Terese watched Roth pace impatiently behind the guise of her mask, unaware of her keen attention. The Crown Guards’ bodies were strewn around the forest floor. Blood pooled and seeped into clusters of moss, a cradle of death amidst the verdancy of life. Their captain slumped against a tree, head nodded down as if he were asleep. Dark red near black stained his grey tunic, hiding the mortal wounds upon his armorless torso.

The duel had lasted moments. Each moment was an eternity in Gifted combat, each second a series of movements where one wrong move meant a swift death. The captain had held his own, more than any before. None were alive to compare however, none to tell the tale after dueling the Spider Queen. It all met with their inevitable end. And her onlookers were silent in their regard, statues of steel that formed two lines of Lyssa’s and Roth’s Circles.

While the Queen’s Circle were fashioned with heavily ornamented gothic armor in their bright red heraldry; Roth’s Circle was muted dark blue hooded and cloaked, hiding their true forms. They had each lost one or two mages in the skirmish, their bodies lay unattended to mingle with the rest.

The Queen emerged from the shadow of the forest, the dawn’s rays reflecting off her polished steel mask. Roth paused.

“Well?” He asked brusquely. “Is it done?”

“The Crown Prince is dead. But by whom? The natives?” Lyssa cocked her head. Terese flexed a gloved hand; daggers slowly sliding out beneath her cloak.

“Surely the Crown Guard fought valiantly against such superior numbers. But I see no natives here. Wait.” She made a mock gasp, covering the set mouth of her mask with a taloned hand.

“The Crown Steward’s Circle? Here? How could this be? Could it be… an insurrection by the Crown Steward himself?”

Roth had slowly retreated behind his Circle, who formed a defensive line between him and the Queen.

“Don’t be a fool Lyssa,” he snarled.

“That is Queen Lyssa, to you, rebel. I have already relayed the news to the Oracles, who have spread the news to all four kingdoms. You shall face Raul justice for the death of the Crown Prince. Execute the insurrectionist!”

Terese flicked her wrist and her daggers flew towards each of Roth’s men. One mage held out his hand, holding the trembling daggers in place. The spark of power lit in each mage’s eyes as they brandished their weapons. Streaks of motion to the mortal eye flowed between the trees as sparks flew from the shattering clang and ringing of steel striking steel. Roth flew skyward, snaking round the many branches. Terese looked up and rose to give chase before the Queen flickered past and placed a hand upon her shoulder.

“Let him run,” Lyssa murmured. “He may yet provide a worthy challenge.”

Terese nodded, “As is your wish, my Queen.”

The Queen and her apprentice joined the fray. Though both sides were equal in number it soon became apparent which had the greater strength. It was a battle of attrition to see whose armor lasted to the mighty strikes of the Gifted before a stray blow to the head felled one of Roth’s Circle, then another. They were penned, their backs towards a tree as the Queen’s own circle advanced upon them. Queen Lyssa parried a downward slash before responding in kind with a swift thrust through the T shaped opening of the mage’s visorless helmet, blood spilling out as the blade withdrew with a sickening squelch.

Terese flicked her wrist, a dagger flew out from the sheath in her boot, piercing the exposed armpit of a man who had raised his sword with both hands. He staggered back. Terese leapt forth, raising her katana in turn and plunging it down the crevice between his collar plate and helm. She drew her weapon out from his neck, splattering her bright steel mask crimson. Two more of the Queen’s own number had fallen compared to six of the Steward’s now dead force. Each mage was an Eternal, having been granted Immortality by the Mythic, among other greater and lesser traits of the Gifts. To lose an Eternal would effectively halve a Circle’s strength, but the Queen seemed unconcerned.

“Leave them. The weak are not honored and remembered in history, only the victorious. So shall we be, those who prove themselves in the unswaying judgement of battle. For death is neither fickle nor callous in its power, we are but its mere playthings. So, let’s have some fun while we play in this wretched world, shall we?”

The Queen rose from the ground, her hands spread out in taloned claws, flanked by her flock that trailed behind her. The grey gloom of the shrouded sky was pockmarked with clouded openings that the suns’ light escaped through. Terese witnessed the battlefield below, a host of bodies pressed against one another as Raul’s red legions engulfed the other colored banners of the separate Kingdoms.

She could hear the distant clamor. The clanking of several thousand armored soldiers brokenly moving. The din of swords striking shields and the clear echoing cracks of muskets firing. The screams of the dying and throaty yells of the killing. The other Kingdoms were united in desperate survival, trapped outside the barricaded camp and the Long Wall manned by the Queen’s soldiers.

It seems General Martin has made a worthwhile diversion, the Queen Voiced to her followers. Show them why we rule! No mercy to those who would think to challenge us!

Lyssa dove down to reach the battle, followed by her Circle. A cloud of dust rose from the impact of their landing, the Queen knelt on one leg, her head bowed down. She dashed forward. Soldiers fell, ribbons of blood spraying forth as they toppled in her path of death. Her Circle joined her, slaughtering the remaining men in their last stand. They had no need for wasting their power on the ungifted. Emboldened by her presence the legions of Raul charged to join their Queen, roaring their fervor.

“It is the Queen!” A hoarse cry pierced through the cacophony of battle. “Focus your fire!”

General Martin could be seen fighting alongside his men, his sword now pointed at her. Lines of musketeers organized atop a slope overlooking the battle, allowing them to aim upon Raul’s legions. The thunderous volley of musket fire erupted in a haze of white smoke behind the infantry lines, directed towards Lyssa. She raised her hand, joined by Terese and the others of her Circle, halting the barrage of musket balls shot in their direction. They could not stop every one however, and Raul’s men shuffled past, shields raised to cover them.

With the aid of the mages they slowly but surely drove the defenders backwards. A mage raised a hand to buffet several reeling men with the force of their Gift. The attackers charged through, taking advantage of the sudden opening of the shield wall. The legions of Raul swept over the infantry line of the other Kingdoms, flanking behind or surging up the shallow hill to slaughter the now ill positioned musketeers.

“Leave no prisoners!” Lyssa screamed overhead. “No quarter shall be given to those who would defy the rule of the true Queen of the Empire!”

“The true Queen!” The soldiers howled whilst they fought and killed in her name. “The true Queen!”

Terese slew soldier after soldier. In battle it was not a matter of who killed first, but a grinding repeated parry and riposte, slash and thrust. Blow after blow, her katana flexing with the force of her strikes. Terese’s face grew clammy with sweat, her breath heating her cumbersome steel mask.

Though dwarven steel was remarkably light for its strength, it was still unwieldy to wear. She occasionally let loose a dagger in her many hidden sheathes, striking a man unawares. The action sapped her strength however, thus she conserved it with simple close quartered combat. If it could even be called combat, for the foe was being overrun and executed at the Queen’s command. Eventually only a remaining group of soldiers formed a last legion in their valiant unity, different colors of purple, golden, and blue heraldry.

The men slashed at the air in empty threat to keep the approaching troops at bay, clustering beside one another as they were encircled. The Queen strode forth to gaze upon those who still survived. She spread out her arms as she addressed them.

“Rejoice, for you have shown your worth. Lay down your arms. Swear your loyalty to me, and I promise you a place in my Kingdom!”

General Martin emerged from their ranks alongside his personal guard of Sigmarien, their steel helms ornamented with horizontal burnished bronze spikes curving outwards as a sun’s fiery rays. The General himself took off his helmet, doggedly defiant in the face of such odds.

“We would rather die than take up arms against our own Kingdoms! We will never kneel before your illegitimate rule! You have broken the Laws-”

Martin's voice was silenced forever when one of his own Sigmarien stepped forward to slit his throat from behind. The General clutched his neck and sagged down, reaching out helplessly for the man who had killed him. The man pushed the General from his path and strode forward. He planted his bloodied sword into the ground, kneeling to one knee before Lyssa.

“For the true Queen!” He cried out. The others knelt in turn, their chorus joined with Raul’s chants.

“For the true Queen!”