The Duel

By Alistair Corvus

Lady Alisson Heartstone has dedicated her life to furthering her mastery of the arcane arts, with little time for family or romance. As court wizard to Lord Protector Aldmere, she enjoys status and power, but little in the way of true happiness. When an invading army pushes Aldmere's forces to the breaking point, they are offered an out, a gamble of the entire war on the outcome of a wizard's duel. But when a face from her past resurfaces in the form of the roguish wizard Therias Prenthal, can she follow through with her duty in the face of her regrets? Or will the bold Magus Prenthal conquer her without a single spell?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alistair Corvus
• Release date: Jun 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310683442

Alistair Corvus

Alistair was born and raised in Texas, and has a life long love of history, fantasy, and tabletop gaming. He now uses his experience in all of the above to craft tales that seek to combine the classic fantasy tropes with something new and hopefully enticing. When he's not writing, reading history or gaming, he can usually be found enjoying and tending to his gardens, for which he has great adoration but sadly little talent. He is, however, fortunate to live in a climate where virtually anything will grow despite his best efforts to mess it up.

Book preview

The Duel

Alistair Corvus

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Alistair Corvus

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Thank You

Chapter 1

From her quarters within the ruined tower, Lady Alisson Heartstone cast her hazel eyes down upon the courtyard far below, and then further beyond. Past those fortress walls were fields of gray tents, black banners, and armored flesh. A growing wind carried the voices, scents, and general din of both besieger and besieged up to her high perch, even as it flattened her brilliant white robes flush against her curves. Her long, auburn curls were tossed and sent aflutter by that same stiff, cool breeze. One delicate hand rested upon the worn, crumbling surface of what used to be the tower's masonry, in ages before that tortured stonework had yielded to the weather and let a sturdy wall become a broad and irregular window.

Ludum Hold had certainly seen better, grander days, when the land was still untamed and strongholds peppered the hills and valleys like stone fairy rings, springing as if from the very earth. Now, as war returned to a land that had grown fat and complacent during years of peace, Alisson could only hope those ill maintained ramparts could hold the swarming legions under General Grendec's black banner at bay. Of course, no fortress could hold out forever, and there were no allies or reinforcements to rally to the aid of Lord Aldmere's tattered army.

As Court Wizard, Alisson was privy to such information, just as she had been made aware of their supply situation. The fortress's old cisterns could still hold water, so long as rain provided. Food, however, was another matter. Even with careful management, Lord Aldmere's men would be on empty bellies within a week, two at the most. Her magic could only do so much to alleviate that.

Mere days ago, when Grendec's men had broken Aldmere's line, the aging lord had ordered the retreat to Ludum Hold in the hopes that the Lord of the Black Banner would find laying siege to that stronghold too costly to be worthwhile. Aldmere's lands had been a conquest of convenience after all. They were a mere interlude between much larger and richer neighbors. With free reign to cross those porous borders and move onward to better plunder, surely the General wouldn't need to wholly eradicate a broken, dug in force merely trying to stay out of the way. The gamble had not paid off. Bottled up in a dead end fortress with no hope of outside rescue was not a position anyone wanted to be in.

As the Lady wizard contemplated the mismatched armies below, a fluttering white flash of movement caught her gaze. From the enemy line, a lone figure under a flag of truce timidly made his way toward the ancient gates of the crumbling fortress. Perhaps they were sending forth terms for Aldmere's surrender. The thought did not put her heart at ease. General Grendec was not known for his clemency, nor Lord Aldmere for his humility. The idea that the dark army would accept anything less than total submission, or that Aldmere would bow his head to a foreign flag were equally inconceivable. Still, at least they would soon know the details of what appeared to be their inevitable defeat.

Alisson drew away from the crumbled wall and the steady, stiff breeze that the broad opening allowed in. Soft, slipper clad feet carefully descended the short, shifting pile of gravel and stony debris, whose once sharp edges were long worn and rounded from the elements' inexorable progress. Long, elegant digits curled into the pristine fabric of her robe, and lifted the hem so she could avoid treading upon and trapping the trailing material against that rough surface. Only when she arrived within the more civilized portion of her quarters, where walls still held some semblance of stability and furnishings managed to seem almost livable, did she allow those robes to descend about her ankles and adopt a less wary stride.

Centuries past, that chamber atop the ancient tower had housed whatever mage promised allegiance to the master of the fortress. It was only proper that she now occupy it, for however long they had until the dark General's forces put them all to the blade. The few sparse appointments that remained in the room had been enchanted against the ravages of time, and were in significantly better shape than the very structure that contained them. The Lady wizard drew out the chair which stood before the simple vanity, and settled her frame wearily into it.

She had never been one for worrying overmuch about personal appearances, but she still considered herself fair for an unwed woman in her thirties. Those luxurious locks and the hawk like focus of her piercing eyes had attracted their fair share of interest from potential suitors, though she never let such matters interfere with her single minded fixation on her craft. One of the privileges of