A Knight of Nowhere

Chapter Three - Power

That damned black light. An escape and blissful fallacy. Why him? She pondered. In D'maya's own opinion, she wasn't stuck up with her training. She did what she needed to to be able to compete. With Irregulars anyway. They had a supernatural edge, and she had a blade's edge. And she hadn't yet fallen in combat, so she must have been doing something right.

Still, the lack of Irregularity stirred within her. She had trained for years, and yet no Irregularity had manifested. It was always said that Irregularities would manifest at an early age, with rare exceptions.

Why should he manifest one? The ancestral one no less! Many Irregularities would form around the personality of the Irregular. Letting them fuel their own power. Though, it could also be the other way round, with an Irregularity forming the basis of a personality. Even the ability to be an Irregular was one that was passed down through the blood. Though, D'maya scorned at this ability not running through her own.

There also happened to be very strange exceptions within families. Mainly those of 'pure' lineage. Though this was assumed to be a falsehood. This exception being that of hereditary Irregularities. Not only would the capacity to be an Irregular be passed down, but the same Irregularity would also. Leading to the one that the Kamir family is revered for throughout history. But Lyris, had once again gotten lucky with his own. Being a highly potent Irregular.

Still, D'maya scorned. I can beat talent! Though, she often wondered why Arren had sent Lyris with her to join the honour-guard. Granted, he was Irregular, but that was all that he was He wasn't passionate about training. Nor was he very astute within studies, or even capable of holding a political negotiation. He could at least hold his own in a fight, quite spectacularly. But even then, the superiority wouldn't make up for other shortcomings. D'maya had learned this herself. Though, this at-least meant one thing for her. A thought that was somewhat reassuring to her, but always lingered in the back of her mind as if it was a curse.

They shouldn't even be mine, she thought, as she drew her blades from her back. They were twin duelling blades. Or knives, as some would seem to call them. But they had the length of a sword, and the edge of a thousand razors. Ice and Fire. They were her families ancestral blades, the creation and destruction. Though, the thought in her head was right, they shouldn't be her's. They should fall to the firstborn of the family - Arren. But he was a tactician, seeing battle only on rare occasions. And even then, he was never in direct conflict, he was far too important for that task. Therefore, by forfeiting the blades, they then fell to Lyris. But he neglected to claim them, around a year before he disappeared. Thus, leaving D'maya as the only claimant to them. A false claimant. An afterthought...

D'maya's ears suddenly filled with the tolling of bells. The noise pulsating around her ears as if they were running laps. With each sound reverberating in an ensemble within her thoughts. She counted the bells, something that was a key part of honour-guard training. Three in total. Possible hostiles? D'maya thought, sheathing the blades and pulling her own hood over her head. Encasing her hair within a veil of fabric. One that was tailored for a huntress such as herself. D'maya kicked off of the ground with an almighty thud as her heart had hit what seemed like the two-hundredth beat that minute. Dust flew from beneath her boots.

Her feet continued to slam against the floor for a long while, considering the distance from near the keep to the outer gate, the trip was becoming relatively fast. With her stride seeming unbreakable. With even the hardest of winds likely being able to stop her. In this moment, she was the wind itself.

She glanced around the streets, some of the shopkeepers looked confused about what the bells would be, though most chose to go back to work. The tolling of bells is only a possibility, winter, however, was an inevitability. And a poison that the populace prepared for. Though, amongst one of the lesser crowded streets, D'maya spotted something. A figure moving with two escorts. The figure bore a shape that she knew well, with a warhammer to match. Lord Ryonis Nikor. At his sides were two soldiers. Each of whom bore spears. A particular trait that was common in soldiers that Lord Ryonis had a hand in training.