36 Maternal love

Anderina, short of breath, put a hand against the wall to catch a rest. She looked up at Julian and opened her mouth, but he covered it with his palm.

"Quiet now," he said with a hushed voice, "they're out and about, thirsty for blood. Let's not catch any stray guard's attention."

She nodded timidly.

And Julian smiled at both her fear and her bravery, "But you may speak. Just keep your voice down."

"What's going on?" Anderina's voice scratched against the sides of her throat. It made an awful rasping sound that broke in awkward places when she tried to keep hush. "They're looking for Illysa aren't they? Why is she back here?"

The panic in her eyes was not for herself, and Julian privately lamented that this must have been the sacred motherly love that he'd heard so much about. No matter how many times Julian saw it in others, be couldn't quite understand it himself.

Filial piety, however, was a desire that he could sympathize with to a degree, "Well, you are her mother. Did you really think she would abandon you?"

Anderina's expression fell, her heart sour. She had truly hoped that girl escaped without looking back. Now she feared that they would both be captured instead, caught in the grasps of the Inquisitors. Fauster would never be safe for mages ever again, not with a High Bishop now in town. "I'm not…her mother…" Anderina sighed. "Perhaps you're unfamiliar if you're not from Fauster but I am Viscount Kerus's second wife. Illysa is the daughter of his first wife, so I'm technically…"

"She thinks of you as a mother," Julian pointed out, "blood does not matter to her. And from the looks of it, it doesn't matter to you either."

The smile that stretched the noblewoman's lips were both proud and tragic, "Stupid girl."

"Hm, yes well as wonderful as it is for you to wallow in maternal pride and have a moving moment, I believe that it will do us well to get a move on."

Shouts were about them, the guards circulating the streets. They were frantic, voices carried through the night wind, "Fuck, a prisoner escaped! Someone escaped!"

"How did she get out!?"

Alarm flashed across Anderina's face, she snapped up straight and steeled her exhaustion and pain, "Let's go then."

"Not to fast," Julian's eyes curved up, sly. "There's something I want from you first."

It was then that Anderina realized this Julian character might not have been all of a white knight that he first appeared to be.

…

The wind howled. Though the stampede of men was far, a much greater foe stood before Leonel. He raised his Witch Slayer and told Illysa to get back.

"If you hear the dogs, you have to run."

She swallowed down her fear and nodded, backing up to give the two Inquisitors room. The air was thick with tension, sparking Illysa's magic and sending chills down her spine. She felt nauseous just looking at the red-haired woman.

Inquisitor Nathaire was a cold and ruthless woman, who were only alive when was entranced in fervent prayer. Illysa almost fell to her sword earlier but was instead chased by her hounds all the way to Motsven.

"Leonel…you are making a terrible mistake." Her voice was like a song. She drew her Witch Slayer from her back but did not drop into a stance right away. Unlike Leonel's sword, her Witch Slayer took the form for a spear. The entire shaft was black, matching the bladed tip. And while Leonel was confident in his strength, Nathaire surpassed him in both dexterity and speed. This fight was not going to be simple.

But spending several days in the company of Julius had made him cheeky. Or even cheekier than usual. Leonel brazenly said, "Is there any chance that you might let us go?"

Nathaire tilted her head, her expression strange in its stillness. "You have done much good in this world, Leonel. The Divine Light understands that it's possible to stray. It can forgive you for your sins so long as you correct yourself."

"..." Taking reason with a fanatic was never a good idea. They used to be close and though Nathaire was always on the more extreme side, she wasn't this much of a loony bin before her own child exhibited the talent for magic.

Leonel privately blamed himself for not coming to him in time. That was when he started earning himself the nickname Ferryman.

"Please think about your actions carefully. Repent. Hand the girl over. I know you are a good man, Leonel." Nathaire was calm throughout, not flinching a single bit with Leonel's sword pointed in her direction. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"I don't know about that…" Leonel sneered. He was not disillusioned into believing that his goals were righteous or just. He'd long come to terms with the fact that vengeance was a destructive habit, an addiction that he couldn't rid himself of.

Nathaire ignored him and repeated, "Hand the girl over."

And he ignored her in turn. Leonel dashed forward, thrusting his blade. Even though Nathaire had yet to ready herself when he moved, she was frighteningly quick to respond. With just a flick of her wrist, her spear twirled into action, meeting his sword head-on.

Parried, Leonel clenched his teeth and attempted to circle his sword back around for another strike. Too slow. She not only dodged his attack but pivoted to position herself for offense. The spear tip thrust out, the black blade catching a bit of moonlight before it grazed Leonel's cheek.

With not even a quarter of a breath to waste, he slapped her spear aside but knew that it was imperative he continued the pressure of offense. The moment he went full defensive against Nathaire was when she could easily corner him with her superior speed and reach.

He wasted little movement and stepped forward, guiding his blade toward her with each parry, making sure to add force in movements but with pinpoint control. It was the only moment to control the tide of battle. Leonel felt he was teetering on the edge.

The clang of metal sounded; sword against spear. Anti-mana thrummed in their veins but without magic to use it against; it only built up and clouded their minds and vision with red.

Each of Leonel's joints felt tense, his focus as sharp as a needlepoint.

Even Illysa, who watched the battle from behind a tree could feel the harrowing tension that sparked between each plow. Her jaw was clenched, and her body numb with fear. One wrong move and Leonel would find himself impaled on her spear. And Illysa would surely be next.

She wished to help but any spell she would cast would easy be devoured by the anti-mana thickening in the air.

But Illysa was tired of feeling useless, and looked around her frantically to find something, anything that she could use.

A stick? A pebble?

It all seemed almost too cliche. Illysa bit back her lips, reaching down and curling her hand into a fist against the ground.

Leonel and Nathaire continued to fight, their weapons interlocked, neither giving the other any chance to breakthrough.

It was simply a matter of who lost their focus first. Leonel's brows were furrowed at the center, sweating beading at his brows. And yet not matter how thick the tension that danced around him became, Nathaire's visage was perfectly still. Even her breathing was light, timed perfectly with each every one of her movements.

She wasn't about to break out of her trance anytime soon. Leonel had to think of something. Fast.

"Illysa!" He called, startling the girl, "Cast a spell, quickly!"

The shout caused him to lose perfect concentration. He stumbled a little and Nathaire pivoted and struck. Without thinking clearly, he moved his sword to block the blow but forgot to counterattack. Fuck.

Leonel was forced onto the defensive, "I said quickly!"