Golden Veil

The black knight gripped his sword in both hands and leveled the point. Even settling into that most basic of stances, the form was spare and immaculate — the kind of cleanliness that only decades of accumulated martial discipline could produce.

Selma took the measure of her opponent and raised her own blade. She brought the horizontally held sword up to her chest and cradled the flat of it in her empty left hand.

The quiet of her voice was the opposite of the roar that followed. A teal-green current surged through Selma's body.

Before Rai had needled her as a lizard and the epithet Lizard of Viridian had stuck, her original aliases had been Blue Dragon — or Dragon Tail. Afterimages unspooled behind her movements like a long, living tail, as if she were spawning clones of herself with every step.

Her body was no longer whole enough to hold the technique for long. A single use now meant a month of paying for it. Against the black knight, though, she had no luxury of worrying about the aftermath.

"Grrraaah—"

Blood-carved patterns scored Clay's face. His eyes had gone red, and he snarled like a beast. Smoke-like breath leaked between grinding teeth. The man who had looked merely portly a moment ago had become something savage, and he hurled himself at the black knight.

Selma clung to his back and followed, dozens of afterimages streaming behind her in a fluid, tail-like wake.

"GRAAAAH!!"

Clay's massive axe swept sideways. The black knight, with a suppleness that had no business belonging to that bulk of armor, folded at the waist and let the blow pass. Selma vaulted the knight's broad back and thrust; he swept his sword and turned her blade aside.

Steel rang. Selma's caught sword coiled like a snake around the knight's, locking it, and she drove a kick into the unguarded abdomen. The sound of boot meeting armor was too crude, too heavy, to believe — and the black knight went sprawling. Clay heaved the great axe overhead and brought it down with everything he had.

The road shattered. A vast bloom of dirt swallowed everything. Then steel met steel again, over and over, and the black knight and Selma burst out of the dust still trading blows. She looked to be giving ground before a storm of cuts, but every strike was being met, cleanly and without waste. From the dust they had just left, wreckage came flying.

The black knight didn't even look. He simply sidestepped the debris screaming in from behind — and in doing so, herded Selma into its path. Clay's thrown wreckage was now aimed at her.

"That's what they all say."

Selma's mouth crooked into a smirk. She stabbed the fragment coming at her.

The wreckage her sword pierced flared with light in every direction — and detonated. Dozens of shards bloomed in the black knight's face. He couldn't cover them all. He threw his arms over the vital points and gave ground, the sound of a tin can being hammered filling the street as he tried to reset his stance. Selma's sword came down. He threw up a desperate guard.

Current leapt from her blade into his body. The paralyzing charge dulled the black knight's limbs — but the user suffered the same. Selma, still locked to her sword, couldn't move either.

It didn't matter. The Lizard of Viridian had always fought beside the Fallen Knight of Bane.

Two red lights flared inside the dust. Clay punched through it, the great axe already swinging for the black knight's flank. Trembling arms forced themselves up. The knight, still gripping Selma's blade, wrenched his own sword free with difficulty and laid the spine of it against his ribs.

He blocked. He could not win the contest of strength. The black knight flew in a straight line and smashed through a shopfront. Pillars gave; the building shuddered.

Sensing the patrols beginning to gather, Selma and Clay stood side by side and stared into the darkened shop, its interior invisible from the street.

"Husband. What do you think?"

"Grrrr?"

Selma blinked at Clay, who had answered in a beast's growl, then turned her gaze back to the wreckage. It had been so long since they'd last taken the field that she'd forgotten he'd gone berserk. Leaving her husband to his absence of reason, she replayed the fight in her head.

The black knight's technique was excellent, and his experience considerable. And yet he was weak. The fight had been so easy she'd almost believed they'd returned to their prime.

That was impossible. They'd barely started, and already her body was complaining. The black knight had cleanly defended even the attacks that had once felled formidable enemies.

For that level of skill, the attacks are too light…

Watching the black knight shove aside the debris and emerge, Selma understood why. Even granting that the bulk of the armor had stolen her attention, it was strange she hadn't noticed sooner.

The black knight had no feet.

From the calves downward the form gradually blurred, and around the ankles there was nothing but a seep of black haze. All power begins at the soles, as the saying went — a warrior's feet, planted on the earth, were everything. Without them, there was nowhere for the force of a step to go. An existence that already defied natural law could walk and run without feet, but for someone who had spent decades building a martial foundation, the absence of what ought to be there was a gaping weakness.

A fight against a genuine powerhouse ending this cheaply, for a reason this absurd, left Selma with a brief, honest pang of disappointment.

"Your body's not even whole, and you're still overdoing it."

Rai, who had been lying on Black Horse as if the wreckage of the street were none of his concern, drifted over and spoke to Selma.

"The fight's over, so now you slink out. That slacker streak of yours really doesn't go anywhere, does it."

"It's already over? You weren't getting wrecked? Did you rejuvenate or something?"

"He has no feet."

Selma jerked her chin at the Death Knight. Rai understood at once and nodded.

"Ah. Lucky break. A crippled Death Knight — I guess even a vengeful spirit doesn't always get the good stuff."

"He's probably lamenting the missing feet about now."

Selma and Rai shared a thoroughly mean little smile. An enemy's weakness was a gift. A weakness that had shown itself deserved to be chewed down to the bone.

"Doesn't this take you back?"

"You mean the days I spent working with the likes of you? Thanks for dredging up the worst of it."

"It wasn't that bad. And you, of all people — the second someone waved enough money at you, you came after my neck. No loyalty at all."

"You should've acted in a way that inspired loyalty."

"Grrrr."

Clay growled in agreement and nodded. Standing in front of a black knight and swapping old war stories, the two of them looked almost leisurely. If Selma and Clay — who no longer had a fraction of their prime — were handling this, Rai had no chance of losing.

"Go on, then. Go play."

Rai slid down from Black Horse and slapped the stallion's rump, waving him off. The horse glanced back as if to say he was part of this too, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but a few sugar cubes tossed his way were accepted with a greedy snap, and he trotted off, delighted, in another direction.

"What's he doing, though?"

The commotion had been loud enough that people kept arriving. Mercenaries, city guards, adventurers — everyone in the vicinity was showing themselves. And still the black knight did not move. Time was against him, yet he made no attempt to flee. He simply stood there, staring at Rai.

"He really does have a grudge against you, doesn't he?"

"Huh — does he? I haven't done anything worth holding a grudge over."

Selma let out a hollow laugh at the nonsense coming from the Devil of All Nations. More than half the nations on the continent still carried a vendetta against him, and here he was, saying it with a straight face. Rai tilted his body, as if trying to slip out from under the black knight's gaze.

"It's not me. Wait — what, you like my dung-heap of a horse? Fancy yourself a knight, so now you're greedy for a mount?"

More precisely, the stare was locked not on Rai but on Black Horse, who was turning to leave. In answer to Rai's question, the black knight replied with an ominous whistle.

It sounded like a pipe and, somewhere in it, like scraping metal. The people nearby tensed and went on guard. Nothing happened.

Rai cocked his head, met Selma's eyes, and was about to speak when something vaulted over them from behind.

A black horse, all dense muscle and gleaming coat. Black Horse.

"Hey. What are you doing?"

Rai called, and Black Horse didn't so much as pretend to hear. He walked straight up to the black knight. The knight stroked the stallion's head with surprising gentleness. Black Horse, who ignored everyone but his master, nuzzled into the black knight's hand like a tame dog. Whatever the whistle had done, a faint haze was beginning to rise in the horse's eyes as well.

"Wow. I just had my horse stolen right in front of me?"

"That's why I told you to act in a way that inspired loyalty."

Black Horse had been a pain — Rai had indulged the constant nuzzling, and the moment he did, the horse went looking for a new owner — but he knew the stallion had been taken in by that unholy whistle, so he only clicked his tongue.

In that interval the black knight mounted Black Horse, reached into his own breastplate, and drew out an enormous lance. It looked as if he were pulling it from his own heart. He raised it high, and Black Horse loosed a great cry and reared.

It was a pose out of a painting of some legendary general. Rai's eyes went wide. He threw up a magic circle and a barrier in the same breath.

The lance came down. A colossal shockwave tore across the earth as if to split the ground itself. The triple-layered barrier punched through. Clay, sensing the danger, scooped Selma into his arms. The wave caught Rai and flung him in a dead-straight line down the long road, burying him in the building at the far end.

"Hah — almost died."

Rai, having demolished a dining table and lodged himself in the wall, let out a startled, admiring breath.

It was late, but the family had apparently still been at supper. They sat around the table he had just annihilated, forks in hand, staring at him in a daze. Rai pinched a noodle off his shoulder, ate it, and stood, brushing himself down.

"You're a good cook."

Still dusting himself off, he headed for the hole he'd made, then looked back at the family.

"Ah — this place isn't safe. You should run."

The moment he finished, they bolted.

Rai, having taken a blow he hadn't seen coming, rolled his shoulders and looked out at the ruined road. The street, gouged deep by the shockwave, was wrecked enough to make the official in charge weep. The buildings had been largely spared, but the road itself — wide enough for four carriages abreast — would have to be built again from scratch.

He loaded a formula as he ran toward the distant black knight. Leila fell in beside him.

"A Death Knight?"

Rai nodded. Leila took in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠state of the road and asked,

"Can you win?"

"What do you take me for? Of course I can. But…"

He paused, then said it to Leila with something less than confidence.

"I can't promise the city will still be standing."

"…I'll leave the Death Knight to you."

With that, Leila pulled ahead.

She gathered the milling soldiers, then used an emergency levy to fold the adventurers and mercenaries under her command as well. With practiced efficiency she dressed the lines and ordered them to evacuate the civilians.

"This is a compulsory order! Break down the doors and get every citizen out! Anyone who refuses, anyone who stops to pack their things, anyone who delays the evacuation — arrest them on the spot and drive them to the outskirts!"

Extreme, perhaps — but Leila was getting the civilians out, thoroughly and without gaps. She split the adventurers and mercenaries apart and attached them to the city guards, unifying the chain of command, and emptied the buildings at speed. She made no impossible demand that they hold the city and fight a Death Knight. I'll protect the people. You do your job. She ignored the Death Knight entirely, shouting orders until her voice frayed. Rai watched her for a moment, then let out a small sigh.

He dismissed every formula he had prepared and built a new one. He lifted his foot high and stamped it into the ground.

A sound like a great drum. A golden magic circle erupted from the earth. It was tangled so densely it might have been a child's furious scribble; it hung in the air a moment, then dropped. The circle shattered like glass, and from the fragments golden shards sprayed in every direction, unfurling a golden veil across the roads.

The veil followed the streets as if to protect the structures on either side. From a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠distance, it looked as though someone had cast a golden spiderweb over the city.

"What are you standing around for?! Use the time you'd spend being impressed to get one more person out!"

Leila barked at the soldiers gawking at the wide-area magic, then looked at Rai. He had laid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a protective barrier over the buildings of the entire city. This was the kind of working that dozens of Pure Magicians would need time to construct. That he had produced it in moments was astonishing — but even for Rai, it was too much.

Leila bowed her head to the man whose eyes never left the black knight, then went back to moving people.

"Haaah — look, I'm not in great shape, so let's wrap this up fast."

Rai let out a long breath, then smiled at the black knight.

"And give me my horse back."

The black knight had no intention of obliging. He turned the lance's point, slowly, toward Rai. Watching Black Horse snort white breath and glare at his own master, Rai decided the horse was a dead animal walking, picked up a sword from the ground, and charged.