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"I can't believe they let mercenaries challenge here," she muttered as she edged around the crowd gathered. The clang of metal and metal made her flinch a little but she kept going. People grudgingly moved out of her way, but Mallie kept going. They thought she was a man, she knew. Dressed in trousers, what breasts she had bound down and her braided hair tucked up in the wanderer's hat she wore to block the sun.

Another day it might have bothered her that no one was observant enough to see how petite she was, the slight length of her feet, the feminine grace with which she moved. Today it just bothered her that the good townsfolk of Evesdin were standing around like good little wooly sheep watching their fellows be slaughtered. Mallie's stomach turned a little as he mind supplied a suitably gory image. It turned a little more as the gory image came, perfectly timed as it were, with the death cry and final ring of swords.

She really needed to get out of this horrible place.

The hawker made his next cry for challenge. "Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge? If—and my friends, it's a long stretch—you win you'll be a lord! Think of it: fine meals, fine women, and answering only to the Duc L'range and from thence the king himself!"

Mallie's breath sucked in as she stumbled to a halt.

"This is the last call for all challengers, my friends. Are you sure there are no more?"

Hellfire. This was the edge of the kingdom, wasn't it? Mallie shivered as her mind threw the outkingdom laws at her. Appointed lordship, short chain of command, allowable challenges. It was nauseating to realize that if no one else intervened, challenged and won, this town would be under the control of average, unintelligent mercenaries. She could think of a short list of what would happen.

Any attractive (or simply nubile) female would be taken and probably never heard from again. Boys would be trained to the merc lifestyle. Everyone else would slave and toil for little or nothing until they died of it. Or until they were killed for sport.

And if the mercenaries were at all ambitious they could challenge the local duc for his title. Granted, the Duc L'range had skilled warriors whom he could choose a champion from. But he was only allowed one champion if he himself didn't fight. And, noble as his many knights might be, knights were never a match for a good merc. For knights, dying to do their duty was an honor. But a merc didn't get paid unless he came back alive.

Her decision made in the space of a heartbeat, Mallie turned towards the center of the milling crowd, shoving now. "I need a sword," she demanded of every man she passed. "Give me a sword."

When no one complied she grabbed the nearest blade that didn't look like pot metal and kept on, ignoring the protests from the sword's former owner.

"Alright then—"

"I challenge!" Mallie cried as she tripped between two women. She caught herself and rushed on. "I challenge," she repeated breathlessly as she stumbled out into the middle of the town square. To the right was a small heap of bloodied bodies that, so far as Mallie could tell, weren't breathing. To the left was the not at all ragger band of mercenaries who had obviously spent their morning slaughtering challengers. In front of her was a low stone platform with a half built wall rising through the center of it.

And in front of that hovered the hawker.

Mallie blinked. No, he was really hovering. He was also about 6 inches tall and glowed a sickly shade of green around him.

Was she the only one who thought that odd?

Well, it was outkingdom, and the fey tended to show up thereabouts more often than anywhere else. She could deal with that. She had before.

One of the mercs to her left proffered a sword even though she had one already. Mallie glanced at it, sizing it up while wondering if it was rigged. Maybe they weren't good mercenaries at all, just sneaks and underhanded, using breaking blades, poisons, simple tricks to win. But the blade was solid and there was no taint about the sword. With a grim grin she took it knowing that she might well need two swords instead of just one.

She didn't bother giving it a test swing. The way Mallie figured it, she was going to need all the help she could get. So why bother letting them know how comfortable she was with a blade in her hand? She darted a glance at the little pixie. "Rules?" she inquired.

"None," it shot at her happily as she grimaced. "Be—"

"I have a question," she interrupted with a glare. Never mind that they hadn't told her whom her opponent was. The little bastard was just irking her. Weren't the fey supposed to be benevolent since the treaty?

The pixie bowed at her as his wings flapped lazily. She frowned.

"Is it against the law in this town to injure or kill sidhe?"

It frowned and shook its head, making Mallie smile as she took the first sword she had to hand and swung it up to bat the little pest out of the air with the flat of the blade. If there were any gasps from the crown she couldn't hear them—the second she'd dealt with the little bastard her opponent had come pouncing out at her. It was a tactic that had probably worked very well on many of the previous challengers.

Farmers, most likely, many or all. Not prepared to lift a blade for actual combat, no idea of the tricks used to separate blade from hand and life from body.

Poor bastards.

She wasn't overly versed on revenge, but Mallie could feel the kin edge of it as she lifted her right hand to block a downswing from her attacker. There was a twinge in her gut as she quickly sized this particular mercenary up. He was taller than she, and definitely weighed more with all of it in muscle. His knuckles, she noticed, were scarred heavily. Desperation blows to try and force his blade down.

The probably didn't work very well given how many scars he had and the fact that he was still fighting her. His hair was pale, though not elfin pale, and his eyes were dark. His face was wholly human. She was ready to thank the gods for that, because Mallie had no business challenging a fey lord. Smacking a few smaller fey around, yes, but challenging them?

Not if she wanted to live to see the next day, no matter that her own ears definitely had more point to their tips than a pureblooded human.

As the reverberation of the block jangled down the nerves of her right arm, Mallie's other was coming up, the second borrowed blade cutting keenly through the air as she tried to bury it in the humans side. He moved too fast, dancing back out of her reach for a moment before Mallie pressed the attack she'd begun, allowing the momentum of the second blade to spin her about. The first blade whistled as she leveled it for a body blow, her entire body behind it.

This tie it shrieked against his blade, the metal on metal nearly producing sparks as her opponent finally looked at her with more than high handed superiority. Of course it would happen then that her hat would come off. The beginnings of respect suddenly turned aghast as Mallie's braid tumbled down past her shoulders to lay heavily against her back. Press every advantage, she told herself firmly as she breathed deeply in through her nose.

The surprise could help her win the fight and stop the slaughter. She just had to move first. Move she did, whipping both blades together against the pale man's sword. She might only be a woman, but Mallie had trained daily for years and she had enough strength to knock him backwards.

Fortune smiled upon her as he hit the wall, no high enough for her to pin him against, betwixt it and her blades, but high enough to make him stumble and then fall back over it. She heard the clang as he landed, but Mallie was already moving. The second sword she dropped. Fortunate as it had been to have two, she didn't want to trust a death blow to a sword handed to her by the mercenaries she was trying to defeat.

A flying leap landed her gracelessly atop the wall for but a split moment—Mallie used the momentum to continue past it, the hilt of the sword wrapped in both hands, the simple round steel pommel pressing against the webbing between thumb and forefinger.

He was defenseless; spread eagle against the back side of the platform, sword feet away from his grasp. His eyes were wide as he stared up at her, but Mallie resolutely did not look at them as she came down. It was a good blade, not as good as elfin steel, but a solid piece. It cut right through the breastplate he must have been wearing and sheared its way through his body to thunk into the wood beneath him.

He gasped for a moment, eyes fluttered helplessly as one hand came up to curl around the blade. She didn't even know his name. Mallie swallowed and closed her eyes as she tugged the sword back up and out of him. What was begun on its descent was finished as she returned it to her side.

One more death on her hands. Mallie had to fight the urge to go to her knees and wretch beside the newest corpse.

She held herself steady as she hopped back over the wall, blade dripping blood as she stared at the band of mercs just to her right now. "I win. Leave," was all Mallie said. Anymore and she was afraid they would know how close to trembling with illness she felt.

One stepped forward and before he could speak Mallie's churning guts solidified into a single, seething ball of anger. They were not playing by their own rules. "I—" he began. She cut him off in a single gesture, reaching to her neck and breaking necklace there to dangle it in front of her.

A charm, made of black steel, and shaped as a sword. The man blanched.

"It's not real," he tried to assert. Mallie smiled viciously.

"Would you care to test your theory?" she asked, bouncing the silken cord in her fingers. "Of course, if you're wrong, you'll have the entire brotherhood coming for you and everything you hold dear."

The whispered from behind him drifted to her ears. They nearly twitched with it. The expected denials were there, but Mallie waited. It would come, and quickly if they knew anything about the Brotherhood of the Black Blade. She did hear it when it was finally spoken. "They slaughter pretenders." Three words that branded her a fool in their eyes, or a very dangerous opponent.

When they began gathering their things Mallie knew she'd become the latter, and watched impassively as they made their escape. Minutes passed until no one was left in the square but she, the corpses, and the survivors. Good, they could sort this out, she could return the authority of winning to the proper person, and be on her way as far from the kingdom as she could get.

"You'll be the new lord, then," one man called as he stepped forward.

"I don't want it," Mallie replied immediately without hesitation. She didn't blink as she laid the bloody sword in her hand atop the wall. "Where's your duly appointed lord?"

A dozen arms swung around to point at one of the corpses – a rotund, balding, grisly mess missing both hands at the wrist and both feet at the ankles. He was definitely in no shape to take back his position and no one else was stepping forward. Which meant… She was the rightful lord.

Mallie sighed. "Well, hell." So much for running away.

Description
"I can't believe they let mercenaries challenge here," she muttered as she edged around the crowd gathered. The clang of metal and metal made her flinch a little but she kept going. People grudgingly moved out of her way, but Mallie kept going. They thought she was a man, she knew. Dressed in trousers, what breasts she had bound down and her braided hair tucked up in the wanderer's hat she wore to block the sun.

Another day it might have bothered her that no one was observant enough to see how petite she was, the slight length of her feet, the feminine grace with which she moved. Today it just bothered her that the good townsfolk of Evesdin were standing around like good little wooly sheep watching their fellows be slaughtered. Mallie's stomach turned a little as he mind supplied a suitably gory image. It turned a little more as the gory image came, perfectly timed as it were, with the death cry and final ring of swords.

She really needed to get out of this horrible place.

The hawker made his next cry for challenge. "Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge? If—and my friends, it's a long stretch—you win you'll be a lord! Think of it: fine meals, fine women, and answering only to the Duc L'range and from thence the king himself!"

Mallie's breath sucked in as she stumbled to a halt.

"This is the last call for all challengers, my friends. Are you sure there are no more?"

Hellfire. This was the edge of the kingdom, wasn't it? Mallie shivered as her mind threw the outkingdom laws at her. Appointed lordship, short chain of command, allowable challenges. It was nauseating to realize that if no one else intervened, challenged and won, this town would be under the control of average, unintelligent mercenaries. She could think of a short list of what would happen.

Any attractive (or simply nubile) female would be taken and probably never heard from again. Boys would be trained to the merc lifestyle. Everyone else would slave and toil for little or nothing until they died of it. Or until they were killed for sport.

And if the mercenaries were at all ambitious they could challenge the local duc for his title. Granted, the Duc L'range had skilled warriors whom he could choose a champion from. But he was only allowed one champion if he himself didn't fight. And, noble as his many knights might be, knights were never a match for a good merc. For knights, dying to do their duty was an honor. But a merc didn't get paid unless he came back alive.

Her decision made in the space of a heartbeat, Mallie turned towards the center of the milling crowd, shoving now. "I need a sword," she demanded of every man she passed. "Give me a sword."

When no one complied she grabbed the nearest blade that didn't look like pot metal and kept on, ignoring the protests from the sword's former owner.

"Alright then—"

"I challenge!" Mallie cried as she tripped between two women. She caught herself and rushed on. "I challenge," she repeated breathlessly as she stumbled out into the middle of the town square. To the right was a small heap of bloodied bodies that, so far as Mallie could tell, weren't breathing. To the left was the not at all ragger band of mercenaries who had obviously spent their morning slaughtering challengers. In front of her was a low stone platform with a half built wall rising through the center of it.

And in front of that hovered the hawker.

Mallie blinked. No, he was really hovering. He was also about 6 inches tall and glowed a sickly shade of green around him.

Was she the only one who thought that odd?

Well, it was outkingdom, and the fey tended to show up thereabouts more often than anywhere else. She could deal with that. She had before.

One of the mercs to her left proffered a sword even though she had one already. Mallie glanced at it, sizing it up while wondering if it was rigged. Maybe they weren't good mercenaries at all, just sneaks and underhanded, using breaking blades, poisons, simple tricks to win. But the blade was solid and there was no taint about the sword. With a grim grin she took it knowing that she might well need two swords instead of just one.

She didn't bother giving it a test swing. The way Mallie figured it, she was going to need all the help she could get. So why bother letting them know how comfortable she was with a blade in her hand? She darted a glance at the little pixie. "Rules?" she inquired.

"None," it shot at her happily as she grimaced. "Be—"

"I have a question," she interrupted with a glare. Never mind that they hadn't told her whom her opponent was. The little bastard was just irking her. Weren't the fey supposed to be benevolent since the treaty?

The pixie bowed at her as his wings flapped lazily. She frowned.

"Is it against the law in this town to injure or kill sidhe?"

It frowned and shook its head, making Mallie smile as she took the first sword she had to hand and swung it up to bat the little pest out of the air with the flat of the blade. If there were any gasps from the crown she couldn't hear them—the second she'd dealt with the little bastard her opponent had come pouncing out at her. It was a tactic that had probably worked very well on many of the previous challengers.

Farmers, most likely, many or all. Not prepared to lift a blade for actual combat, no idea of the tricks used to separate blade from hand and life from body.

Poor bastards.

She wasn't overly versed on revenge, but Mallie could feel the kin edge of it as she lifted her right hand to block a downswing from her attacker. There was a twinge in her gut as she quickly sized this particular mercenary up. He was taller than she, and definitely weighed more with all of it in muscle. His knuckles, she noticed, were scarred heavily. Desperation blows to try and force his blade down.

The probably didn't work very well given how many scars he had and the fact that he was still fighting her. His hair was pale, though not elfin pale, and his eyes were dark. His face was wholly human. She was ready to thank the gods for that, because Mallie had no business challenging a fey lord. Smacking a few smaller fey around, yes, but challenging them?

Not if she wanted to live to see the next day, no matter that her own ears definitely had more point to their tips than a pureblooded human.

As the reverberation of the block jangled down the nerves of her right arm, Mallie's other was coming up, the second borrowed blade cutting keenly through the air as she tried to bury it in the humans side. He moved too fast, dancing back out of her reach for a moment before Mallie pressed the attack she'd begun, allowing the momentum of the second blade to spin her about. The first blade whistled as she leveled it for a body blow, her entire body behind it.

This tie it shrieked against his blade, the metal on metal nearly producing sparks as her opponent finally looked at her with more than high handed superiority. Of course it would happen then that her hat would come off. The beginnings of respect suddenly turned aghast as Mallie's braid tumbled down past her shoulders to lay heavily against her back. Press every advantage, she told herself firmly as she breathed deeply in through her nose.

The surprise could help her win the fight and stop the slaughter. She just had to move first. Move she did, whipping both blades together against the pale man's sword. She might only be a woman, but Mallie had trained daily for years and she had enough strength to knock him backwards.

Fortune smiled upon her as he hit the wall, no high enough for her to pin him against, betwixt it and her blades, but high enough to make him stumble and then fall back over it. She heard the clang as he landed, but Mallie was already moving. The second sword she dropped. Fortunate as it had been to have two, she didn't want to trust a death blow to a sword handed to her by the mercenaries she was trying to defeat.

A flying leap landed her gracelessly atop the wall for but a split moment—Mallie used the momentum to continue past it, the hilt of the sword wrapped in both hands, the simple round steel pommel pressing against the webbing between thumb and forefinger.

He was defenseless; spread eagle against the back side of the platform, sword feet away from his grasp. His eyes were wide as he stared up at her, but Mallie resolutely did not look at them as she came down. It was a good blade, not as good as elfin steel, but a solid piece. It cut right through the breastplate he must have been wearing and sheared its way through his body to thunk into the wood beneath him.

He gasped for a moment, eyes fluttered helplessly as one hand came up to curl around the blade. She didn't even know his name. Mallie swallowed and closed her eyes as she tugged the sword back up and out of him. What was begun on its descent was finished as she returned it to her side.

One more death on her hands. Mallie had to fight the urge to go to her knees and wretch beside the newest corpse.

She held herself steady as she hopped back over the wall, blade dripping blood as she stared at the band of mercs just to her right now. "I win. Leave," was all Mallie said. Anymore and she was afraid they would know how close to trembling with illness she felt.

One stepped forward and before he could speak Mallie's churning guts solidified into a single, seething ball of anger. They were not playing by their own rules. "I—" he began. She cut him off in a single gesture, reaching to her neck and breaking necklace there to dangle it in front of her.

A charm, made of black steel, and shaped as a sword. The man blanched.

"It's not real," he tried to assert. Mallie smiled viciously.

"Would you care to test your theory?" she asked, bouncing the silken cord in her fingers. "Of course, if you're wrong, you'll have the entire brotherhood coming for you and everything you hold dear."

The whispered from behind him drifted to her ears. They nearly twitched with it. The expected denials were there, but Mallie waited. It would come, and quickly if they knew anything about the Brotherhood of the Black Blade. She did hear it when it was finally spoken. "They slaughter pretenders." Three words that branded her a fool in their eyes, or a very dangerous opponent.

When they began gathering their things Mallie knew she'd become the latter, and watched impassively as they made their escape. Minutes passed until no one was left in the square but she, the corpses, and the survivors. Good, they could sort this out, she could return the authority of winning to the proper person, and be on her way as far from the kingdom as she could get.

"You'll be the new lord, then," one man called as he stepped forward.

"I don't want it," Mallie replied immediately without hesitation. She didn't blink as she laid the bloody sword in her hand atop the wall. "Where's your duly appointed lord?"

A dozen arms swung around to point at one of the corpses – a rotund, balding, grisly mess missing both hands at the wrist and both feet at the ankles. He was definitely in no shape to take back his position and no one else was stepping forward. Which meant… She was the rightful lord.

Mallie sighed. "Well, hell." So much for running away.