The blade entered Iseabail’s side, ripping through armor and flesh and tearing through organs. Blood flowed and she knew she was dying.
And yet, despite that realization, her thoughts were still with the small band of warriors who'd accompanied her. Glen, Archaius, Conwall. Names that she'd grown fond of over the last two years. Names that no longer belonged to those among the living. She stumbled a step back as her vision began to become hazy, as she began to feel weaker and lighter. Her legs shook as her strength slipped away, and her body ached to lie down for just a few minutes and sleep. Just a little nap... Until she heard a bloodcurdling scream. Her heart dropped as soon as she recognized the voice.
Deidrick.
"We killed the last one of them, Sir! The bastard refused to die peacefully, though I didn't expect anything less from a former Kingsguard. The traitor finally got what he deserved. She's the only one left now."
The remaining soldiers began to gather around her, eight in total. After they'd killed her comrades, she knew that they deemed her easy prey, for she watched them move with assured slowness. Clearly, they also knew she was dying. Knew she couldn't fight much longer. But when her eyes met those of her very dear and precious friend, whose head had been impaled on a spear likely as a trophy and warning to others who would dare question her brother's reign, Iseabail came back to her senses. There was a snap of something cruel inside her, a sharp break of confusion that dug into her sides and caused for a deep frown to crinkle her forehead. A few of the men took a step back at the intensity of her furious gaze, then began to laugh at her cry of pain; which only brought out the telltale rage Iseabail had become famous for. The rage which had saved her life countless of times already.
She raised her blade and swung it. Fast. The steel sang through the air as it swiped through the closest man, separating his head from his neck. His blood slashed across her face and arm. The other soldiers stopped.
"How did she─ Why you─!"
Her life's blood drained from her body and she knew her time grew short. She struggled to breathe, but she'd fight as long as she had breath in her body. Iseabail raised her sword once more, clasping the handle in both hands, and waited for the next attack. Another one of them stepped forward, their leader. She knew that face.
"Lady Iseabail. When I had the men scout this area, I had no idea we would actually find you." She gritted her teeth. Samson Dusmond. One of her brother's many lieutenants and the man who used to appraise her in the most inappropriate sort of ways, even back then when she was only a child.
“Lord Dusmond. I'd really hoped you died.”
Some thought him handsome despite his age, with his ashy blond hair and grey eyes. But she only saw the ugly side of him. Like now, when his lips twisted into an angry snarl. “Preposterous! Because of one woman and a bunch of cheap mercenaries? No, my dear.” She swung her sword at his words and he easily parried the blow. The lieutenant looked back at his men, making sure they were all watching before he killed her. But he left himself open. And one thing her father always taught her? Never let an obvious opportunity pass by. She ran him through with her blade, slamming the steel into his stomach as his head snapped back around to look at her in horror. For good measure, she twisted her sword in his gut, watching in satisfaction as he opened his mouth to scream but left the world with nothing more than a whimper. She yanked her blade out of him and he dropped to the ground. She knew that it was her last kill.
"I'd give my life to see Sadon's face when he hears news of this incident," she got out as the little strength left fled her body and she dropped to her knees, her hands still holding her blood-covered sword. "If I weren’t already dying." She gave a bitter half-smile. "I hope you all will die the most excruciating death possible." She coughed and blood flowed onto her chin and down her burnished steel armor.
This was it. Her final moment.
And yet, despite that realization, her thoughts were still with the small band of warriors who'd accompanied her. Glen, Archaius, Conwall. Names that she'd grown fond of over the last two years. Names that no longer belonged to those among the living. She stumbled a step back as her vision began to become hazy, as she began to feel weaker and lighter. Her legs shook as her strength slipped away, and her body ached to lie down for just a few minutes and sleep. Just a little nap... Until she heard a bloodcurdling scream. Her heart dropped as soon as she recognized the voice.
Deidrick.
"We killed the last one of them, Sir! The bastard refused to die peacefully, though I didn't expect anything less from a former Kingsguard. The traitor finally got what he deserved. She's the only one left now."
The remaining soldiers began to gather around her, eight in total. After they'd killed her comrades, she knew that they deemed her easy prey, for she watched them move with assured slowness. Clearly, they also knew she was dying. Knew she couldn't fight much longer. But when her eyes met those of her very dear and precious friend, whose head had been impaled on a spear likely as a trophy and warning to others who would dare question her brother's reign, Iseabail came back to her senses. There was a snap of something cruel inside her, a sharp break of confusion that dug into her sides and caused for a deep frown to crinkle her forehead. A few of the men took a step back at the intensity of her furious gaze, then began to laugh at her cry of pain; which only brought out the telltale rage Iseabail had become famous for. The rage which had saved her life countless of times already.
She raised her blade and swung it. Fast. The steel sang through the air as it swiped through the closest man, separating his head from his neck. His blood slashed across her face and arm. The other soldiers stopped.
"How did she─ Why you─!"
Her life's blood drained from her body and she knew her time grew short. She struggled to breathe, but she'd fight as long as she had breath in her body. Iseabail raised her sword once more, clasping the handle in both hands, and waited for the next attack. Another one of them stepped forward, their leader. She knew that face.
"Lady Iseabail. When I had the men scout this area, I had no idea we would actually find you." She gritted her teeth. Samson Dusmond. One of her brother's many lieutenants and the man who used to appraise her in the most inappropriate sort of ways, even back then when she was only a child.
“Lord Dusmond. I'd really hoped you died.”
Some thought him handsome despite his age, with his ashy blond hair and grey eyes. But she only saw the ugly side of him. Like now, when his lips twisted into an angry snarl. “Preposterous! Because of one woman and a bunch of cheap mercenaries? No, my dear.” She swung her sword at his words and he easily parried the blow. The lieutenant looked back at his men, making sure they were all watching before he killed her. But he left himself open. And one thing her father always taught her? Never let an obvious opportunity pass by. She ran him through with her blade, slamming the steel into his stomach as his head snapped back around to look at her in horror. For good measure, she twisted her sword in his gut, watching in satisfaction as he opened his mouth to scream but left the world with nothing more than a whimper. She yanked her blade out of him and he dropped to the ground. She knew that it was her last kill.
"I'd give my life to see Sadon's face when he hears news of this incident," she got out as the little strength left fled her body and she dropped to her knees, her hands still holding her blood-covered sword. "If I weren’t already dying." She gave a bitter half-smile. "I hope you all will die the most excruciating death possible." She coughed and blood flowed onto her chin and down her burnished steel armor.
This was it. Her final moment.
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