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authorannpaquette · 5 years ago

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Chancen’s Sword

Not all fairies discover their ability early on, some have to wait a little. Chancen was one of them. Here’s a short story (well, short for me anyhow) about how Chancen discovers his personal ability.

“This is your last training session before you move onto your new positions. Let’s have a few farewell three against one battle.” General Octavian’s stern gaze sweeps over the four young officers who know better than to groan or sigh or say anything other than “Yes, Sir.” The ability to read a situation and react as warranted is what drew the General’s attention to them. That and their skills in strategy, swordplay, and leadership. General Octavian studies each in turn, stopping before the tall, blue haired fairy whose iron gaze camouflages any trepidation at this announcement.

Chancen wishes he could let his shoulders sink under the General’s scrutiny and somehow magically shift his attention onto one of the others. Unable to do either, he settles for a slight shift of his wings. He won’t glance over at Fox, doesn’t want to see those piercing blue eyes bright with anticipation. Despite this, Chancen catches the slightest twitch of Fox’s hand as he fights his impatience to reach for the twin swords strapped to his back. Of course he’s excited. Fox likely wants to go first, second, and third, extending their sparring session until the four of them are nothing but layers of slick, foul smelling sweat covered in fairy forged steel. Fox excels against multiple opponents on the battlefield, thrives on it, actually.

Chancen however…

“Chancen, you’re up first. Fox, Sion, and Perth are, of course, your opponents. One sword Fox.” General Octavian points at Fox, one sword already in hand with the second halfway out of its sheath. The blade flashes briefly before disappearing into the spider leather it calls home. Fox flashes the General a half apologetic grin.

Chancen licks his lips and nods. He knows full well one can’t improve a shortcoming if one ignores that said shortcoming exists. He doesn’t, however, have to like it. Palms sweating, he delicately clutches the hilt of his sword and pulls it free of its sheath. Wings twitch against his back, once, twice, a third time. Chancen forces his shoulders down and his chin up as he joins his opponents within the scuffed lines of the practice circle.

Sion tightens the strap of material holding his long brown hair in a tail at the nape of his neck, smoothes the imaginary loose strands around his ears, and slides his helm on. Once his looks are adjusted to perfection, Sion flashes a greasy smile at his boyhood friend, Perth. Perth adjusts his grip on his two handed sword and nudges Sion with his elbow.

Chancen fights the urge to sneer at their obvious delight in taking him on first. A practice run for them, no more, no less. Not that Chancen doesn’t make for a formidable opponent. Oh no, not one of that pair is a match for him alone. Together, however, they fight with the same rotten, mulch for brains mind. And they’re good at it too.

Fox casually saunters over to Sion’s right, deliberately standing farther than necessary. Sion and Perth likely won’t turn on him under General Octavian’s watchful eye, but it seems Fox isn’t willing to take any chances. Especially with the news they received this morning.

We’ll see whose sneering after Fox pounds the two of them under his boot.

The thought of Fox standing proudly with one boot on their wings coaxes a tight grin through the tension on Chancen’s face. He rolls his shoulders down and back before adjusting his stance, his sword ready to face whichever opponent strikes first.

“Keep the rules in mind. No flying during the training and stay on the training grounds once you begin. Oh, and try not to maim or kill each other.” General Octavian stands back with his sword held casually in one hand, ready to step in should anyone take the game too far.

Perth grins coldly at the warning.

That General Octavian felt it necessary to throw in that last bit makes it damn near impossible for Chancen to ease any of the tension building at the base of his neck. He shifts from one foot to the other checking his balance all the while fervently hoping the headache he’s about to give himself will be worth it. Though, no matter the outcome of this match, Tryssa will likely scold him and force one of her nastier flavoured concoctions down his throat, the ones she reserves for the particularly dense idiots who have nothing better to do than run around hurting themselves all day.

Time enough to think about his soon-to-be mate’s anger late. Chancen’s three opponents share a quick look and circle in three different directions. This effectively divides his attention in four ways, one for each opponent and a fourth to keep a keen watch on his surroundings. A sudden dip in the ground or protruding root has ended these matches early in the past. His best chance was to keep the nearby tree to his back, preventing them from approaching in that direction.

They simply stare at him for the longest moment, waiting to see if he was foolish enough to attack first.

Yeah right, and lose the only defensible position on this training ground.

Sion lunges forward aiming his sword low, obviously impatient for what is likely his last opportunity to injure Chancen and claim it as an accident. Chancen brushes it aside with ease, dancing left as another blade strikes for his arm. Perth steps out of range before Chancen can retaliate, a cruel smile painted on his features.

They continue to taunt him with their blades, a sideswipe here, a lunge there, each strike hoping to dislodge Chancen from his somewhat secure position. Sweat beads on his forehead, soaking the thin pad protecting his skin from the fairy-forged steel of his helm. The wind from his movements cools the pad even as his skin heats it, creating a strange focus point for his frustration. For the moment, his opponents continue to work individually, each prodding at his fraying temper, each waiting for Chancen to make a mistake.

His temper has also lost him matches in the past.

There’s a break in the fighting, nothing more than half a breath as Scion, Perth, and Fox share a quick glance.

Hell, they’re about to rush him.

Fox leaps forward as if in response to his thoughts. Their swords meet with a sharp clang, not the sweet sound of two lovingly honed weapons meeting in song, but the scraping sound of steel grinding against steel. Chancen grunts as he deflects Fox’s weapon again and again, each strike increasing in intensity.

They are best friends, brothers even, but Fox hates to lose.

With a snarl, Sion and Perth rush in to join Fox. In a desperate move to stop three swords in one swoop, Chancen holds his blade horizontally and braces his palm against the flat surface of his sword. His feet slide against the earth with the force of the impact. A trickle of sweat escapes his forehead to travel down the length of his nose and cling to the skin between his nostrils. A quick huff of breath dislodges the droplet from its chosen perch. What a thing to worry about at a time like this! With a strength born of desperation, Chancen pushes his opponents back enough to throw a kick to Fox’s midsection, temporarily removing him from the fray.

Sion and Perth immediately fill the space Fox vacates with a flurry of swords. More than a few of the strikes hit their marks with dull thunks against his armor, thrusts and swings Chancen figures he is better off absorbing than expending the energy required to block. Perth swings wide. Chancen easily dodges, realizing too late that he fell right into their trap. Sion strikes, locking their swords together in a test of strength, each pushing against the other to gain the extra step, the mental advantage.

“Not today.” Chancen hisses as he releases one hand from the hilt to punch Sion square in the face. Sion falls back in surprise, barely blocking Chancen’s next strike.

Perth senses an opening and lunges. The blow glances across his blade. Too late, Chancen realizes that Fox was back in play

Not only back, but already in motion.

Chancen curses his luck. Curses the General for this three on one training. Curses the sun for rising this day. Skies above! He was so close this time!

A flush rises up his ears, warming them uncomfortably. He loses again.

No. No! Chancen screams incoherently as the slim sword catches the light of the sun on its journey to his ribs. He has never wanted a second sword in his life, has watched Fox struggle early in their training to master the wielding of two blades in battle.

Now, however, he finds himself wishing for a second weapon, for a slim chance to win this matchup instead of simply doing well.

His free hand glows silver as Chancen braces for the impact. The light, unnoticeable by all except the ever vigilant General, elongates to take the form of a sword. Without a second thought, in fact, completely unaware of his actions, Chancen thrusts the blade of the light-forged weapon at Fox.

The blade inserts itself into the space between the finely crafted links protecting Fox’s left side with less effort than cutting into a fresh baked apple. Fox’s momentum comes to a screeching halt. Wide crystal blue eyes stare down at the unexpected weapon. A pale hand reaches up and twitches as if to grasp the sword. He doesn’t of course. They’ve all seen what happens to skin when it comes in contact with this the blade of a silver sword. Fox takes a shuddering breath, a sound louder than the rolling of thunder during a storm, louder than the crashing of waves against a cliff. The beating of Chancen’s heart pounds against his ears. Faster, stronger. Someone places a hand on his shoulder. Chancen shrugs it off.

Fox’s sword drops from his hand and the world lurches once more into motion. It bounces once, twice, before settling into the dirt. A dirt it should never touch. A dirt unworthy of such a fine weapon. Fox follows the sword down, landing on his knees, his position almost casual, deliberate, as if doing nothing more than scooping his weapon from the earth. Both hands hover over the silver weapon which continues to protrude from its flesh and blood sheath.

Somehow, though he isn’t aware of having moved, Chancen is on his knees, one hand on Fox’s shoulder, the other still clutching the cursed weapon.

“Fox! Fox hold on! Gods above, I’m so sorry!”

Fox grunts, cutting off any further guilty mumblings. His gaze glazes over, eyes rolling towards the back of his head.

“Stay with me now!”

“S’ok.” Fox inhales sharply. “S’ok.”

“Don’t speak, save your energy.” General Octavian commands, one arm supporting Fox.

“Ok, breathing. Got it.” Fox huffs.

It might be an attempt at humor, to lighten Chancen’s despair. Even at a time like this, Fox is unable to think solely of himself. Chancen shakes his head. Fox’s attempts at breathing resemble nothing more than short pants which grow shallower with every passing second. His skin visibly pales, not an easy feat for someone seemingly made of moonlight, yet Fox manages to make even his peppering of freckles practically disappear.

“Healer Lyrissa’s on her way” Someone shouts from above.

A healer is coming. The best healer is coming.

Fox’s eyes roll into the back of his head as if the promise of help gives him permission to let go, and he pitches forward. Both General Octavian and Chancen catch the unconscious man before he fully skewers himself on Chancen’s sword and lay him gently on his back.

Chancen grinds his fist into the ground, mumbling sorry over and over to himself.

“Chancen.”

Tears well up, blurring his vision.

“Chancen.”

A hand firmly grasps his shoulder.

“Oh Gods, what have I done?”

“Chancen, whatever you do, don’t dispel your weapon until Healer Lyrissa tells you to.”

Dispel the weapon? That’s good advice.

“How?”

“Not a moment until I say so!” A tiny blonde fairy lands beside them. Her sharp order snaps Chancen back to himself, at least for a moment. No one disobeys a direct order from Healer Lyrissa, not unless they wish for every salve and tonic to smell and taste like stinkhorn for the rest of their lives.

“I’m sorry, Lyrissa.”

“I know, Chancen. He’ll be fine. Fox will sleep this off like nothing happened. Give me a moment to get him into a proper healer’s sleep before you dispel the sword.”

Chancen nods and tightens his grip on the hilt of the sword.

“I said dispel,” Creases gather between Lyrissa’s eyes. “Pull it out and you’ll be healing the natural way for the rest of your life!”

Chancen blinks at her harsh tone. “Lyrissa… I don’t know how.” He admits, his voice caught between the horror of stabbing his best friend and the fascination of this new ability.

Lyrissa silently pleads with the General before closing her eyes and placing a hand on Fox’s chest. The blue of a healing aura spreads from the contact and Fox’s shallow breathing relaxes into that of a deep sleep.

“Chancen,” General Octavian speaks softly as to not disturb Lyrissa, “Simply think about it disappearing. Will the sword away.”

Think about it disappearing. What wonderfully simple instructions. Chancen wishes for the sword to vanish, concentrates on holding air instead of a hilt. For the longest moment nothing happens. The hint of a headache forms between his eyes with the force of his concentration. Perhaps the instructions were a bit too simple?

“Go away.” Chancen pleads softly.

The silver weapon shimmers once before fading in a cascade of sparkles which wink out as soon as they touch Fox’s armor. Blood wastes no time in pooling out from the wound, slowly subsiding as Lyrissa seals the gash from the inside out. Color slowly returns to Fox’s cheeks and soon nothing is left of his injury but the impossibly clean cut through the tightly knit chinks of his armor.

Lyrissa lets out a relieved sigh and opens her eyes. “I trust you can get him back to the healer’s wing so we can keep an eye on him until he wakes?”

Chancen swallows hard and nods, not trusting his voice.

“Good, I’ll expect you there shortly.”

He grunts, unable to tear his gaze from his now peacefully resting friend. A nudge from General Octavian is all Chancen needs, a reminder that he still has a job to do. Between himself and the General, they manage to carry Fox to the waiting Lyrissa.

Two full days pass before Fox opens his eyes, ending Chancen’s constant vigil. The healers tried several times to send Chancen off to bed, all except Tryssa. She knows the bond between him and Fox and understands his need to be there when Fox finally wakes.

Chancen’s heart picks up speed. Heat fills his cheeks and crawls up his ears. Fox’s form blurs behind a veil of tears. There are so many things Chancen wants to say, that he’s sorry, that he’ll make it up to Fox somehow. He says nothing, quite aware of the headache which accompanies a healing. Fox groans and covers his eyes a moment before massaging his temples in an effort to dispel the pounding in his skull.

“Nice sword.” Croaks Fox.

The heat on his face crawls down his neck as the shock of Fox’s praise kicks in. Of course Chancen wasn’t expecting Fox to be angry, they’ve seen similar incidents at least twice before, but to praise the weapon that skewered him mid-fight? Chancen simply sits there, his mouth working open and close as if to say something, anything, but the words refuse to come out.

His wings twitch at the ridiculousness of the statement. A chuckle follows shortly after and Chancen is finally able to release his tension in one long, drawn out breath.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Chancen mock punches Fox’s shoulder.

“Though I’d prefer if you just showed me next time.” Fox rubs his ribs as if suffering from phantom pain.

“But how will you know how sharp it is?” Tears return with a vengeance, sliding down his cheeks.

“We’ll ask Sion to test it, how’s that?” Fox pats Chancen’s leg.

Chancen huffs a laugh through the tears. “Sounds like a plan. How do you feel?”

“Tired, hungry. But mostly tired. I think I’ll nap a little longer, ok?” Fox doesn’t wait for an answer. Simply closes his eyes and falls asleep as promptly as only Fox can. A gentle snore fills the silence of the healer’s wing, coaxing a smile onto Chancen’s lips.

Chancen wipes the moisture from his cheeks and stands. It’s high time he gets a little rest himself. He doesn’t quite remember how he manages to get all the way to his bed, only remembers the soft, inviting warmth of his pillow as he closes his eyes and falls into a deep, restful sleep.

#Fairies of Greythorn #swordfight #magical weapons #three on one #oops I stabbed a friend #writeblr

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authorannpaquette · 6 years ago

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Fox: New chapter is up!

"Well, that was interesting."

Fox's hand remains trapped in the stranger's grip even after she loses consciousness. Her claw-like nails break the surface of his skin, four perfect pinpricks of blood welling up from beneath the thin layer. He ignores the red beads brightly contrasting against his pale complexion in favor of studying the newcomer.

He’s never encountered a full hybrid before. Fairies with hybrid lineage occasionally display the traits of their ancestors - sharp canines, wide wings, ear tufts or even size. This is something else entirely.

This stranger is fully half fairy.

And half insect.

Where on Caliah does she come from?

An exosqueleton adorns her body like an armor. The midnight black shell shimmers with a rainbow of colors wherever the sun's rays make contact. Her skin, in the few places it’s exposed, is pale lilac. The black helm enhances her insect-like appearance, complete with stylized antenna swirling over her ears. Yet those emerald eyes are unmistakably fairy. Eyes which so intensely studied his face.

He fervently hopes her head wasn’t damaged in the fall. The accident was his fault, after all. If he hadn't startled her, she wouldn't have lost control. Now it’s his responsibility to set things right.

"Where’s the healer?" He searches the area for the identifying blue robes, wincing as the woman shifts and her nails dig further into his skin. A hiss of air escapes from between her clenched teeth, but otherwise she doesn’t wake. Her left arm’s bent at an odd angle, likely part of what’s causing so much discomfort. "It's ok. You're safe, help is coming." He whispers, reassuring himself more than the unconscious woman.

"Help is here, General Fox." The healer kneels and studies the prone form between them.

"Chief Healer Lyrissa! I thought you were away aiding the eastern farmers?" The petite blonde snorts, completely out of character with the beautiful features of Greythorn’s top healer.

"If I have to so much as look at another case of spring pox, I'll scream. Tryssa’s tying up the loose ends with my apprentices. I encountered your messenger on my way in, he all but dragged me over here. Who's our guest?"

"I've no idea, never seen or heard of her before. Thanks for coming."

Lyrissa waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "It's my job. You know I like to be in the middle of things." The blonde winks at him. Oh, he knows alright. Lyrissa gossips worse than a group of idle soldiers. "I'll need some space Fox."

He displays his hand still firmly ensconced in the stranger’s grip. Lyrissa has the nerve to giggle at his situation. "I see. Clings like a burr, doesn't she? Alright, let's relax her, shall we?"

A blue aura envelops the stranger. The healing process always intrigued him, no matter how many times he’s witnessed it in the past. The muscles in the stranger's hand relax as the healing trance takes over. Those sharp nails lift from his skin leaving four thin trails of blood behind. Fox lowers the hand gently. "See if you can get her helm off will you Fox?"

Fox places both hands on either side of the helm and gently pulls. It doesn’t budge. ...

Finish reading this chapter:

Sweek: https://sweek.com/read/61340/1102674648/220578/1102674648

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/185932002-the-paths-of-greythorn?utm_source=web&utm_medium=facebook&utm_content=share_myworks_details&fbclid=IwAR0dlQxf782CW0RAfzRyPzWc2leDUSCq92-RlBDI2mWFSKUL8QSbyw7XnJ0

#Fantasy #writeblr #writers on tumblr #fairies #Greythorn #In which Fox has a bug drop into his lap

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