The hiss of the blade cutting through the midnight air was the only warning. Trisandra of Rivenel spun on her heel, her crimson gown flaring like a phoenix’s plume. The fabric, heavy yet flowing, gleamed under the fiery glow of the torches that lined the obsidian bridge. Her golden trim shimmered, catching the ireful eyes of her pursuers like a beacon. She tightened her grip on her staff\u2014a twisted length of charred onyx crowned with a pulsing red crystal\u2014and held it aloft as the darkened forest beyond the ravine roared with an unnatural wind.<\/p>\n
“Come now,” she called, her voice light but edged with amusement. “You\u2019ve chased me this far, warlocks. Would you let a sorceress escape with your king’s secrets?”<\/p>\n
The five figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by iron masks wrought in the images of feral beasts. In the glow cast by Trisandra’s staff, the gilded etching of runes along their dark robes burned like molten gold. The leader stepped forward, a towering figure with shoulders broad enough to rival the stone arches of the High Rivenel Cathedral. He spoke in a low, grating voice. “You\u2019ve overplayed your hand, witch. Those secrets will die with you tonight.”<\/p>\n
A wolfish grin tugged at Trisandra\u2019s lips. Her braided auburn locks, bound into an elaborate crown-like cascade, gleamed like fire under the torchlight. “I think not,” she murmured, tapping her staff against the ground. The crystal ignited with a crimson flame, illuminating the jagged crags and rushing river below the bridge in infernal hues. The heat radiating from her expression promised no retreat. Oh, she would end it here.<\/p>\n
It had begun with an audience in the court of Vorthulmar. The high halls of the king’s keep were decadence incarnate: vast columns of black marble inlaid with silver, painted ceilings depicting ancient wars among gods, and floor mosaics so intricate you questioned where stone ended and imagination began. The nobles sat in hushed silence as Trisandra knelt at the foot of King Fentharion’s throne, her red ensemble conspicuously out of place among the muted silken blues and grays of the lords and ladies of court.<\/p>\n
“My King,” she had said, her head still bowed, though her voice betrayed no humility. “The Seal of Aelvari lies exposed in the Anthric Wastes. Your enemies move to claim it, and your realm may fall unless someone with my… capabilities retrieves it.”<\/p>\n
The king leaned forward, his silver crown catching a shaft of sunlight. An ageing lion of a man, yet his eyes\u2014one green, one gold\u2014burned with undiminished authority. “Trisandra,” he began, his tone cautious. “Are you offering your hand as a shield for the realm, or are you seeking something in return? Your loyalty has always seemed curiously negotiable.”<\/p>\n
Laughter. Quiet at first, but unmistakable from the gallery. Trisandra straightened but did not turn to look. She rolled her shoulders back and smoothed her crimson skirts, golden leaves embroidered along the hem catching the light. She smirked. “What can I say, your Majesty? My favors come at a cost. But this time,” she added, her voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial, “I think even you’ll find it worth paying.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, daring him to challenge her.<\/p>\n
After a pause, the king inclined his head. “Go, then. But should you betray us, there will be no return for you to Rivenel.”<\/p>\n
The leader of the warlocks lunged forward, his staff slashing toward her in an arc of vivid purple light. Trisandra deflected the blow with her own, their energies sparking against one another like the first crack of lightning in a storm. She backed toward the edge of the bridge, her boots\u2014black leather dyed with red streaks, climbing to a pointed toe\u2014gripping the slick stone precariously.<\/p>\n
“I admire your dedication,” she said breathlessly as she parried another attack. “But truly, did you think I’d play fair?”<\/p>\n
She slammed her left hand down on the bridge, and a wave of molten fire erupted across the stones. The warlocks staggered, their magical shields barely holding against the roar of Trisandra’s gambit. The chasm erupted in a haze of heat and luminous sparks, the flickering flames casting chaotic shadows over the towering mountains flanking either side of the ravine.<\/p>\n
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one figure fall, his mask torn from his face. A young warlock, no older than twenty summers, staggered to his knees. Hesitation flickered through her chest. He looked at her with something she hadn’t expected\u2014fear.<\/p>\n
Before she could hesitate further, the leader’s voice bellowed across the flames. “Finish her! Now!”<\/p>\n
Biting back the surge of doubt, she threw her staff skyward. It pierced the heavens like the spear of a celestial warrior, igniting a preternatural storm. Rain hammered down, sizzling against the heat of her flames and extinguishing them. Steam rose in thick, tangible clouds, obscuring the warlocks and herself in a massive vortex.<\/p>\n
In the confusion, Trisandra weaved through the fog, her gown trailing like smoldering ash. One by one, she disabled the remaining warlocks with precision, their cries of defeat muffled by the howl of the storm. When the mist cleared, she stood alone, her staff once again in hand, its crystal glowing softly, matching the faint pulse of her heart.<\/p>\n
She glanced back once at the boy she’d spared\u2014he lay unconscious but alive\u2014before vanishing into the shadows of the forest. The Seal of Aelvari would be hers before dawn.<\/p>\n
Fantasy Adventure<\/p>\n
The Source<\/strong>…check out the article that inspired this amazing short story: Triss Merigold Cosplay: Red & Gold Magic – Inspiration for Your Next Costume<\/a><\/p>\n
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