The Heart Grows

Opening his eyes despite the horror that would befoul his vision, David Fitzgerald, marquess of West Reaches, beheld the kaleidoscope of mismatched images and held out his hand. The priest passed him his clothes and, getting dressed, he asked, "Revive Eliza Fitzgerald-Sussaridge next."

Not bothering to wait for confirmation, David put on his clothes, straightened them, and doggedly pushed himself to ignore the resurrection side effect. Leaving the temple on the grounds of his city estate, he walked through the carefully tended garden to his home.

The house was, of course, a mansion—practically palatial. Advancing quickly to his office, David froze the moment he set foot in the room as a power so much greater than himself took hold.

"You didn't kill the new king." The strong, feminine voice seemed to echo throughout the world, at least in David's mind.

Like being constantly in a lightning bolt as it hits the ground, David nodded. It took an effort of willpower to reply. "He moved too fast and knew too much. We dealt with his father and I believe his bodyguard is no more, but the man still stands."

Releasing its grip on David, West Reaches sighed with its husky voice. "I ripped us free of that annoying kingdom. It should have died with the number of cities it has left."

"That's one enemy out of our way." Circling his desk, David took a seat and reached to his correspondence tray. "How did the muster go? Anything slip through?"

"A kingdom tax collector and their annoying little minions. There was also an adventurer who had no proof of dungeons run except east of here. They're all waiting in the cells." The city's smugness carried over in its voice.

Relaxing, David closed his eyes to banish the strange vision that yet persisted. "I couldn't do this without you."

"Nor I you. Your daughter is about to knock on the door."

"Come in, Eliza." Rather than her knocking, David was pleased to see her stride confidently into the room. "Shame about that whelp."

Walking over to her father's desk, Eliza knelt down beside it. "I'll go back and finish the job."

The unwavering dedication made David smile. "You are too valuable for that." Tilting his head away from Eliza. "Have the armies moved to the defensive line?"

"They left two weeks ago. I cannot see them, but they'll be in position." West Reaches felt like the luckiest city in the world. She had done what no city had done in the history of the kingdom. Now… "David, there's something else you need to consider now, Your Majesty."

The way the city purred the last words into his mind had David Fitzgerald shivering from the base of his skull down to his tailbone. "That has a wonderful ring to it."

[a brave young priestess' journal]

No, Miss Journal, I am not renaming you to that other thing. I can scarcely even understand that word, and yet Stewart [small ink blot]

This has been absolutely beyond all reason. Stewart is giving orders like [small ink blot]

I know he's the king now, Miss Journal, but where do I fit into that? I think he wants me there with him, but when I'm sitting beside him, he doesn't ask me anything.

It's a new day today. Four days since we flew into the city and I kicked down a door and shot up a room that looks like it cost more to furnish than all of Northridge. I'm going out to Travis and I'm going to fight and die and I will feel better after that.

Most people would think that I was out of my mind to do that. I huffed just then, Miss Journal. I huffed deeply and I believe I shall fight until I die twice. Once will not suffice.

Stewart had a hundred things to organize before lunch. Of those hundred things, about half were because Travis had accelerated all sorts of war plans that would otherwise have had a month or more to manage. He looked at Elanor and, more than anything, wanted to tell her she couldn't put herself at risk. The problem was, for all his kingly power—she hadn't asked him. "Though I wish I could rely on your strength, I will manage alone in the meetings."

Sitting, as they were, alone in a room apart from a maid bringing them breakfast, Elanor decided to ignore decorum. She stood up from her seat on the opposite side of the table from Stewart, placed one hand on the table and vaulted over it to land beside him. "I'm going to ki—" She blushed, however, as Stewart beat her to the punch.

The sound of the maid scurrying out of the room broke them apart into a fit of giggles. Stewart debated telling his generals to find something else to do for the day while he spent it pampering Elanor—but that wouldn't do. "I can look forward to your company tonight?"

"I will be sore and sweaty, which means I'll be in a great mood. Perhaps we could spar a little?" The fire Elanor felt inside threatened to make her blush, but Elanor didn't care. She felt dangerously out of control when this close to Stewart, and being alone together in the room only made it worse. Or, in a word that would forever get blotted out of her journal: better.

"Sometimes I wonder which of us is doing the chasing and which is being chased." Stewart again felt intrigued and delighted at Elanor's mix of nobility and rough courage that she would charge into a room, guns blazing, for him. "Try not to die."

"That's not how my training works. Well, that is, I try not to die, but I push myself hard enough that it's a constant razor's edge. I fight like every encounter may be the last I ever face—and that's because Lord Travis adjusts the difficulty for me. The harder I train, the less danger I'm in fighting for real." Elanor, rather than return to her seat, instead reached out and pulled her plate across. "That's why I'll be sore and sweaty. Trust me, my king, it will have me in a better mood by far than fidgeting quietly at your side."

Wincing at the description, Stewart slumped back in his chair. "I don't know what to do about that. I want to ask you things, but if I do, they'll think I am incapable of making my own choices."

Realization dawned and Elanor smiled at Stewart. "You want me there for support, though, don't you?" He looked about to deny it, but then nodded. "Then let me be the inquisitor and warrior I am. I'll attend your first meeting, and I will put on a show."

Elanor could have gone absolutely berserk in the mini-dungeon. She could feel the kingdom, even hurt as it was, could still empower her to deliver devastating attacks with her pistol. While the thought of blasting her way through might have sounded cathartic, she knew that it would do nothing to improve her skills.

Vocalizing her thoughts, she said, "Besides, I find myself actually enjoying this Soldier class."

She'd forsaken her duster for actual chain mail and a cuirass of mithril. It was heavy, but wearing the hybrid armor in her duster for months now had left her holding up just fine. "Hold on, there'll be a boss in this next room," she told her companions.

Bark and Bite held back, Bark turning to look behind them while Bite kept their eyes forward. Elanor checked over her gear. She had a spear, medium-sized shield, and a single-shot pistol loaded with a gold ball. Her armor had some dirty spots now, where she'd bled a little from where an attacking wolf had gotten its teeth clamped around her shoulder, but her armor had stopped it from removing her arm. Taking a moment to meditate, she looked up at the ceiling to where Snipsnap and Ripper were clinging.

Steadying herself, Elanor checked over the door for any trap triggers and, assuming there would be another pit inside, opened it—and swore. "Really?"

"Travis wants you to have a challenge." Hreti rolled his shoulders. Even in his human form as he now was, he knew he was an imposing figure. He drew a pair of adamantine axes from behind his back where they hung on his chain-mail shirt.

"Okay, okay, let me just figure out if there are any— Of course, another floor trap. He loves these things." With her crouched and trying to jam the trigger mechanism, Elanor knew she was making a target of herself, but Hreti stood back calmly and watched. "Not going to help a lady?"

Tipping back his head and barking a laugh, Hreti shook his head. "When you spend your whole life being bossed around by a woman who could snap you in half, you don't have much room for southern views. I've heard of your fighting. You have killed foes fast and with overwhelming force. I wouldn't dishonor you by denying you a single challenge put before you." Having spent weeks as a wolf, it felt strange to Hreti to be just a human.

Having secured the trigger, Elanor nonetheless didn't want to walk straight across the trap. An earlier mini-dungeon had left an impression on her when Fife had tossed a rock at the mechanism while Elanor had been walking over the false floor. "One on one?" she asked.

Hreti felt his pulse quicken and, if he'd been a wolf at the time, he'd have no doubt wagged his tail. "And a friendly bet?"

Thinking, Elanor nodded. "If you lose, you teach me how to use an axe. I've always admired it as a weapon to be used in close quarters."

"One-handed axe training? Admirable. And if you lose, you will come and run with the pack one night, and hunt with us, and tell us of your battles." Tapping the flat of one of his axes against the top of the other, Hreti signaled his readiness for Elanor to begin.

Remembering her instructions from Fife, Elanor lifted her shield up to protect herself and tapped the edge of it with her spear, signaling her own agreement. She focused on her abilities and the edge they would hopefully give her. Elanor had to assume Hreti had at least as much in Soldier as she did, but she had the Priest class over him. She Enhance Defensed, Shielding Stanced, and stepped forward to close the gap; calling on Sandwalker through mumbling lips to Inflict Pain on Hreti.

The sharp jolt Hreti felt made his face pull into an excited grin. She'd used it a moment before her spear's tip reached his weapons. He deflected the spear with his left hand while bringing his axe up, hoping to whittle her shield down. Instead, bright white sparks flashed off hidden spars of metal in the shield.

From there Elanor circled around Hreti, making sure to turn her shield so that his attacks always hit the spars of adamantine in it. Her spear gave her an edge in range, but Hreti's axes always deflected it.

Hreti was a little impatient. Elanor's defensive stance was good, and he couldn't ignore her spear because the moment he did, it would bury itself in him. Allowing an enemy to maintain their stance and plan ahead in a fight wasn't Hreti's style, though. Stepping back from her spear range, he raised his right hand up to his shoulder and rolled slightly.

The first Elanor knew of Hreti's true plan was the axe winging toward her face. She had no choice but to raise her shield into a dangerous position to stop the weapon, while turning to expose her torso a little. The exposure was calculated to give her a chance to see what was coming next.

Leaning into and pushing through with his right arm, Hreti punched the shield with all his strength. He had no chance to parry Elanor's spear, and caught it in his left shoulder. With her off balance, he wrenched his axe out of her shield and pushed his advantage.

Dropping her spear, now that Hreti had moved too close for her to use it, Elanor reached instead to her belt. As the blinding pain of an axe cutting through chain-mail, flesh, and bone registered, Elanor pulled the trigger of her pistol—the barrel pressed to Hreti's chest.

The muffled discharge of the pistol and the pain of the ball breaking a lot of things in Hreti's chest made the big man smile. He fell to the ground atop Elanor, and they bled out together. The last words he heard were:

"We both lost," Elanor said.

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This story is released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. If you are paying money to see this or the original creator, Damaged, is not credited, you are viewing a plagiarized copy of the story.