Heroes And Monsters

As the last member of the honor guard crumpled at his feet, Lord Idris Melys silently resolved to never give this much trouble to a visiting head of state in his own lands.
It wasn't that he had expected a welcoming reception from Queen (Nehali, in the local language) Sorianna Al-Mourn – even after all they had shared not so long ago, she was caught up in fear and monsters, and barely knew herself from the madness that surrounded her. But, really, four layers of wards, two companies of troops, and now the elite Royal Guard was starting to seem excessive.
Some of those wards had been designed with him, personally, in mind. He tried not to think about that.
Idris sighed, and with an act of will, sent a ripple of force through his weapon, currently in the form of a flail. Fleck of Royal Guardsmens' blood splashed lightly against the walls. He checked his clothing next: his boots and loose silk pants remained presentable, the ornate buckle on his sash was only slightly dented where a spout of enchanted blood had hit it like a boar spear, and the ruffles in his shirt hid the tears the best pair of guardsmen had dealt it before he knocked them unconscious. He straighted his azure cloak, to fall billowing along his sides, leaving his arms mobile for fighting and his symbols of office visible, as it should. The four silver rings and opal-studded torque he wore were, along with his silver-threaded gloves, as flawless as always. Finally, he brushed back a wave of cream-colored hair from his brilliantly green eyes.
Good enough. Time to make an entrance.
The doors to the throne room were, of course, warded against magic, and hardened against force. As he approached them, he slipped lifted one hand, and called to it the ring of keys he remembered seeing on a Guardsman's belt. None of the keys matched the lock, of course – not even the Nehalein were proud enough to think their throne room safe with its key outside. But they had been enchanted as Castle keys, so when he remolded almost all of them into the shape of a single, giant skeleton key, the door's wards made no protest to it opening them. As the door opened, Idris smiled.
The sweeping pillars that stood around three sides of the Nehali's Court stood abandoned, as did the majestic balconies they supported. The only sound was the constant fountain of water, running through a complex nine-ringed shape on the floor. What the room lacked in number of occupants, however, the ones it had made up for with the intensity of those it had.
To the left hand of the throne stood Royal Chancilor Emekam, his dark robes and steady eyes as unwavering as ever. To the right hand of the throne stood a monster, whom Idris tried not to look at. It wasn't difficult – on the throne sat a vision of beauty with crimson hair, the intricately styled dress or Nehalein nobility, and a glare that posed more threat than any of the castle's wards. Sorianna. He hadn't seen her in far too long – his heart quickened. Of course, he had never seen her this angry. His blood chilled.
Only slightly daunted, he stepped forward. “Lord Idris Melys,” he said, using the booming tones mostly reserved for calling changes of orders during battle, “Lord of Metal, Emperor of Iachus, Protector of-”
“- somewhere else,” Sorianna snarled. “I recommend you go back there. Now.”
“I would,” replied Idris, keeping his composure, “but for the small matter of an army marching on your world, which I fear will soon overrun you unless you hear me out.”
Emekam's face betrayed no expressions during negotiation, but his tone was disappointed. “Threats and blackmail, Lord Idris? Had I known you stooped this low, I would not have advised Her Majesty to grant you audience.”
Idris blinked. “That's not-”
Sorianna cut him off again. “Blackmail is nothing new. But I did not grant you an audience. On top everything – everything! - else you've done, you attacked my people? Here, on sacred ground?”
Idris held up the flail in his left hand. “Only a little. I was a perfect gentleman – I chose a weapon which could deal stunning blows, disarm people easily, and has never been formally taught on this world.” He smiled wryly. “I barely even drew blood.”
Emekam nodded. “Our thanks for that.” His voice had sounded genuinely warm for a moment, but grew flat as he continued. “But to come in here and threaten us with war if we do not act as you wish – that remains inexcusable. You have proven quite the conqueror, Lord Idris, but I never would have suspected you to be a simple thug.”
“This is not about my army. You must listen – the Illuthiani are preparing for war.”
“Your alliance with our oldest enemies is known to us, Lord,” said Emekam evenly, his voice cold as ice.
“What?” Idris gasped in genuine surprise – he had made no such alliance, and Emekam's intelligence was generally quite reliable. “Who told you that?”
“It makes no difference,” Emekam replied, sadly. “This discussion is over.”
“No,” said Idris, stepping closer to the throne. “I cannot allow-”
Sorianna cut in again “It is not for you to allow-”
But Idris voice was crashing like thunder, and neither his words nor his pace towards the throne slowed. “-cannot allow you to keep on sliding further into grief and madness, surrounded by lies and unknown enemies! A foul beast eats away at your heart, Sorianna, and you do not even see his true nature. If you will not let me warn you about war, at least let me warn you about him!” He pointed, a harsh and accusatory jab, at the space to Sorianna's right, but realized a moment later the space was empty.
A cold blade pressed against Idris' back. “I believe,” said a soft voice, “You're looking for me. How can I help you?”
Idris didn't turn around. With a momentary effort of will, he reshaped a few links of the chain mail under his finery into a thin but sharp dagger, and jabbed backwards with it, twisting to the side to avoid the counter-stroke.
The monster, inevitably, had managed to avoid his surprise attack. It stood, looking down on him with its emotionless eyes. Its seemingly-human body was draped in clothing which made several concessions to the attire of Nehal's court and had clearly been well-tailored to suit the creature's thin frame and silver hair, but remained relatively plain and obviously meant for battle. That latter quality was enhanced by the accessories it wore: a sword on each hip, a light bow slung across the back, what looked like barbed hooks mostly hidden in its tall boots, and a bandoleer of daggers along its chest (and one of them, trailing a scrap of silk, in its left hand). Apparently deciding that this was not enough weaponry, it had picked up a spear in its right hand sometime after Idris had entered the throne room.
He shivered. How long had that thing managed to stay out of his sight without his noticing?
Behind him, he could hear Emekam rushing Sorianna out of the room, against her protests. Good. Whatever hold the monster had established over her, he wanted to break it, not get her killed while fighting against it.
Idris brought his weapon up in a mock salute, reshaping it into the long-bladed glaive he favored as he did so. “Hello, Monster. I've been waiting a long time for this,” he said. “You killed good men in that attack on my palace.”
“This isn't about that,” the monster said softly. “Only about her.”
“Fair enough,” Idris replied with a cold smile. “At least I can't doubt your taste. But whatever the reason, this can only end one way. You're dying today, Monster.”
“My name,” it said, emotion creeping in at last, “is Seirajjh!”
It rushed him fast and brutally, but it wasn't as fast as it had been tearing through men at his palace, and Idris had a plan this time. He dropped his glaive and sent a surge of power through the silver threads in his gloves, deepening and widening them into an effective armor. When the spear came stabbing at him, he caught it in his hands, and reshaped the spear head into a full-sized shield, which he caught the dagger on. This barely slowed the onslaught – the monster dropped its dagger and whipped the wooden spear-shaft around two-handed, each blow ringing on Idris' defenses and driving him back step after step.
When he felt his heel come up against the edge of the massive fountain, he stopped. An instant before the next blow fell, he called out to his glaive on the floor, and brought it hurtling at his attacker's back. Somehow, the creature sensed it coming, and dropped to the ground, sweeping with its leg rather than striking with the staff, and sending Idris crashing into the water.
He sputtered back to his feet. “Really?” he asked it as he gasped for breath, “that whole arsenal, just to damage my clothing? Between my shirt and this water, you seem much more murderous towards fashion than I remember.”
“No need to draw my other weapons today,” it retorted. “Partly because while I carry them against living skin, not even you may reshape their metal without touching them first, and partly because no man should require more than a stick when disciplining a dog.”
“A real man doesn't even need that,” said Idris, and drove both his palms into the water's surface with a flicker of power. Flecks of water shot up into the air, then froze as the magic took them, transforming a splash into a barrage of ice shards screaming at the monster.
In twirled its staff, catching most of the shards in the air. Still, the wood could not handle the strain of rapid movement combined with so many projectiles, and was reduced quickly to splinters. The monster discarded it, leaping backwards a solid thirty feet as it did so. It landed standing atop on of the balconies with its bow drawn.
Idris dove into the water, leaving a sheet of ice behind him, but was too slow – a pair of arrows were already fired, and struck into his side. His world flashed with pain and the water grew clouded red, but he had no time to bind the wound, or even break off the shaft of the second arrow, which had managed to imbed itself in his leg. Unable to swim, he was floating towards the surface, and he needed an attack as soon as he got there.
A blast of steam arced from the surface of the water, drawing another arrow. That was irksome – the Monster was supposed to waste more of its ammunition on the feint. Still, Idris emerged, and the true assault began. This time, Idris was ready. As the first arrow came towards him, he fanned the heated air into an outright flame. It burned to ash, but the flame didn't stop – arrow after arrow caught in the air, spreading all the way back to the Monter's bow.
“You should take more care of your things,” Idris said, smiling as the monster dropped the charred piece of wood. “I always do.”
“You are only good at breaking things,” it snarled back with quiet rage. “Let's see what happens when you get broken.”
There was a flash of movement, and it was upon him. It didn't bother drawing another blade – as Idris raised his weapon to ward off its blows, it knocked the metal out of his hands and grabbed his throat in a choke hold. Its eyes burned into his, their usual emptiness replaced with rage and obsession.
Perfect.
It had taken Idris a lot of work to find out what sort of beast had attacked his palace, killed his retainers, then ensorceled and kidnapped his consort. It had taken him longer to find a charm capable of hurting and binding such a thing (even if it did require getting the Monster angry enough to drop its guard within his reach), and a few days work on top of more time and resources than most lesser men could imagine, if it would release Sorianna back to him, the results were worth it. A blast of brilliant white light tore out from the opals in his torque, sending the Monster staggering to the ground.
“Enough of that,” Idris said triumphantly. “You lose, Monster. I may show you some measure of mercy if you relinquish your hold on her im-” He stopped short. Quite abruptly, pain left the fallen Monster's features, and it rolled back to its feet.
“I told you that my name,” it said, looking shaken, but unhurt, “Is Seirajjh.” It drew a dagger, pointed it at Idris, and almost smiled. “And right now, I am showing mercy to you. Leave this planet. Leave her alone. Return to either one, and you die. You walk away this time, because you reminded me of something I can never forget. Something much more important than your life. Thank you. Now start walking.”
Idris smiled grimly. His weapon lay outside the reach of his hands, but not his power, to say nothing of the key ring and fallen dagger he could use, or the many magics that didn't rely upon metal he had mastered. He struck once more.

As he regained his health at the hands of the finest physicians in all of Iachus, Lord Idris Melys silently resolved to never underestimate the tenacity of monsters again.