smile. Not having to fake it. “I’m ready.”
My palms sweated. My heartbeat hammered. My stomach clenched.
But I was ready.
I would not let my people down.
2
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 cham pion. 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.
3
I concentrated on the arrows coming from the enemy, throwing my hands higher to ensure the shield kept my people safe. Watching the arrows slam into the shimmering air where my shield was, feeling the bubble of its magic in my blood, I let out a slow breath when each arrow hit the shield, each deadly little missile smashed against my magic…
And didn’t continue through.
The arrows clattered on top of each other until there was a layer of wood and flint hovering above my army. I sent a ripple of motion through the shield, and the now harmless arrows jumped and scattered to one side of the field. I didn’t have a chance to check on the results of the volley against the Gastion. Another wave of deadly arrows whistled above. I raised my arms again, blocking the next attack successfully, keeping my people safe.
An injury wouldn’t end the battle. But a death, one death, any death would. The champion who failed, who couldn’t keep their people protected from enemy fire, lost the fight. Losing the fight meant losing everything and becoming subjects of our enemies. Subject to their whims and cruelties. Even their benevolence wouldn’t be enough to counter the destruction to our clan. The Gastion outnumbered us, three to one. We would eventually cease to be if I lost this fight.
I couldn’t lose.
The second volley of arrows met the same fate as the first, a pile of now useless wood at the side of the battlefield. I let out another breath and rolled my shoulders.
The next volley wasn’t made with arrows. Now came the magic, the spells, the power.
First a sphere of blue magic slammed against my shield, spreading in a wave of licking electrical lines across my protective powers, searching for an opening, a weakness. I firmed my stance and spread my arms out to the sides as I widened my shield, ensured it moved higher overhead.
I could extend the shield only so far. There were limits to what I could do. Limits to what the Gastion could do. That was the point. Who had the better shield. Who could keep everything the enemy threw at you out.
A flicker of the lines dancing over my shield to my right had me gasping, and I quickly threw a second shield up to block the sneaking magic. Holding more than one shield was always harder, dividing the magic into multiple layers to keep more sections of the army safe risked weakening the overall effect of each shield.
More magic flew at me. This from the leader herself. The Gastion ruler would be the most powerful magic wielder among her people. It was the only way to lead and remain in that position among the Fae. The MacMoor was our greatest wielder of magic as well. And when they cast their first attack, the enemy champion’s shield trembled.
He swung his hand in an arc and the visible blue of his shield strengthened, flickering here and there before solidifying. The MacMoor’s attack didn’t get through.
But seeing my opponent waiver under the onslaught from my people was heartening.
Another volley of arrows came toward us and all my concentration went to maintaining my defenses, holding the line. The attack intensified. More arrows, more magic from across their army. They had ten, twenty Fae with powerful magic, the kind of magic useful in a war. And they didn’t pause as they sent those attacks to test my own protective powers.
My sword trembled where I’d buried it in the ground a few yards in front of me. More magic channeled from the sky and earth into the sword, then flowed into me.
The sword was the focus, the way of pulling magic from Faery itself to help aid the defensive magic I used. The Gastion champion’s weapon was the same. His also drew that magic, strengthened his defenses. We were trained to be shields, to be defensive weapons. Our swords channeled the power we needed.
Seeing my sword vibrate with the magic I was drawing made my breath hitch. Fear? Uncertainty? Any of those would weaken my efforts. I dragged my gaze from the sword and focused on the increasing attack. Focused on just holding the shields. Still, with two instead of a single protective barrier, though, there were weaknesses in my defense. I needed to weave the two shields together.
