Robin Fey
&
Rudolf Sagramore
The Night of the Raid…
—She hadn’t been able to get the thought out of her mind.
Straightforward heroism. That was what she had been raised on. It was intrinsically what she thought of when she considered her ideal way to fight for others.
So, Ciradyl’s methods—
It was difficult. It was hard for Robin to wrap her head around. She felt as if the woman wanted nothing more then to help those who were weaker then her, but to throw away the lives of others and work under Valheim—
It was difficult for Robin to understand fully.
At the same time, she couldn’t agree with Arton either. She’d clearly been doing everything she could for the sake of people who were suffering.
But his anger wasn’t unjustified, either, was it? Robin herself didn’t like the ways Ciradyl had achieved her accomplishments.
So she didn’t really know. She didn’t know what to say or do, who was right or who was wrong. It’s not that she believed the world was entirely black and white, but rather the simple approach to the conflict was what she had viewed as the right one.
But this wasn’t simple at all.
Robin’s blade flicked through the still air.
Unlike her usual drills, she hadn’t been keeping count of how many times this was.
Draw. Thrust. Sheath.
Draw. Slash. Sheath.
Draw. Thrust. Sheath.
Draw. Slash. Sheath.
It had blended together by now.
She couldn’t sleep.
She wanted to clear her head.
Her mind was always clearest during training, so it only made sense.
Draw. Thrust. Sheath.
Draw. Slash. Sheath.
Draw—
“Well, this is a surprise.” a voice floated into the courtyard from the gloom, low and tight in spite of itself. Young, and unmistakably colored by an Northeast Edreni accent much like the heroine’s, there was little guesswork needed to pry out the matter of “who”, even if “where” wasn’t quite apparent yet. For all they hadn’t truly
talked, the two had heard plenty enough of eachother over the weeks in Osprey.
”Usually, I’ve got this place all to myself at this hour.”It was likely that she’d felt his presence before she’d necessarily heard him— he’d fought alongside the young woman enough by now to know that she was sharp enough to feel when eyes were on her. Hell, half her bombastic schtick wouldn’t work so well if she couldn’t pick out when she did and didn’t have an audience.
Then again, their ninja associate might not have fully
shared the opinion…
Either way. He’d seen her fight, he’d seen her spar. Her instincts belied her theatrics, that much he was confident in saying. What was more, losing herself in pure recital of form the way she was, after that shitshow of a debriefing…
“No shuteye, huh?” he asked, from wherever he’d been loitering. It sounded vaguely from above, even with how sound tended to bounce a bit in the interior of the courtyard.
—Ah?!
There was someone else there?!
Before her mind could register that she recognized the voice, before she could even think, Robin was drawing her blade once more. She turned on her heel towards the source of the voice, and—
Nearly fell flat on her face.
Even she had to admit it was a little embarrassing, getting spooked by one of her own allies.
Certainly, she hadn’t truly spoken to Rudolf very much. She hadn’t really gotten to know him. Her impression of him wasn’t really a bad one at all. Besides, there was a little sense of kinship there. They both came from the same part of the same land, and they were both fighting for the same cause.
—Did he have to show up that suddenly, though?
Her cheeks coloring, in an uncommon show of embarrassment from the swordswoman, Robin scratched the back of her head.
“O-oh, Rudolf, I didn’t know you’d come in,” she began, “I suppose it’s true, I couldn’t get to sleep.”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about the reasons why, given how difficult the meeting had already been.
Now that she was facing the direction of him, knowing he was there, in short order Robin would catch sight of her compatriot— seated on the tiles of a first-floor roof, and in the murky shadows cast by a westward second tier. He’d been there a little while, by the looks of things. Rising, he politely neglected to comment on the near-pratfall Robin had just taken, and instead stalked forward.
Maybe he’d misjudged her aptitude?
“Hm. Can’t say I blame you. We’re sleeping just a few doors away from somebody that woulda held us hostage just a few years ago.” he replied, bitter ash on his tongue. For a moment, he’d stepped into the moonlight, his mop of platinum blonde and drawn blades drinking the silver glow—
And then stepped off the edge of the rooftop, landing onto the dry grasses below with a soft, pantherlike tamp.
No, that wasn’t it. He knew he trusted his read on someone’s capability after seeing them cross swords, wasters or not, with a test as stern as Ranbu no Izayoi and give anything resembling a good account of herself.
In that case, he’d underestimated how truly disquieting the meeting, maybe dispatch too, must have been. For her to be so fully zoned out in the swordplay…
“Well, that one’s unfair of me. What’s got you cooking, then? We’re both here. Might as well chop it up.”The glint of his shortsword shifting in his grip as he began to circle out, towards the center, suggested he wasn’t wholly metaphorical in his offer.
Izayoi had changed, after the war’s passing. He had borne witness to that enough that the reminder she had dropped on them all had knotted up his gut, rather than fill him with a dark vindication— the way her interrogation of the Valheimr had the day they’d all met.
To ignore that much would be the height of folly. It would condemn Ciradyl, for instance, to the idea that there were fundamentally unmalleable parts of the psyche that horrible deeds brought to the fore, and you could never put away. That having your dark secrets laid bare would truly be the end of you.
Deprive himself of a path towards redemption, even as he acknowledged they would all carry those actions until the day they croaked. Her search for penance would never truly end until then. As he saw it, that was part of the deal one made committing them—
He stopped, facing away.
But marching forward could be done through either an open road, or a dense bramble of thorns.
”Blood’s still running pretty hot for me too, if that’s your ail.”Robin wasn’t sure she could really believe herself, that she’d been so caught up in her drills that she’d totally forgotten someone could just walk in on her and start talking. She had a feeling her fellow Edrenian had similar feelings that left him unable to sleep properly, at least.
Good. It meant that she probably wouldn’t have to explain anything and could simply focus on clearing her head up. He’d already guessed why she was here, so she wasn’t going to bring it out to the forefront of her mind again and throw herself off.
Besides, having witnessed him fight multiple times, Robin was curious.
Heroes sparring with their allies due to wanting to understand them better was a common aspect of heroic tales. And in all honesty, it was one that Robin understood completely.
There were some things that could be picked up from one another in combat. At least that’s what her old man had told her. That’s how it had felt when she sparred with Izayoi.
“I’ve been trying to clear my head,” she said, simply, “And there’s not many things that can do that better than training can.”
“Agreed,” he intoned, gesturing vaguely to the empty space before the both of them.
“It’s something of a nightly ritual, really. Just letting the swordplay settle in.”Ideally she’d also have liked to clean up afterwards. If her head did clear up enough for her to sleep, then Robin wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping coated in sweat.
But if not… well, she’d find another time to sleep.
Robin could see the way Rudolf’s grip had shifted.
It was obvious what he was interested in, even aside from conversation. So, that made both of them.
“Chop it up, hm?” she mused, “A good sparring match clears your head even more then training does.”
That was something she’d learned from her old man, too.
”Yeah,” he replied, stepping back in a half turn towards her. Be it by design or by happenstance, his meandering spiral had taken him to just about the opposite position on the field from Robin, the distance between them and either wall equivalent.
”Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”When he met her gaze once more, the gold of his eyes seemed to have lost the little luster they carried… or, rather, replaced it with a small, desperate flame. As though it was piped in by the tight corners of his face. His stare was prying. Measuring. Searching, as though looking to this moment for the answer for some question he’d left unvoiced.
Regardless, as she’d readily agreed to a match one thing had become clear, in the shift of his bearing— once preparing to go to war peeled away those veneers one put upon the Self, before her was a young man every bit as disquieted as she.
His weight shifted. His longsword, on the far side, was brought to bear now, while his lead and the shortsword sank, planting weight, building a base to launch.
He exhaled slowly, then spoke.
”’Course, if you still have stuff to get off your chest after, I can hear you out. We probably don’t talk enough— even though steel sings the truth.”He would owe her. Insisting like this.
A smile that didn’t reach his eyes flashed. These next words were selfish in a way that defied description, given the very fears he’d been nursing, ever since his true nature was revealed.
”Be a shame if I didn’t make at least one friend from home, after all we’ve been through.”There were more similarities between them than just their heritage, at least in this moment. No matter what, they were unified by their unease, and their desire to focus their minds and push it aside.
The slight hints of a tensing body, an alteration in Rudolf’s composure, were mirrored by Robin’s own posture.
The grip on her blade had adjusted, just slightly. Her muscles tensed, and she took her spot opposite to her fellow swordsman.
“There’s plenty of legends of clashing blades leading to friendship, after all.”
Despite everything that had occurred not so long ago, a smile crossed Robin’s lips.
This.
This was how she would clear her mind.
It might be a sparring match, but she’d throw her whole self into it.
“Ha. You’da gotten on just fine in the Village with that attitude.” he barked, chancing a small moment of shared vigor as his blood began to heat again. She was more like him than he bargained for, clearly, with how she relished the prospect in spite of everything.
He couldn’t blame her at all.
How readily the sensation returned— that runaway spirit of war.
Here, even in faraway lands, even against an unfamiliar foe, that same desire boiled within him.
Something clear and true before him now. Not muddied by morality. Not murky and impenetrable, like the necessary evils their own allies needed to hope for survival. He didn’t need to look over his own shoulder— the tallest task barely crested five feet, and measured her own breathing in front of him as she too sank into her stance, longer than his, more linear, geared to maximize her speed, her reach, the sting of her thrusts behind the flourishes that disguised them.
There was no room for anything else. Whatever ailed their minds…
“For old time’s sake, and for yours, little brother. While Father processes this his way… let’s process this ours.”
“Just let the match take you. It’ll clear your head, at least a little. Let me do that much for you. Seva would want me to.””…You face Rudolf, a swordsman of Sagramore. I stand with blade aloft, blood afire.” he began, voice dripping with black tar even as it burned.
It was excited, tense, agonized, determined. Were it not the dead of night, he may have roared these proclamations right out of his belly. He was damn sure he
wanted to.”I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall mine.They both were ready to accept this.
Live steel.
Full tilt.
Only way to play.
They were good enough, both of them, not to kill eachother. They needed this more than they needed the coddling of wood, and the false confidence in its safety that smashed fingers, cracked ribs, broke brains.
They had the mastery of their blades to believe them one with themselves, closer to friends than tools. They had control.
His longsword rose in his hand, leveling itself with Robin’s face, her burning garnet eyes, across the field. Even at his lowest, after learning the ugly truths of those he stood alongside and the world they were in, even after he rejected that self-serving notion of ‘honor’…
His own eyes locked onto hers.
He had control. It wouldn’t happen again— he wouldn’t
let it.…He always presented arms.
Etro, she even had the uniform, huh?
Not again. Never again. He’d throw himself right onto her sword and
keep it inside, if he had to.
… His opposite blade, the shortsword, crossed over the crook of his elbow, his whole body forging the great cruciform. Traditionally done with the dagger at his hip, but nonetheless the salute held, once he uttered the final words of the pledge, his full being behind them.
He would prove it, no matter what, that he would not fall to that same weakness. No matter the duress. When the swordplay took him, it was all there would be.
”May thy blade chip… and shatter.”“You face Robin, the Songbird. My blade is ever-ready in the name of justice, but for now we’ll test one another’s mettle.”
It felt like a smile crossed her lips for the first time since that meeting.
Robin hadn’t a single clue what to say or do before. But in this moment, she was ready. The simplicity of a sparring match meant that she could home herself to a single edge and think only about overcoming her opponent.
She hadn’t a single issue about the use of live style, though she would have accepted the use of training blades as well.
There was no hesitation now.
“I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall smile upon mine.”
Her blade glinted as she slowly raised it in one hand, her point tipped towards her opponent. An honest duel.
That is what she sought.
That’s what she would have.
For a moment, paired swords of Edren stood, three lines of silver painted by moonlight upon the still desert air. A light-bearing heroine, gallant and true. Her blackened counterpart, wrapped in his cloak of fear and deceit. This moment stood to take that from them. To see it all fall away. For all they couldn’t be more different… They too couldn’t be more alike.
On this fateful eve, their tales inextricably intertwined.
A sudden wind passed between them, shaking hanging chimes—
Lightning struck behind both gazes, and as one, they launched forth.
Sparks flew, the brief spurt of orange light caught in yellow and red eyes, each unerring in their focus.
Several minutes had doubtlessly passed now, but the interplay had been fierce as reason allowed— at times, moreso. It spoke to the skill between them that they’d avoided— no,
evaded serious injury even when they strayed closer to playing too rough. At the frenetic pace they’d set, moments felt like minutes. Minutes felt like months.
Cutting, thrusting, parrying, dodging, setting traps, setting rhythm, setting adjustments, jockeying for position, for space, for initiative, for dominance.
A million calculations in the mind’s eye, all in service to the flow of the bout through the body, offense and defense melding. There was no room for any other concern. All fell away as promised, before the sword, the wielding, the foe it was met by. The back and forth had taken them all over the place, but they had hardly left the center.
The range of their initial clash. This was by design.
Teeth openly bared in an exerted snarl, Rudolf challenged Robin’s guard from above, his overhead strike hurtling down as though to crush her more than slash. Behind it, he pressed in. She could catch it with hers, doubtless, and knock it off-line enough to threaten with a linear riposte— but stepping in to meet the arc and choke it would open her to the shortsword, a coiled viper’s fang in the opposite hand. That too was his line of defense if she elected to stab instead of parry, which he could use to further exaggerate a dominant angle.
She liked flashy.
Was flashy.
Maybe she dodged here. And suddenly his outside angle would be overextended, while she pivoted with that spada still in line with his torso.
He’d already seen ample evidence from the outside looking in— this bout, an invigorating repast as it was, had proven twice over that if he didn’t believe her
style to be backed by plenty of
substance, he’d look a fool forever, the nail to her gleefully brandished hammer. Robin was tricky, playful, a showwoman to the bone. The perfect disguise for the rock-solid fundamentals beneath, the true result of that tireless work he’d met her in the midst of.
You couldn’t let those types breathe, nor give them and their playful tricks time to catch your eye and lead it away from their true intent. Nothing on their terms.
While to the untrained eye, their exchanges likely looked very back-and-forth, tit-for-tat… Rudolf, even using a stance and armaments with a mere five years of seasoning, had still been steeped in the art of combat for fifteen, working his ass off for each minute. He’d already seen Izayoi’s success using a general methodology similar to this that morning before they’d received the desert assignment, how she had crushed the space between her and Robin that left her dictating each time they crossed, forcing pressure onto her foe and forcing out reactions, option selects, and unfavorable footing.
He would need the same here. Stick to her like glue, don’t let her win the race or get comfortable enough to start playing. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Tempo, tempo, tempo. No room to breathe, he
had to drown her. Too close for her speed and reach to matter. Too consistent for her to find her base. Too considered to give her a way out.
As it happened, that aligned rather beautifully with the core tenets he had been taught since being able to walk. Find the structure of the opponent’s game, pull it apart at the threads, and then grind them beneath the heel. It was far from instantaneous, each inch he gained was hard fought, it demanded all his attention, but…
He was winning.
So long as he could maintain this relentless threat, leverage his strength, pair of blades to her single, and lateral movement, he was winning.
It was amazing. Aside from Izayoi, Rudolf was undeniably one of her most skilled opponents so far.
It was just what she needed.
Each impact of their blades honed her mind even more sharply. Each flashing sword, each dodge, each parry, it gave her the focus and clarity that she had so richly desired from the very start.
Sparks flew, reflected in the gaze of each duelist. The sound of metal on metal sang throughout the training area. Each and every moment was spent mentally gauging every tiny reaction, every minute motion, and calculating millions of potential futures from that alone.
Selecting the one that was truth—
And then countering that future, shattering into into a million possibilities once again.
Robin took a step back, and then pushed forwards once more, her glinting spada cutting through the air.
Rudolf had a strength advantage. And, undeniably, an experience advantage as well.
But that didn’t matter.
Certainly, it mattered to the sparring session itself. But not to Robin’s true goal.
To find clarity.
To reach to her fellow Edrenian through steel and talk in the manner of combat.
And, despite the edge her opponent held—
To claim victory.
She was being forced to step back, to give ground. Only by small margins, but they were there.
For every agile flash of her blade, every elegant deflection, she was still unable to completely withstand Rudolf’s assault.
But that was alright.
That was something she’d expected, at least after a few clashes. It was something she had begun to formulate her entire strategy around.
There were other routes then directly overpowering her opponent. Her old man had told her that much on many occasions, especially early on. As she’d developed some semblance of skill, she’d started attempting stronger and stronger strikes—
“
Foolish. There will be many opponents you can never overtake like that. Relying on raw power doesn’t suit you, and even the strongest of swordsmen can never allow themselves to think that’s all they need.”
Robin had been lying on the ground when she heard those words. Knocked down in a single stroke, after she thought she’d found her path forward.
And if she didn’t give everything she had, if she didn’t do all she could to overcome her fellow swordsman—
How could Robin claim to have given him the duel he wanted, too?
And how could she claim to hold a hero’s spirit within her?
So it was only natural, then.
The clash of their swords grew more and more furious. Despite the fact she was certainly losing ground more swiftly, now, Robin couldn’t help but feel energized.
That’s right.
It was time to give it her all—!
He caught the glimmer in her eye, and snarled, even as he excised another option and ate up another step’s worth of ground. The pressure from his dictation of the exchange mounted, redoubled, a runaway snowball halfway down the slope to an avalanche. By all rights, his smothering, suffocating front-foot methodology was paying broader and broader dividends.
He could keep ratcheting up the pace, paring down her defenses. Where at first Robin was forced to barely concede an inch, he was drawing out big backsteps and committed pivots— tiring things, borne of necessity more than method. And he was melting through more and more.
But that glimmer hadn’t left her eyes, the way someone being thoroughly pulped always did. Even when they didn’t give up, usually they couldn’t avoid reading the tide.
I want to understand the enemy, boy. Always.Something wasn’t right. There was a gambit here, one he wasn’t seeing.
Back off, then? No, he was close. Closer than he could afford to let up on, given the opponent. She was slippery, and running hot by now as a result of dealing with this tactic. Quality connections had been rare enough that he was definitely right in trying to catch her cold. With this style, such was his best choice— especially given that he could emulate the Limbtaker in how he extended each clash.
Or indeed her master. Two blades Robin had learned lessons from, and then utilized those lessons on. That and the gulf between even a diminished Izayoi’s quality and his own explained the difficulty.
Her in-fight adjustments had improved as a result of the trials they’d faced since he last saw her spar— if he allowed a branch for the Songbird to settle, she would slip away before he jumped to it. That he wouldn’t allow. He’d shut her out of the proceedings completely. Keep an eye on her movement, don’t overcommit, but keep letting the small victories pile. Initiative. He had to maintain initiative. That was how he won duels. Control the pace, control the pressure, control his enemy by keeping them pinned down.
Were it not wholly untoward, he had half a mind to just catch her blade in a bind and then outright tackle her to the earth and place a blade to the neck. But with his luck, that’d be when one of those flourishes disguised a thrust. Unsporting
and dangerous.
No. No big changes, just refine and finish this.
He could do this
without resorting to anything else. He had it in him to win the right way. He wouldn’t stoop to any level lower. He would control it. He
needed to.
Whatever mistake you’re banking on, Robin, it’s not on it’s way. The song of the metal between them had shifted in it’s tone. He felt a shift a while ago, in the reverberations through his arms. He had taken advantage of the fact that her sword was lighter and faster than those of past opponents to open up more than he could at the manse, but he still had to mind cracked fangs—
definitely needed to finish this quickly. If he’d been so careful, only to break them now—
Their duel
had been a real joy, invigorating in a way he’d forgotten for a long time now. He hoped that clear-eyed gaze didn’t just belong to some plot in her pretty little head, but also to the state of mind they’d both come into the bout seeking. She deserved that.
Playing with her had been a great outlet for him, too, something to put those high-minded concerns aside for. Fun as hell. But he’d be finding his moment and closing things off.
He was pressuring her more and more. That was Rudolf’s goal, to push her back and crush his way through her defenses, and claim victory that way.
And indeed, if all she was doing was trying to pierce his defenses with the tip of her sword, that was becoming an increasingly likely outcome.
It was a reasonable strategy, and one she couldn’t answer merely with a swing of her blade and a flourish.
A stronger opponent could simply overpower her. The old man had taught her that plenty. And a strong opponent who was backed up by skill was dangerous indeed.
So she couldn’t simply rely on standing up to that power.
“
Your opponent’s momentum can become your power. Rather than attempting to stand up to someone who eclipses you in strength, you can instead take that strength and make it your own.”
Each strike sang out.
Each strike told her that he was gaining ground.
Each strike told her that if she continued this way, she would lose.
By this point, Rudolf had locked down most of her offensive options. Attempting directly like this would be risky at best.
To some, it would look like she had no choice but to make a gamble or simply defend until she couldn’t any more.
But that’s not what he taught her. That’s not how a hero would conduct themselves.
They’d reach for victory in the most audacious and daring way. They’d aim for the moon and then fly even higher than that.
“
Once you have achieved this, Robin, and taken that strength, even steel can bend—”
Robin’s next parry came low. It would look like an ordinary defensive maneuver, certainly, one delivered with skill, but no different from any of the others she had used to ward off her opponent’s blade so far.
But then she adjusted her grip, her blade twisting sharply as it caught Rudolf’s along its edge, jerking it sharply upwards.
“
---and break.”
A
horrible crash, as the same shocks through his grip that worried him before now sounded in the air. Deafening.
His descending blades meeting the wrong resistance, their arc terminated at the wrong angle.
Hers, caught in or near those same
damned notches where Kurogane’s masterwork had marred them, that day he’d crossed swords a mere two moments with the indomitable titan that wielded it. The same ones that had given him fits to try and at least minimize. That was her aim.
Sparks. So much more than before, and caught on slivers of moonlight suspended in the air.
Flashes of metal where none should have been.
Not flecks.
Shards.
Her spada, rising still.
Wrenching up—
Through their spines—
He let go, throwing his arms high, a last ditch-effort even as his mind caught up with what his eyes, wide and horrified, saw before they spun out of view. A half-breath more trying to check her parry, and he’d have snapped them clean himself at best—
His face was white, his lungs breathless. In that moment, slowing to a crawl, he could not mistake what he saw before him.
—at worst he’d have outright shattered them both. His paired fangs, upon which he had first built this farce of a second life among the Sagramori. Surviving the terrors of monster hunting, of being hired for wayward archaeologists’ armed escort, of keeping his dismal choices under lock and key for five furtive years.
”Well, you’ll never make an honest pursuit of things with that, squire boy.” he’d been told, before the gruff, heavyset redmane before him had dismissively waved away the greatsword that had flummoxed them both all morning.
”Here. I won’t give my best work away for free, definitely not to outlander auxilia, but these will treat you plenty well if you do the same for them. You’ll need something reliable to hunt down the sabertooth for your dagger, at least.”Keystones to “Rudolf of Sagramore”. Representing every earnest tradition he’d taken up in learning to live among them. Guiding him through every step, every spar, every lesson. Monuments to his little refuge.
If this really was a new life, the one he’d pushed forward with when joining Kirin, the two of them were the first, most trusted friends he’d made, since pulling together the tatters that were left of “Rudolf Shilage”.
And now, he had failed that simple instruction. He had failed
them. He knew. He knew right away, what his single-minded haste, his failure to truly control, had done to them.
They would never taste combat again.
…Slicing air. The moment resumed.
Distance. He needed
distance—
In keeping with the momentum shift, the younger Edreni threw himself backward. The Songbird, dutifully, followed his exit, her bombastic cut-and-thrust style producing a moonlit flash as she brought her blade to bear, ready to declare her victory with a gallant, showy nick of the throat or wherever else she might have liked to find first blood.
He saw his swords falling, their arcs through the night air almost complete. He saw his worst fears painted upon their humble bearing.
He saw an
explosion of black and red.
Teeth clenched in a cornered hound’s snarl, his left hand flew to the beltline, and closed around the sabretooth hilt of his dagger in a white-knuckled grip. The sturdy blade roared forth as it intercepted her final blow, knocking it off course.
His other arm, of course, had reached high without thinking, cloaked in blackened heft, to the handle that was always there, beckoning with the weight he knew well that he couldn’t utilize—
And so fast it smeared a heavy arc of moonlight some six feet in front of him, drew the greatsword in a one-handed swipe, checking her further advance.
The sword fragments scattered in the air, collecting slivers of moonlight in the scant moments they spend in flight.
Robin hadn’t fully intended to break them. The technique she’d used was meant to disarm an opponent, though destroying their weapon was hardly out of the question.
The state Rudolf’s swords were in meant that their destruction had simply become the more likely outcome.
Regardless, it meant that she won. She’d have to apologize afterwards, but for now. She’d press her advantage.
Step inwards, bring her blade up, and deliver a swift nick to draw first blood—
He’d managed to deflect it, but that was fine. She’d deliver a swifter strike.
And then the greatsword tore the air.
Without much thought, without even considering what had just occurred, Robin was already moving, throwing herself backwards as it sliced through the spot she had just occupied.
Something had changed. It wasn’t just drawing a new weapon, it was a shift in the way her fellow swordsman was handling himself entirely, even if only for a fraction of a second.
—And yet, for some reason, it almost felt as if that sword wouldn’t have hurt her in the first place.
Her instincts were quickly vindicated, as there was no plume of dust or scar in the dry grasses even as the mighty blade crashed to the earth— indeed, were it not for the rushing air that tousled her brown locks as she pulled herself away from the sudden strike, it would have seemed that the massive blade hadn’t budged at all.
As for the wielder…
His breath had grown short, and haggard. Even with the mass of the blade he’d just swung, it was closer to a wild beast than an exhausted man. With the moon behind him, his face was framed in shadow, yet clearly a wide-eyed rictus that swirled with emotion. He stared at her, panting, stricken, hardly himself—
”Fuck.” he then bit out, and the tension in the air deflated between them, in time with his slackening shoulders and posture. He sagged to the earth, his knife and sword falling with him.
”I lost my cool. Sorry. This is your win. Aaaagh, dammit.”That last curse was set against the image of his head lolling over to fully consider his longsword, struck down onto the field, its edge now a ragged, snaggletoothed mess. Not far away, his shorter blade was in similarly hard shape.
After a moment, he crawled forward, leaving the greatsword behind and sheathing the rondel as he pulled the blades over to where he sat. In addition to the ruined edges, those initial wounds from the desert fight had deepened, threatening the spine past the point of no return. Swinging through anything tougher than parchment would start being a gamble, especially with his arm behind it—
And he hadn’t the luck to even consider that.
Soft upon his lips, a solemn apology and a plea to Himstus accompanied him bringing each blade to his brow, honoring fallen companions. For a time, he was silent, then…
”Sorry. I pushed them too hard, and… honestly, didn’t expect you to see their condition. That was your aim the whole time— knew you had something up your sleeve. Didn’t know what.”For all he’d clearly been rattled by the loss, it did seem like he was genuine in placing no blame on her. If anything, he respected the opportunism.
”Well struck. That was a good fight. Certainly enough to pull me away from all that stuff earlier. Same for you?”Robin’s body tensed—
And then, as Rudolf brought himself to a halt, relaxed.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I certainly did,” Robin said with a small smile. Though, when her eyes found the edge of those damaged blades…
“I’d mostly thought to exploit the damage to disarm you, and maybe damage the blade enough to end the duel,” she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to so thoroughly ruin them.”
Despite the move having ended the duel in her favor, she still felt some level of guilt for going so far in a friendly sparring match. Had her spada been destroyed in such a manner, there was no doubt she would have fallen apart, at least for a few moments.
Still, it had helped clear her mind, and allowed her to put the draining nature of that meeting behind her. For now, at least.
“If I’d tried to match you head on, I surely would have lost,” she added, “It was everything I’d hoped for.”
Indeed, after seeing Rudolf’s performance in battle, she’d honestly hoped for an opportunity like this. A hero often sparred their allies to better both themselves and the ones they fought alongside. It was only natural, to increase their experience and grow their skills.
She’d never faced such opponents in battle before. Certainly not like Izayoi, nor like Rudolf. And yet, by sparring against them, her experience grew.
She’d have to keep growing, in order to reach her lofty goals.
”Nah, it was my fault for trying to parry that monster in the desert with them more than once in the first place. That sword of his had to be the masterwork Valheim stole from Kurogane.” he grumbled, frustrated enough to lean back onto the grass and let the moonlight hit his face again, a ragged sigh escaping him. After a moment… he remembered the importance of context, with proper names not already familiar for both parties.
”Oh, yeah, he’s the man who forged Izayoi’s swords as well. I met him to try and get a different perspective on what’s wrong with this stupid thing.”One hand pulled itself free from behind his head and held the greatsword aloft, against the sky, as his eyes narrowed. Even for his strength and its clear quality make combined, the motion still seemed preternaturally
easy, given the size.
”I’ll be honest, I knew you had commendable fundamentals backing that style of yours, but I didn’t expect you to have the wherewithal left to pick up on how bad a shape they were in once I pressed in. Even after forcing you into that head-on fight, I underestimated you, and I deserve what came to me for it.” He grinned, painful, straining.
“Even if it sucks.”He glanced over to her, curiosity sparked. They’d talked so little, he’d never really gotten her background past what he could glean from the outside, with the accent, the styling, the speech.
”...Where’d you pick that up from, anyway? It’s a bit of an esoteric movement pattern for anything you could have pulled out of stage fighting— a lot of what you were doing is more subtle than you could ask an audience to keep track of from down in the seats. Let alone in a booth. Where’d the meat and potatoes come from?”She’d noticed something off about the greatsword when it swung past her. Even though it looked like it would easily be capable of cutting her in two, somehow she didn’t feel any danger from it whatsoever. And it didn’t leave even a little damage when it slammed into the floor of the training area, either.
She didn’t have to guess that was the reason.
“Well, now if you come across an opponent like me again, you won’t underestimate
them,” declared Robin, brightly, crossing her arms over her chest with a firm nod.
On the topic of her swordplay, Robin couldn’t deny where her taste in style had come from. All the flash was derived from the sort of swordplay she witnesses on stage, in the recreation of legendary tales like the Sword of the Lake, or the Song of Keradden.
“You’re right about the style. I love all those old stories, so I caught as many stage plays as I could when I was younger. I think if you asked me about my favorites, I’d give a different answer every time. But the rest—”
She’s a hundred percent a Kerraden girl. You don’t get those flourishes in Loveless. It’s too moody.Robin laid the blade of her spada on her open hand, eyes traveling over the length of the blade as it once again captured the moonlight.
“---That’s all from my old man. I convinced him to teach me everything he knew, and how to turn an opponent’s strength against them to disarm them or break their weapon was something I learned from him.”
The thoughts of her training cycled through Robin’s head. From laying in bed and hearing the tales of heroes from her adoptive father, to doing drills in the yard or practicing her techniques directly against them.
The memories sent warmth from deep in her core, spreading through her whole body.
“He still hasn’t told me where he learned them from, but someday I hope he will.”
He had to have done something amazing, after all.
…
“Old man, huh?” Something indescribable colored his tone, as his gaze followed hers.
A beat, and then her gloomier counterpart shrugged, eyes returning to the length of his own. There were a million things he wanted to say about his father, even beneath the filter of not revealing his identity—
”If we make it back from this to Edren, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of stories for him to trade with. Hell, he’d owe you.”He couldn’t exactly bring himself to throw a bucket of ice water on that warmth she felt. It was a far gentler thing than the bombastic shine she cultivated in the day to day. This was… nice to see. He felt like he’d finally peeled back a layer of that presentation.
And at the mere cost of the last of his own, came the dark humor, albeit she had no way of knowing.
”He know you’re all the way out here? Pretty far from our neck of the woods.” he asked, the tip of his dagger flickering between the two of them. He didn’t see the point in pretending he was lifelong Sagramori when they had damn near the same dialect.
Ah—
She hadn’t thought about that until this very moment. Certainly, her old man knew that she’d been planning to go out and make a name for herself, but until recently she’d been doing so not so far from home.
He really would have no idea just how far she’d gone.
“I told him I’d go out and make a name for myself, but I never said I’ve go so far,” she replied, with a small, awkward laugh, “I guess I really will have a lot to tell him.”
Her thoughts shifted to contain not just the image of her old man, but the villagers who knew her throughout most of her childhood. They’d be pretty surprised too, wouldn’t they?
But that wasn’t uncommon in the stories of heroes, was it?
“The villagers would probably be pretty stunned too. I’ll have to tell them all.”
”One of the smaller townships by the Forest?” he ventured.
”Yeah, provided we live to tell the tale, Osprey alone would probably rock their world.”Something about what she’d said wasn’t clicking, though. He lent what consideration he could, but in the end… if it was her goal, he didn’t see where it was headed. Not like this.
”Though, considering how clandestine we’ve needed to keep regarding the occupation… I can’t imagine you’ve had much chance to make that name here.”Gold searched through Red. Dark asked the truth of Light.
”We did a lot for the big picture with Lord Hien, sure, but our names are probably never gonna be tied to it. Especially given the Ciradyl thing. Is that enough?” he explained bluntly. He had plenty of reason to be, but every part of her seemed to crave a spotlight, right down to that first blunder with Chisaki, seeming forever ago now. His tone had firmed somewhere.
”You satisfied with just us knowing? Or is there something you’ve still left to try before we go, that people will remember you for?”As someone who had hid away so much of himself, he wanted to know where the dice fell on the other end.
“I…”
Robin trailed off. It was true. There was no way that any of their deeds would reach the ears of Osprey’s people.
But it was fine, given that they had still done heroic acts for the sake of freeing them from oppression and criminals. It was fine, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Robin would have liked to be content with that alone. Truthfully, she was glad to have helped the people of Osprey without any other preconditions.
But if there was something to leave behind to them, that wouldn’t be bad, would it?
Besides, there was something else that she wanted to do.
“... It’s not just for the sake of my name,” Robin began, after a pause, “I can’t help but notice how many people here are struggling. They’re not getting enough food. They don’t have the money to make ends meet. Their children are—”
A flash of a distant memory entered Robin’s mind.
Rail thin. Skin stretched over bone. Lying on the side of the street and waiting for darkness to take her away.
At least she wouldn’t hurt anymore.
At least it’d all be over.
At least—“---They’re suffering.”
Robin’s hands tightened unconsciously.
“There was so much treasure in that room. More than any one person could ever possibly need. Couldn’t some of it be spared to these people, who need it more than anyone else?”
He watched the shadow of a painful time pass over her face, a dark cloud that swallowed her bearing. Her eyes had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he hadn’t yet seen.
Looks like that’s a sore thread to pull on… But it makes sense. She was adopted. Never said from where, or what state. I’ll have to remember that. But, that said…His gaze softened as he sat up once more, the crooks of his arms resting on his knees.
”...Yeah. You’re right. I saw it earlier, walking the streets with Miina while we looked for her brother. But first, let me put something forward— we’re funding a war effort here. Maybe ten people versus all of Valheim, for the fate of the whole world. That gun Eliane’s hauled back alone is gonna eat into its share of the capital we’ve just pilfered, no two ways about it. Then there’s equipment, travel, lodging, upkeep, essentials, collateral, discretionary— A lot of expenses in our future, if we want to win this thing.”One by one, his fingers rose to the air in time with the list he rattled off, before clasping together in front of him. His eyes never left her.
”I know you already said ‘some’ instead of ‘all’, but you’re aware of the need to consider opportunity cost at this scale, right? What’s more, those’ll be missing treasures of a known Valheimr collaborator, not just cash, and the poor parts of town are also the rough parts. I’ve been to ‘em. What’s your plan for getting the right stuff to the right people?”“I…”
Robin trailed off.
Out of everything she’d thought about, how to actually ensure the treasure reached those most in need of it was something she hadn’t thought about enough. It was only something she had imagined in a vague outline. She imagined how much better their lives could become, how much they might be able to improve on their living situations, the fact that they might be able to guarantee meals for themselves every day.
But she hadn’t thought of how to achieve her goal.
Internally somewhat frustrated, Robin placed her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair as if in a bid to get her thoughts moving once more. She had to do this. She couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip away. Even if it was only a slight improvement to those peoples’ lives, she couldn’t allow it to become something she could have done instead of something she did.
“I… I think, maybe, if I talk to Hien, maybe, then…”
She trailed off again. It was at least the beginnings of an idea in her mind, but from there she had no idea where to start.
Oh, brother.
”Gotta make those considerations, Robin. I get wishing life was like an old legend, where it all just sort of works out and the narrator says ‘the Songbird gave every alm to the needy, faultless and generous’, but the world’s not so pretty. Not the way we have it, even if it’s how we wanna leave it. It’s nice to dream big, a noble desire even, but if you expect the impossible… it’ll be you suffering alongside all of them, when the world reasserts itself. Can’t half-ass it, can’t run yourself aground either.”There were some things that just didn’t work out the right way. Others that you needed to properly prepare for. Others still… you just couldn’t do at all. Even if you died trying. Even if you spent your all on it. What was cruel honesty here would be a gentle warning for later.
While he had her ear, he could see her avoid the agony of exceeding her own means. She had risen from nothing, but he’d fallen to it. It needed to be said, before they would all need to save her from flying right into the sun.
There too were tragedies, among the canon of Edren’s legends and plays.
The Waxwing, Ballads One and Two of
The Gilded Fool, the aforementioned
Loveless.
He closed his eyes and stood once more, bringing the large blade to bear onto his shoulder and scooping his two smaller, ruined ones into his free hand, then the pit of his arm. Walking forward, he stopped just ahead of his compatriot, frustration on her face clear as day.
…Alright, point made. Start from the top.
”Well, we’ve got a day still. And we’ll need to itemize and fence some of the jewels, the ingots, all those things to begin with, so that’ll take a bit to sort out into a lump sum. Given where we are, it’s the only smart move— gold is solid, but gil changes hands like ale at a tourney. Won’t come back to us… or anyone we give it to, if they’re smart.”He cocked his head to the side, guiding her eyes down to the pommels
”I’m down a hat, a coat, and now my two partners here. Even if we’ll be putting some aside for the war chest, and the others don’t already just agree to do it to begin with, I’ve got plenty of cause to ask for a decimatory split. Something I can go handle while the rest are busy stocking up on what we’ll need, getting their own affairs in order, all the usual hands-off stuff. If somebody happened to rope me into asking Lord Hien which districts his sources tell him are struggling the most before I get on that, that’d be another pair of hands to carry things, keep watch during handoffs, run off unsavory types, know which way we should be going, bring the total share up to twenty percent…”He shrugged, perfomatively coy, a smirk on his face in spite of everything. Lighten things up a little— the moody look really didn’t suit someone like her.
Just leave that shit to me, alright?
”Well, you get the picture.”Robin’s shoulders sagged lower and lower as she listened to Rudolf’s explanations. He was right, even if it wasn’t something she’d really thought about until now. She didn’t understand the first thing about finances beyond what was necessary to pay for food and board at a reasonably comfortable inn.
Most of her pay, across her life, from childhood to adulthood, was made by doing odd jobs or assisting villagers. And, while she tried to refuse rewards for doing what she felt was a hero’s duty, sometimes it was difficult not to accept.
Thus, her familiarity with holding up a genuine war effort was nonexistent.
Still, there had to be a way. Even just a small fraction of that treasure could improve the lives of so many of those people suffering under the weight of poverty.
“Then what can I—”
Robin paused.
Slowly but surely, what Rudolf had really been saying sunk into her mind.
She couldn’t help it.
Robin’s lips parted into a wide grin as her heart nearly burst from her chest.
“Y-yes, thank you!”
A few seconds ago, her wish to give something to the poor and weak had seemed to slip away.
But that was no longer the case.
Wasn’t that just like an old hero’s tale, after all?
”Ah, one thing, though.”As he walked past, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own, causing the slightly-thick cords of the epaulettes to sway.
”Not to beat a dead horse, but the dress blacks might be a bit much.”