The air tasted of copper. The hair on Geneve’s nape rose. Her fingers felt thin, too weak to hold her borrowed blade. Or perhaps it was her soul, too weak to hold her body upright after the compromises she’d made to get here.
I’m no Knight. I’ll never be Israel and can’t touch Vertiline. And here I am, standing with them, against a Champion.
Nicolette’s poise was faultless. Her stance was exactly as written by the Three. Her glass blades moved with precision even clockwork couldn’t give. Every part of her was matchless perfection. The Three walked not with her, but in her. She was their Champion in the world. A tiny dragonfly appeared on one of her sword’s edges, glittering with inner heat, before taking flight to circle her head. Another joined it, then four more, giving her a crown of flying fire.
Israel, Vertiline, and Geneve took equidistant positions. Iz faced the Champion. Vertiline and Geneve had her flanks, three precise points of a invisible triangle. Three points, three sides: the gods’ scripture. Iz held his great glass blade two-handed, the point exactly one centimeter from the ground. His stillness was a kind of perfection. The Storm was in him. Geneve saw the glitter of gold in his eyes. When he smiled, the light in his eyes intensified. “Nicolette, insects won’t save you.”
Vertiline held her blade above her head, point forward over her shield. She stepped forward into a stance so precise it made Geneve’s heart groan. A crackle of gleaming electricity walked the unforgiving edge of her sword, arcing to the ceiling.
Geneve smelled ozone. She held her steel in both hands. The Storm wasn’t with her. It never was, no matter how perfectly she stepped, or the exacting precision of her bladework. She had nothing but steel against a demigod.
Why do Iz and Tilly trust me to have their backs? I’m the weakest of us. Worse than useless: I’ll distract their thoughts.
Israel struck. He was so fast Geneve almost missed it. The great glass blade went from low to high as the Valiant charged. It cut a slice through the ceiling as the overhand swing yearned for Nicolette’s head. Gold fire burst to life along its length as he swung.
Nicolette blocked it with a cross guard from her blades, and three glass weapons sang a note. High and pure, it made Geneve’s teeth itch. The windows on the north side of the bank blew outward.
Israel’s strike was a feint, not for him, but for Tilly. The Chevalier moved forward, seeming to slip between one point to another without stepping through the intervening space. Her blade lanced a perfect line for Nicolette’s unprotected back.
The Champion flowed a pirouette, evading Tilly’s strike. Her sword cut Tilly’s shield in half, and the Tresward steel screamed apart in a shower of gold and red. Vertiline gave an answering scream, falling to the floor, glass shattering as it hit beside her. Her shield gone, Geneve saw her arm ended at the wrist, blood flowing a fountain of ruin.
Israel’s eye twitched. Barely a whisker, a thing no one but those closest would notice. But it was imperfection, and the Storm dimmed in his eyes. He swung his glass once, twice, and a third time. Geneve sidestepped to her fallen friend, standing ward over Vertiline’s body. A quick glance showed pale skin ghost-white, as if her soul left already. But the Chevalier snarled, “Help him!”
Geneve spun to the conflict. Nicolette’s blades answered each of Israel’s strikes, but she couldn’t mark him. His form was almost as flawless as hers. She was faster; he stronger. Her small, agile body was starved of reach. His bulk cost him speed but gave height. Almost matched warriors, Tresward-trained, the Storm lighting their blades. A blocked strike hit the ground, shattering stone in a long rent through the floor.
Geneve darted forward, blade ready, looking for an opening. Nicolette was distracted, half-turning, and Israel swung. His blade caught one of hers, glass against glass, but instead of the perfect note of before, her glass crunched. The edge chipped, the blade fracturing, the entire length crumbling to the floor.
Lunging, Geneve tried to put her steel into the Champion’s heart. Israel’s strike from the opposite side held the force of a falling star. Nicolette sidestepped, Geneve’s steel keening along her black armor. Her other glass blade licked out once, twice, and a perfect third time.
Israel stumbled, swayed, and let his blade touch the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, the rivulet turning to a torrent. Nicolette’s strikes hit his chest above, below, and through his heart. Her eyes gleamed malice, her arm rising for a final strike.
Geneve grabbed Nicolette’s arm. It felt like holding a bison. Damnation and power filled the Champion. An Adept may as well try to hold back the tide. It was a tiny gesture, but unexpected. The move wasn’t in any of the seven hundred moves Cophine gave for a battle’s beginning. Ikmae might have pursed their lips while reflecting on their patterns, and Khiton would have laughed as Geneve ignored his final teachings for the ending of things.
It was enough. Israel swung his blade, the last of his strength in the movement. Geneve thought she heard an angel’s song as nightingales took flight in the wake of his sword. His sword cut Nicolette’s blade in half, then fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand brilliant pieces.
The blow shook the room. The force of the Valiant’s strike, given will by the Storm, knocked Geneve back. Nicolette slammed against a wall. Then the opposite wall buckled, the dead thronging around the building clambering and clawing for a way inside. One got in, then another. A crowd, then a torrent. Ten became twenty in a fraction of time measured by the slowing, seeping red coming from Israel’s chest.
Iz met her eyes. His dark skin seemed almost as pale as Vertiline’s as the life left him. His right hand, wet red over steel, clutched at his amulet. He gave Geneve a tiny, fragile smile, fingers spasming over the crystal, crushing it, then he toppled to the ground.
Broken fragments of the necklace tinked beside his body. Light wisped from the fragments, and Geneve screamed, a cry without ending, as five lost years of memories flooded into her.
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