Castle visit. I.. am somewhat glad I did not tell Bridgit and Moon Unit anything about my planned roof relaxation, because I'm having to postpone it to visit the castle. Then again, it's the kind of thing that can be done pretty much any weekend, so no rush there. Feeling more than a little paranoid, I tell Moon Unit and Bridgit to stick to the rooms today and create hollow mimicries of both leaving for, respectively, temple and bazaar, which collapse as soon as I'm sure they're out of sight from Academy. Call me cynical if you want, but Abbas is exactly the kind of bastard who'd kidnap my maid just to make me forfeit the duel. That is not to say I'm not going to keep an eye on them with my eyespiders anyways. And most of Academy, while at it.
I honestly don't feel like a carriage - Academy is within strolling distance from the castle and the weather is fine. Not to mention, I get to spy ahead and figure out what is going to happen. Abbas, strangely, is already there... Ah, he is complaining to the king about being "discourteously treated". I notice he's avoiding mentioning my name for some reason. Wonder why. If he already sussed I'm important to kingdom, he might be... No, that makes no sense, he would want to call off duel without losing face, and king ordering me to back off for my own safety would be just about the perfect resolution for Abbas. Could it be he never learned who I am? Doubtful, he should have been aware of my identity at the very least. Just arrogance, acting like saying my name is beneath him... Nah, no one can be that cartoonishly idiotic.
The guards at the door announce my presence, and both king and jackass turn to face me. Abbas is notably discomfited by the fact I have direct access to the royal audience, but not sufficiently to protest. And, huh. Well, having a trained servant definitely classifies as a weapon. And that dude is huge... Huge AND pretty quick, if my passive scans are to be believed. Not that magical, but most likely fucking lethal with this scimitar on his waist. Ah, nice plan, Abbas. Too bad I'm better.
Abe is notably worried when I come forth and finger Abbas as owing me a duel. He has... a deplorable face expression as he confirms that yes, there will be a duel, and that yes, he's going to be represented by champion and where is my champion?
"Why'd I need a champion? I'm perfectly capable of handling this issue personally." - I tell them, and I savor the darkening expression jackass sports from that. "Now come on, I don't have all day. The sooner I hear the apologies, the sooner I can get to important things."
Abe leans over to me as we all go to the piste. "Lady Gillespie, what is going on?" - he rumbles quietly - "Why are you doing your best to make an enemy out of emir?"
"We have a categorical difference in our opinions on treating women." - I whisper back quietly - "He thinks we're cattle. I think he needs to be taken down a peg or three. Besides, Thousand Isles is within his oversee. I want to try and conquer a couple of them for myself."
"You are aware Sultanate will continue to harry you until you're dead, gone or captured if you take any of the isles, right?" - he offers - "They would not tolerate a woman conquering from them."
"I'm confident I can deal with them." - I tell him - "Besides, it's plans for the future. For now, I merely want to discourage the overly lascivious fool from trying to rape my maid."
Abe is obviously not convinced a maid is worth starting a brawl with Sultanate, but he is well cognizant of the fact that many young nobles in his kingdom made their names fighting the Oijans. "Be careful." - he whispers - "This champion of his is a very capable warrior."
He might very well be. But like Abbas, arrogant. Very. Unlike Abbas, his arrogance seems to be grounded in his combat skills. Master of ceremonies looks at me with jaded eyes. He remembers the last fight, but this time we're talking about a professional fighter. "Champion of emir Abbas, are you ready to fight?" - he croaks. The guy in turban nods, pulling his scimitar out of sheath slowly. I can see him angling the blade just so to scrape the back side against the brace, producing a long unpleasant squeal of metal against metal. Psychological pressure? Huh. Funny.
"Lady Gillespie, are you ready to fight?" - he turns to me. I consider the opponent. I could roflstomp him with magic. But that would probably give out more than I want to show, because that necklace on his neck? Dragon scale. Not enough to nullify magic completely, but sufficient to disrupt most common spells. I'd have to get exotic or commit a hell of a lot power to nail him. Trying to fence him will probably be... foolhardy. I have the raw specs advantage, but he beats me hands down in experience, all I have is half-forgotten basics of fencing with dad when I was little, this guy looks like he trains with his sword daily. Alright then, let's see how you deal with an exotic weapon and misleading opponent, in that case. I lift my hands and concentrate, conjuring a weapon without a local name. I recognize it as Bec de Corbin. As long as I am tall, rounded spike on the bottom, six-sided spike on the top, curved beak, rounded hammerhead... And just to be extra nasty, the hammerhead is hollow and filled with mercury to about three fourth of capacity. That ought to mess your kinematic expectations nice and proper.
My opponent takes a cautious step back as I heft the polearm and grin at him. "Ready." - I murr, taking a step towards him. The haft feels comfortable in my hands as I swing the beak towards the surprised opponent, making him dodge and duck as I follow the swing with spike thrust. Hah. He had some practice facing spears, it seems, but a combo of spear and hammer? That has him unsure. And here he comes with a feint. Nice move, but I can see your leg tensing as you're about to jink to the side... And here... Darn, he's pretty fast. I'd suspect he uses magic to accelerate himself if not for the dragon scale. I didn't think he's fast enough to dodge the backspike aimed at his knee. Well, he had to abandon the attack, at least.
I swing low, aiming the beak at his ankle now, thrust as he steps back, forcing him to jink to the side and yank back, using the beak as a hook to catch the back of his ankle. Off-balance, but not quite off-balance enough, he pirouettes nimbly and comes from above. Pretty slick move, actually, I have to block him with a middle of the haft to block at all. His face is near mine now, panting with exertion as he pushes against his sword with both hands. "What now, white witch!?" - he suddenly sneers, and I can feel the sword tilting. The idea is probably to cut into my hand and thus render my longer weapon useless. Too bad for him. I push at him with the haft and in the same time jump up, in effect thrusting myself backward while I'm in the air. My leg comes up and slams into his hip in a hammer kick, sending him skidding across the floor as I launch myself in the air, flip over and almost don't stick the landing, ending up having to slam the butt of my polearm into the floor to keep this as three-point landing, as opposed to faceplant landing.
He clambers to his feet, his eyes narrowing. I can see him favoring the injured hip. This is pretty good. I can take him down simply by wearing him out, if nothing else. Let's see if I can't do it simpler, though. His mobility is hampered, he will have to block more often now. I wonder just how good his grip is. A simple swing sends the hammerhead at him, and he ducks, but this time instead of translating it into thrust or pulling back I follow through on the swing with full revolution, taking another step forward as the hammer whistles towards the guy's shoulder. I can see his eyes widening as he realizes he won't be able to dodge this properly, and out of other options, he thrusts his sword out, trying to block me with the hilt. A momentary correction and hammerhead smacks into his sword right above the basket, and... outright breaks the blade off in a shower of sparks. Unexpected. I thought he'd lose the grip first. Still, the strike is redirected enough to miss his head and he scampers backward, swearing as he stares incredulously on the remains of his sword, the basket top dented and scoured from my hammer impacting it. I give him no chance to move further, delivering three quick thrusts with my Bec de Corbin, in pike fashion. He dodges two, but the third one rips a bloody trail across his shoulder and he falls over, clutching at his arm and muttering Oijan curses under his breath.
Stepping away, I turn my back on him and face the master of ceremonies, king and Abbas, taking a shallow bow, offering - "I believe the blood is mine." Abbas is frightful to look at. The mix of fear, anger, loathing and... is that lust? Hah. Dream on, dude. Dream on.
"Batal fight to the death, witch!" - he suddenly shrieks in my face. Oh, fuck. I can already feel the movement behind me, as the champion lunges for my neck with the dagger. Oh, dude. Why. You could have survived. I drop to one knee, in the same time swinging the butt of my polearm behind myself and turning. Dagger swishes above my head, the buttspike sinks under the kneecap and I yank on the haft, sending the man behind me spinning around and falling forward as I complete my own revolution, accelerating him forward with a kick to the lower back. My hammer swings high, fingers sliding over the haft until I grasp the very end of it right above the butt spike. It is smeared in blood, which is funny to notice because the man in question had not even processed the pain to the point of screaming. I bring the hammer down HARD, the tip of it letting out a sharp crack as it breaks the sound barrier. The unfortunate champion does not even have the time to squawk when the beak enters his forehead from behind, slamming the guy on his knees and further down, pinning him to the floor as the beak passes cleanly through the skull and its tip sinks into the floor stone. Stone dust billows from under the freshly made body as the impact catches up with it. Someone from behind me whimpers “'amy!”. I guess it was impressive, yes. I turn around with a smile.
"I believe his life is also mine." - I repeat. Abraham claps his hands together. A measured, slow clap. "Nicely done, lady Gillespie." - he proffers - "You have affirmed your honor threefold. What is the boon you desire of emir Abbas?" Emir in question looks fit to tie, as he pulls one of his servants close to his ear by the collar and whispers into his ear furiously.
"I desire of emir Abbas to swear an oath that he will treat every single woman within Champagne with all the respect a knight of Champagne would afford to the noble lady. And should he break the oath, I desire of him to leave the country and never return." - I enunciate clearly, and I see Abbas jerking back, blinking at me incredulously. Abraham raises his brow.
"I see you have kept to your habits, lady Gillespie." - he rumbles - "Just to clarify, your only request is a show of respect from emir, right? You do not desire gifts, trade concessions or lands, merely his word that he will hold himself to standards of gallantry while within our kingdom or leave it if gallantry proves to be an insurmountable task?"
"Quite so." - I confirm, and Abraham directs his eye at Abbas, stroking his chin - "I do believe the terms are eminently agreeable, emir. Your champion had lost the duel by every count, and all that lady Gillespie desires of you is the respect that you should have accorded her simply as a gentleman to begin with."
Abbas is about to answer, and given his narrowing eyes, the answer was promising to be very venomous, then a sudden chuckle interrupts. It comes from the... servant holding something on the fabric-covered tray. He pulls the fabric out, and what we see is a crystal ball the size of my head. Inside, the face of the current Sultan, Salaadin ibn-Assam is clearly seen, along with the part of the wall and back of the chair he is sitting on.
"I do believe the terms are acceptable to Abbas." - he says simply, and emir straightens up and visibly shuts his mouth, even though his eyes on me are now gaining a laser-like intensity with the hatred he seems to be directing my way. And then Sultan continues, and I am simultaneously revolted and giddy. Revolted, because the fuck is so casually misogynist I want to reach into the sphere and slap his face, and giddy, because casus belli, here we come. "As for you, girl, you will have to come to Sultanate." - he orders - "Abbas needed his lesson, but I will not tolerate women disrespecting members of my family. I do have a man in mind who will be able to properly discipline you."
And this is where I laugh. "...Just to be clear here. Are you trying to order ME to marry a man of your choice?" - I quip at him - "We'll have to go with no, then. Not happening. Nope. Thoughts?"
His face darkens. "Very well. In that case, my batal will have to teach you a lesson." - he retorts - "I know who you are, whom your father is. Neither count Gillespie, nor king Cullen have an army big enough to oppose Sultan's will, girl. You will marry the man I tell you to marry, even if I have to slaughter your family and your country first. Or you can take your own life, I suppose. That's one escape I can not take from you."
I quirk my brow at Abraham. "Your highness, I believe I've just been declared a war on. No need to bother on my account, I am going to handle this personally." - I tell him, and he winces.
"...I will have no part in this." - he finally offers - "Lady Gillespie, I wash my hands of this. You want to take on the Sultanate it seems, all that you take will be yours, all that you lose will be theirs, at no interference from me."
Sultan apparently has something to say, but I give him no time to. I have had been preparing this ever since I transmigrated. The floor around me flashes deep red as I invoke the first phase, "pockets" unfurling and spreading carefully selected flowers, herbs and minerals over the glowing inscription. They are not really pockets on my dress, as it might look to them, they're pockets in my body. But that is immaterial, for now. I push the energy in, and the tone rises higher, reminiscent of tolling bells. The next phase of the spell adds the electric-like thrum as the laid ingredients are fused together into the directive matrix and powered. I open my mouth and what comes out is a deep roar, words spoken at too high volume and too low frequency to be really heard. The walls tilt away as I push on the dimensional axis, and suddenly, we are at the river. The chill in the air is incredible, this place is not even cold as much as intrinsically inimical to the warmth. Deep bone-rattling buzz shakes the terrified observers around me as the myriads of bees rise out of still waters, dispersing into the air, blotting out the distant pale sun as they stretch to the south.
The vision fades away slowly, the snow-covered bones that make the riverbanks slowly fading back to stone, black waters vanishing. The air in the hall is still cold, frost patterns covering the floor, spreading from where the river "was". I hold my hand, and several bees land on it. The rest have gone on. The silence is... different from usual. I have a feeling that everyone present is currently staring at me in terror. So I turn around.
A distant scream cuts through the air, and everyone twitches as they realize it came from the globe Salaadin is using as a communicator. He jerks around, stares, then turns back, leaning over presumably his own globe. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"
"Something horrible." - I tell him, smiling - "If you want to minimize your losses? Tell everyone in your country to touch neither weapon nor flower. And unlike Abbas, you will not get away with tokens of respect, Sultan. I will want lands, if you want relief from my wrath. Ah, but don't hurry. Consider what I have done to your country first. Try getting around it. Lose reliable servants. You're a very prideful man, Salaadin, you won't just bend your knee from mere threat. So go, try to take the reigns of your suffering country now. Suffer with it. And come back to me on the knees once you've had enough."
"Your demise will be legendary, witch!" - he snarls before abruptly pushing away from the globe, and we hear him shouting orders as he strolls away, culminating in the door slam.
"What... was that?" - Abraham finally manages, rubbing his elbows to stave off the piercing chill.
"Tuonela. The river of death." - I tell him simply - "Sultanate had grown too big and too prideful to take apart with martial strength. So I have been working on a way to bring it to the knees without using warfare. This is a curse I came up with. The dead will raise and take every one who raises sword or flower in the name of Sultan." Abbas looks appalled, he rips the dagger off his waist and throws it on the floor as quickly as he can, his servants following.
"You will suffer for this." - he hisses before turning around and marching away, his pace just barely not panicked running. I guess he is just barely not giving in to terror and that is only because he is too prideful to show this to Abraham. Trembling servants close the door behind them, and the king heaves a deep sigh.
"Alyssa." - he begins - "I..." His voice cracks, and he looks away for a moment. I push out a simple spell, a combination of light and fire, and suddenly everyone looks much better. Color returning to cheeks, faces lighting up, shivers coming to stop.
"My thanks." - he rumbles - "Gods, that was bloody terrifying. What do you plan to take from them, my girl?"
"Ah. Well, I have my eye on Thousand Isles, your highness." - I tell him demurely - "I've always wanted a domain that can grow my own cava."