The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1389: An Emperor Falls (Part One)

The time had finally come. The day had been far from flawless, and Owain intended to see that the people responsible for today’s problems were dealt with in a suitable fashion. But for now, none of that mattered.

The emperor of the forest had been brought before him, and now, that emperor would fall to his blade.

"It’s time," Owain said, glancing briefly at a nearby servant who raced forward to take the heavy, fur cloak from Owain’s shoulders. Underneath the cloak, Owain wore a fine quilted gambeson, half dyed blue and the other half yellow to match the Lothian banners waving in the faint winter breeze.

The gambeson was his only concession to his station during this hunt. He would have preferred to face the elk without armor at all, but a marquis couldn’t take as many risks with his life as the heir to the throne could. Even though to Owain, this didn’t feel like a risk at all.

Owain shifted his posture, sliding his hands from the pommel of the sword to its hilt as he stepped forward. The blade came free of its red leather scabbard with a sound like a whisper given an edge.

The scabbard would need to be replaced, a part of his mind noted. It had never been intended to be carried by a ’Lothian’ lord, and the red felt jarring against the blue and yellow of his family colors.

The incongruity of it served as an unwelcome reminder that his father had meant to cast him aside in order to give Loman the throne. Now, the sword that had been his father’s final gift to him would bear witness to one of the many ways in which he was superior to his pious brother.

Owain rolled his wrists as the blade cleared the sheath, feeling the weight of Fallen Claw settle into his grip, and the world simplified itself the way it always did when steel was in his hands.

The oak of the hilt was warm against his palms, even through his leather fighting gauntlets, and it fit the curve of his fingers with an intimacy that no other weapon had ever matched. Mountain Breaker had been a good sword, honest and forward-heavy. It was built for cleaving through armor and bone with the brute strength that had defined his younger years. But Mountain Breaker was a hammer with an edge. Fallen Claw was something else entirely.

The balance point sat just forward of the crossguard, closer to his hands than any sword he’d trained with, and the effect was like holding a weapon that could read his intentions before he finished forming them. Where Mountain Breaker had demanded commitment to every swing, Fallen Claw could change direction in mid-stroke, shifting from cut to thrust to parry with a fluidity that erased the gap between thought and action.

Fallen Claw was a blade befitting one of the greatest swordsmen of the age, and the fact that Bors Lothian had ordered its forging for his son demonstrated that the old man had known just how extraordinary his son was. And decided to exile him anyway.

It was infuriating, but it also placed the perfect killing tool in his hands, and today, it would claim its first life. That alone put a smile on his lips, one that matched the focused hunger in his hard, hazel eyes.

The elk saw him coming, and its posture changed. The slow, warning sweep of its antlers stopped. Its hindquarters braced against the base of the rock wall behind it, and its head lowered, fourteen points of bone aimed at the man walking toward it without hesitation.

Owain read the animal the way scholars like Tulori Leufroy read a book. Its weight had shifted heavily to the front legs, with knees bent as it prepared for a charge. The antler spread was wider than his sword was long, though the distance between the crown of its head and the tip of one antler was slightly shorter.

It was like fighting someone with a staff or a double-ended polearm. In a sense, it could attack and defend by tossing its head to one side or another, but in practice, it was far less effective at complex movements than a well-trained knight with a polearm or a sword and shield would have been.

-HHHHHEEETTT!-

The elk’s cry filled the hollow like the shouted challenge of a dying man... A dying man who vowed to take one more person with him before he fell.

He circled left, toward the elk’s wounded side, where the dried blood from its nicked ear marked the limit of its awareness. His footwork was precise, each step placed on solid ground, testing the soft earth of the hollow before committing his weight. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Owain held Fallen Claw at a middle guard, blade angled across his body, the polished steel catching what little light filtered through the canopy. His breathing was smooth. His pulse was steady. The watching lords, the hounds, the fog, and the forest, none of it existed in his world. There was only the blade and the space between him and the animal that was about to die.

For a moment, both Owain and the Elk circled each other. The elk tossed its head, shaking its rack of antlers while it pawed at the earth, adjusting itself as Owain kept changing his position and the angle of his blade.

A dozen clashes played out between them as both man and beast read their opponent, seeing postures as attacks and moving to block or counter before the attack was even launched. Owain was patient. He knew that his opponent had advantages in size and power that demanded a perfect counter, and he wasn’t about to attack before his prey committed itself to action.

The elk, on the other hand, was running out of time, and it knew it. With each adjustment, it chuffed louder and louder, pawing at the soft earth and tossing its rack in frustration. Then, finally, the elk charged...