The Lives of Velnin chapter 19

The Dark Empress

Apr 05, 2025

To my left and right were my soldiers, Dianeces and Maron, in full armor, shield and spear in hand, sword in scabbard. On each side of them was a soldier of the Black Legion, escorting us in, shield and spear in hand, crossbow and sword in belt. They walked us into the pavilion, into the middle of a large circle. Before us on either side, a semi-circle in front of us, were courtiers, silent, expressions carefully neutral, interspersed with guards from the Black Legion. Straight ahead, on a throne, was the maiden we had earlier seen.

Her hair was golden, like Aloree's, but there the resemblance ended. Her hair was shorter, straighter, and left a little wild. Her features were spare, and her expression harsh, so different than Aloree's sweetness. Her eyes were brown and expressive—but the expression was somewhere between calculation and cold rage. On her hip was a long jeweled scabbard, the hilt of her sword protruding. Despite all of that, I felt an almost primal sense of attraction for her.

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Our escorts announced us thusly, "We present the leader of the blocking forces, and his two escorts, to the Dark Empress!" They then walked to either side and joined their fellow guards within the circle.

The Empress now spoke. "You are Prince Vel of Tarmel, correct?"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," I replied.

She smiled. "You may call me Empress Soraina." I reflected that this was hardly fewer syllables, but perhaps she favored me via the familiarity of her name. "Tell me: why have your forces not yet run away?"

"We stand before you to stop you, Empress Soraina. We have decided not to surrender, but resist. You shall not pass us."

"Come now. You cannot stand a battle. Why not save your lives? When our archers fire, their arrows shall block out the sun with their number."

Dianeces, beside me, quipped, "The shade shall be pleasant."

Soraina's eyes flicked to his as he went silent once more. Looking at me, she persisted, "You are outnumbered hundreds to one. Let me spare you your death."

"It is not the size that matters," I replied, "but how one uses it. Were you a million times our number, Empress Soraina, we still would not run, and you still would not pass us. Your dead would simply pile into a small mountain, and you would turn back in disgust at its steep slope."

She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you give your size less weight than it deserves." At this she closed her eyes and begin gently caressing the hilt of her blade. Suddenly her eyes popped open. "You are... pure. Unmarried, though with the witch's touch upon you. An intelligence failure on our part—hardly a surprise, considering the source." At this she cast a withering gaze to her right at a poorly-dressed courtier who stood carefully looking at his platform shoes, making no sound or expression. She turned back to me and looked at the direction of my gaze, upon her hand at the hilt of her sword. "Would you like to see? I, too, am interested in your sword. I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."

Her courtiers continued to maintain their silence and neutral expressions, though I could tell from their body language this was a difficult feat. She had them well cowed. "I agree, Empress Soraina."

She stepped down from her throne and drew forth her sword left-handed. It was thin, long, and unlike Swelfalster's shining white metal, had a blade so black it seemed to pull in the light from the room, with red fire sparkling around it. "Behold, Swermornster, blade of the morning star!"

With this she suddenly shot out faster than the eye could see, a blur which ran to either side of me and returned to the front of her throne. Dianeces's and Maron's spear tips fell to the ground, and the tops of their shields slid off, a smooth diagonal cut through each of them. Soraina grinned wickedly.

"And yours, Prince Vel?"

I put down my shield and spear and drew forth my sword two-handed, holding it angled upwards before me. "Swelfalster, blade of the fallen star, Empress Soraina."

She smiled. "I can sense that your sword wishes a dance of thrusts. This matches my desire. Shall we duel... say, to first touch?"

I glanced at her courtiers and soldiers. Their expressions remained perfectly neutral. "For what stakes, Your Imperial Majesty? Shall we duel for the battle—loser's army retreats?"

She laughed. "Hardly fair, when my army outnumbers yours hundreds to one. How about... if you win, I'll hold off on attacking for two days. I suggest you use the time to retreat. And if I win, all I ask is..." and here she paused and grinned wickedly. "...a kiss."

I considered her offer. I, too, could feel that my sword desired the fight, and if it so desired, the duel was not hopeless. She was fast—faster even than the fastest man, with the power of her sword—but she would have to come within my range in order to strike, and my reach was greater than hers. My brother Velwin had been an intensely trained duelist, and though the training had been in another body, I retained all of his memories and reflexes up until the season before he died. My skill was likely greater than hers. And though my training in the last year had been almost entirely shield-and-sword, it had given me strength in both arms, greater than my brother's. I could use my blade in either hand or both, and strike with greater force and speed than my brother, who already likely would have been good enough to win.

The stakes, too, favored me. Having felt Aloree's kiss, I knew the power a kiss could have. But however much I was corrupted by Soraina's kiss, I would likely die in the following battle, at which point Veltrin, waking with my memories from earlier in the season, would be free of the effect. I doubted the Empress knew of our reincarnation magitech, and even if she did, she likely would not understand the details of memory copies, and perhaps assume she would corrupt all future brothers. On the other side, two days of further delay in addition to however long we could hold her army was massive when it came to feeding more than a million men. And if we happened to accidentally kill each other in a duel to first touch? The Dark Empire would be stopped, but my brother would wake up with my earlier memories and my dying words.

"Empress Soraina, I accept," I said, then sheathed my sword and began removing my armor.

"Disrobing for me already?" she asked with a smirk. "You haven't lost yet."

She, of course, was unarmored beyond her leathers. Knowing my blade and having seen hers in action, I doubted armor would make any difference whatsoever if either of us aimed a killing blow. Lighter, I would have a better chance of dealing with her speed. "Your Imperial Majesty is unarmored," I replied, "and I must make it a fair fight."

Her gaze bored over my body as I removed the last pieces of armor and handed them to my men. They carried my armor and the remains of their shields and weapons off the field. I faced Soraina, and prepared to duel.

Author’s Note

Soraina really likes double entendres.

This story started partly as a way to pack in homages to some of my favorite authors. Leave a comment if you recognize some of the references/homages going on in this chapter and others—I’m curious which ones come through.

Brian Heming - author and pulp fiction fan

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