Torrent

In Torrent’s opinion, the funeral for Queen Blake was nothing like she deserved it to be. She could acknowledge that in the circumstances the funeral was as grand as they could hope for. Perhaps grander than they could afford it to be.

Their kingdom was locked in a war with an opposing kingdom. Queen Blake had fallen on the battlefield, so a funeral back at the capital just hadn’t been realistic. Instead they had performed the ceremony back at the primary camp their army had been using. They were even able to arrange a ceasefire for the day so that everyone in their kingdom’s could attend.

Remembering when the ceasefire had been announced filled Torrent with unyielding rage. It had been Queen Whitley who announced the day, who had so magnanimously given time for Queen Blake to be given a relatively simple funeral. Queen Whitley had smiled as she said it all.

As if she hadn’t been the one to kill Queen Blake. As if she hadn’t stabbed her in the middle of the battlefield for all to see.

King Blake began to give a speech, though Torrent barely heard a word of it. Not because another sound drowned it out. No, the mourners were all silent. And the silence was deafening.

Tears flowed unhindered down Torrent’s face. Her vision of the king, the pyre, and even her own hands began to swim and grow obscured.

A hand fell onto Torrent’s shoulder. She looked up to see her friend, a knight named James. He didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. All he could do was provide silent support for Torrent.

Some people might not have thought there was any reason for Torrent to be upset. Queen Blake had been the highest of the high while Torrent, a mere foot soldier without any special rank, was the lowest of the low. By all rights she shouldn’t have cared about Queen Blake.

Except the queen had cared for her.

The queen had cared for all of her people.

It hadn’t been at all uncommon to see her in the barracks. Just sitting there and chatting with the people she ruled over. Or on any given day to invite whoever she happened to see to dine with her. Or in the medical tent visiting with the wounded soldiers, helping them in any way she could. On the battlefield, fighting alongside the people who fought for her.

King Blake finished his speech and accepted a torch given to him by a bishop. He lowered the torch to the pyre and set it ablaze. Standing before the pyre, wreathed in crackling orange light, the king turned back to the army. He stared at them, letting himself be overcome by grief for a moment. Then, with a firm if hollow voice, he spoke words meant to change everything.

“Whoever brings me the head of Queen Whitley shall have their deepest desire granted. Whatever it may be, I will give it.”

The words didn’t change anything. Not for Torrent. Even before the offer had been made, her mind was already made up.

Queen Whitley was her target, and nothing would stop Torrent from avenging her queen.

———————————————————————

Torrent didn’t look at anyone as she got ready for battle. It wasn’t exactly a big deal. No one looked at her either. Or at each other. Everyone in the foot soldier’s barracks was preparing for battle with the same intensity as Torrent.

Torrent slid her sword into its scabbard with a sharp snap. She locked it onto her belt and spun around to march out of the barracks. She wasn’t the first one out of the door, but she was close. However, unlike the rest, she was stopped not three steps out of the tent.

“So, you’re really doing this?”

Torrent looked to the side. James was leaning against one of the wooden beams used to hold the tent up.

“You’re really trying to stop me?” Torrent countered.

James hummed and took a few moments to actually examine Torrent. Her armor, basic as it was. Her sword.

Her eyes.

“No,” James decided. “Couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.” Torrent inclined her head. She had to agree with James on that front. He pushed off the beam and stretched his arms above his head. “I will go with you, though.”

“What, you think I need your help?” Torrent couldn’t help asking.

James scoffed. “No, absolutely not. I could use your help, though.”

“Just don’t slow me down.”

———————————————————————

Torrent scowled and glared at the uneven ground as she walked over it. Beside her, James let out a happy whistle.

“Don’t say it,” Torrent snapped, crossing her arms.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” James protested.

“Yes, you were.”

“Yeah, I was.” James gently stroked his horse’s mane. When he stopped, the horse let out a protesting whinny. “Sorry,” James said, rushing to start stroking his mane again. “And that goes to you, too, Torrent. Sorry we have to slow up like this.”

“We don’t have to,” Torrent muttered. “You could just let me ride the horse too.”

“You know the rules. Only-”

“Only knights get to ride horses into battle. No exceptions,” Torrent drawled. “Yes, I’m aware. But no one’s here.”

“Excuse you, I have a little something called honor.” James waved in a vaguely diagonal direction. “Besides, that’s not exactly true, is it?”

“You see them too?”

“Kinda hard to miss.”

Indeed it was. Not too far from their current position stood two members of the enemy army. The one in front was a foot soldier like Torrent. He wore armor almost identical to hers, save for being pure white instead of black. Behind him, barely visible from their current position, they could see a pure white chariot set up. It had been lashed to a horse that stood tense and ready to charge at full speed. Atop the chariot was a soldier wearing a jagged helmet, a sword held aloft. If the horse didn’t trample either of them, the sword would finish the job.

“Think they’ve seen us?” James asked.

“We’re hard to miss as well,” Torrent pointed out.

“Point,” James acknowledged. He hummed thoughtfully, examining the other soldiers. “They haven’t attacked us.”

“Yet.”

“Maybe not at all. Those chariots are hard to maneuver. Viciously fast, but almost impossible to turn. So long as we don’t get too close, there’s a good chance they won’t spring at us.”

“How good?”

“Pretty good? I think?”

Torrent shot a glare at the enemy soldiers for a moment longer. The foot soldier met her gaze, but made no move to attack.

Torrent started advancing again. “That’s good enough for me. Let’s go.”

James and his horse sauntered forward, easily overtaking Torrent and moving to the side to allow her to keep advancing.

———————————————————————

They didn’t see much after slipping past the trap. Nor did they say or do much. They just moved in silence, keeping pace with each other as they got nearer and nearer to the enemy camp. Occasionally they’d stop to rest or eat, but other than those times they just kept moving. They didn’t stop at all. Even when they heard the scream.

The scream echoed from over a hill in front of them. It wasn’t a scream of pain, thankfully, but the terror behind it promised that it soon would be. Torrent and James didn’t even have to look at each other to come to an agreement on what to do. They just took off running, sprinting over the hill.

James and his horse had crested the hill and disappeared before Torrent was even halfway up it. By the time she reached the top to see what was going on, James had already reached the screamer. Torrent recognized him. Cardinal. A fellow foot soldier. He’d fallen to the ground and was shaking as he watched the carnage before him.

James and another knight clad in white armor were engaged in combat. Both were still mounted on their horses, locked in a seemingly endless battle of advancements and withdrawals.

Sometimes James would advance forward to attack the white knight, but each time the opposing knight would just spur her horse on and dodge out of the way. Likewise, she’d then take the opportunity to attempt an attack that James would then dodge. Neither gave any ground, though neither gained any ground either.

Something would have to change.

Torrent could be that change.

She drew her sword from its scabbard and ran into the fray. Torrent darted past Cardinal completely. He didn’t stop screaming, not that it bothered her too much. She didn’t have to do much. All Torrent had to do was get close enough to the white knight to be seen. The knight saw her and was distracted for a single moment.

A single moment was all it took.

James zigzagged across the distance separating the two knight and jammed his sword right through her with a single thrust. The sword pierced through her armor like it was made of straw. The white knight let out a strangled gurgle and slid off her horse. She flopped to the ground and her horse, spooked by the loss of his rider, ran off into the distance.

Torrent turned to look back at Cardinal behind her.

“Stop screaming.”

Cardinal’s mouth snapped shut.

James guided his horse to trot over to the foot soldier’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“I… I’m fine,” Cardinal whimpered. He wiped some of the grime from his face. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Don’t mention it,” James said easily, waving his hand as if to wave away Cardinal’s gratitude. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, not hurt. Well, not really hurt. I suppose when I fell I did land on a jagged rock and that dug in and hurt, but that’s not what you meant, is it? No, no, I’m not hurt.”

James chuckled. “Glad to hear it. Still, you seem pretty shaken up. Maybe you should head back to camp for a bit?”

Cardinal squeaked and shook his head. “I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“Foot soldiers haven’t been given the order to retreat,” Torrent supplied, pitching her voice up to cross the gap between her and the others. “We’d get in trouble if we turned back.”

“Wait, seriously?” James asked. “I always thought that was a rumor.”

Cardinal hesitantly raised his hand. “It is a rumor. It’s just also true.” He shook his head and stumbled to his feet. “I’ll be fine here. I just need a bit of time to catch my breath. You two go ahead, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Go, it’s fine.”

James and his horse trotted back to Torrent’s side. He looked back at Cardinal all the while. “He really can’t go back?”

“That’s the rule,” Torrent agreed.

———————————————————————

Queen Whitley didn’t share a tent with the king. That was the first thing Torrent noticed when she and James snuck into the enemy camp. Queen Whitley’s tent was set up near the back in the middle of a tight copse of trees. Diverting into the forest beside it was, presumably, King Whitley’s own tent.

There were almost no soldiers through the enemy camp. Most had been deployed into battle already, and the few that remained were so distracted that slipping past them was ludicrously easy.

There weren’t even any guards posted outside of the queen’s tent.

Torrent entered the tent first. Queen Whitley stood in the middle of the tent, absently sharpening the blade of her sword. She looked up at Torrent, inclining her head in greeting. “I was wondering when one of you would show up.”

Torrent slowly pulled her own blade from its scabbard. “It was only a matter of time.”

Queen Whitley nodded. “Yes, I suppose it was. With that oh-so-irresistible offer your king made.” She spun her sword around and held it out, the blade pointed directly at Torrent’s heart. “You do know he’s just using you, right? You’re nothing but a toy to do his bidding.”

“Like your king’s any different.”

Queen Whitley nodded again, acknowledging Torrent’s point. Her head tilted back up. Her eyes flashed and in an instant she was directly in front of Torrent, her sword slashing down toward her. Torrent barely managed to lift her own sword, parrying the blow away. Queen Whitley spun her sword around and slashed it towards Torrent’s side. Again, she barely managed to parry it. The impact hit with so much force that Torrent stumbled to the side.

Torrent cried out and darted forward, bringing her own sword down on Queen Whitley. She lifted her weapon to block the attack with plenty of time to spare, sending a clang echoing through the tent.

The back wall of the tent ripped open. James and his horse to galloped in, breaking through one of the wooden beams holding the tent up. The knight aimed an attack at the queen’s unprotected back.

Queen Whitley grabbed Torrent’s wrist and yanked it back, shoving her sword out of the way. Without turning, she held her sword over her shoulder to block James’ attack.

Torrent tried to yank her hand free. The queen’s grip was too tight. She grit her teeth and dropped her sword. It started falling down. Torrent swiped her free hand over to catch her weapon’s hilt. In that same motion she swung it up toward the queen.

Queen Whitley bent her body to the side. Torrent’s blade swung over her, missing by millimeters at most. James jabbed his sword down, aiming to skewer the queen. Her arm snapped up and slammed against Torrent’s free arm. It jolted to the side, her blade crashing against James’ and knocking it off course.

Queen Whitley slipped out from beneath the two and stood on the other side of the tent. She absently reached up to straighten her crown. “Well,” she said primly. “I’d say it was a nice attempt, but it really wasn’t. A little cute, perhaps?”

“This isn’t over,” Torrent snapped.

The queen didn’t deign to respond to the foot soldier. She attacked so fast she seemed to just appear between Torrent and James. More and more clangs echoed around inside the tent as her every attack was parried, just as every attack aimed at her was parried with ease.

James released a scream of frustration and swiped his sword at the queen’s head. She didn’t even bother to block the attack. She just ducked under it. James’ sword kept swinging. The blade sliced cleanly through one of the support beams. For a moment nothing happened. Then the two halves slid apart.

The weakened tent shook and rustled. The fabric rippled and the remaining beams creaked and groaned. Queen Whitley gasped and looked up just in time for a portion of the tent to collapse, wrapping her up in the fabric.

Torrent let out a scream of her own, one filled with equal parts rage and grief. She surged forward and slashed her sword at the wriggling roll of fabric.

———————————————————————

The king had offered any reward for the head of Queen Whitley. Undoubtedly most if not all of the others would have asked for money or power or to be allowed to leave the war entirely. Not Torrent. She had only one request in her mind. A request that she could use to finally end the war.

“Make me a knight.”

———————————————————————

Torrent urged her horse forward, following the path to the second tent in the enemy camp. The war hadn’t ended with the death of the queens. No one had expected it to. But it would end soon. They could make sure of that now.

Torrent looked around. James and Cardinal were both in place, guarding the king’s tent. If he tried to leave, they’d be there and ready to attack. He’d have nowhere to go.

With a deep breath, Torrent pulled open the flap of the tent. King Whitley cried out at the sight of her. He shook and whimpered, unable to go anywhere.

Torrent felt a flood of relief flooding through her body. The king wouldn’t fight. No one would fight again. After everything, the battle was over.

The war was over.

Everything was over.

It was done.

It was finished.

It was…

It was…

“Checkmate,” Peter declared happily, dropping his new knight onto the board with a satisfying click.

Amber’s jaw dropped open. She stared at the game board, her eyes slowly growing wider and wider. “How?!” she demanded.

A low chuckle came from across the room. Calem looked up from his latest project, though he kept absently twisting the screwdriver in his hand. “I tried to warn you,” he said. “He is uncharacteristically good at this game.” A shock traveled up his screwdriver. Calem hissed and yanked his arm away.

“I would be offended if that weren’t completely true,” Peter commented.

Amber continued gaping at the board, seemingly unable to form any words. Peter waved his hand in front of her face.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Amber finally started moving. She shoved Peter’s hand out of the way and began putting the pieces back to their starting positions. “We’re playing again.”

Peter shrugged. “Well, sure. If you want to lose again.”