"Then, there was this general. I don't remember how I landed up in his hands, but he used me to stage a coup and slit the throats of the whole royal family with my sharp blade. Pretty ironic that years later, he also died at my edge."
"Did I tell you about the time I killed a god?"
"We're here. Stay sharp."
The sword sniggered at this.
"But you have to hear about this one time at a battlefield..."
Sybil walked into the clearing with the sword jibbering in her head. She needed to clear her head of thoughts if she was to handle what was coming for her. But the sword's chatter was non-stop. She thought about her son. Her husband. The things the thirteen would do to them if they got through her and her focus slowly returned to the task at hand.
They would send someone to negotiate first. Always sound and fury, them. Never the ones to confront. But she was counting on it.
Of the thirteen lights, one light broke away as Sybil walked towards them. It slowly drifted on silent air currents and floated to where she was standing. She gripped the sword a little tighter and rotated her shoulder to be ready.
The light materialized in a humanoid form as it came near her. It was a man. Dressed in white flowing robes. An angelic look on his face. His hair glowed with a golden glow and his face defied any attempts to decipher his age.
He was smiling.
Sybil wanted to cut his head off.
"Sybil," the man thing spoke. "It's been a long time."
"Say your piece. I have no patience for pleasantries."
"Ah, well. Never the one for riff-raff. I'll come to the point then. Give us the boy and we'll lift the hold from your house and your life."
"Can't do that."
"Then we'll take the boy."
A sliver of anger flashed across the man's face. Quick as it appeared, it was gone and the shark-toothed smile was back.
"You will regret this, Sybil."
"Not in a million years."
"As you wish. It's your family's funeral."
"I have a proposition for you, too."
The man smiled and raised his eyebrow.
"Fuck off from here with your cronies and I will not kill you all."
The man laughed. "Oh, Sybil. We're coming to take the boy, whether you like it or not. It's just you here. Who's going to back you up?"
"All hell will."
The man said nothing. He kept smiling and floated back to his circle of thirteen.
"Nice talk," The Wraith spoke in her head.
'I was taking their measure. They're afraid. If they'd the ability to take Jorah, they'd have done so already."
"They will come anyway and we'll have to handle them. My plan will hold."
"I sure hope it does. We don't have anything else to bank upon anyway."
"It'll be enough for these thirteen. That much I am sure of."
Above them, the lights started their slow dance, strobing and flashing in colors that made Sybil's eyes hurt.
"Don't look!" the sword warned her.
Lights broke away from the circle and clumped together in small pools like bacteria gathering around an idea or a thought. Through shut eyes, Sybil felt the dance of lights on her eyelids. The storm was a distant sound somewhere, but for a moment she thought she her a horse.
With a loud boom of thunder, the light show stopped. Sybil opened her eyes and what stood in front of her defined the word terror to the T. A behemoth of a figure, easily standing to the height of eight feet, arms holding mean looking blades of different shapes and sizes. The striking feature of the figure was two additional arms sprouting from its waist. Two more sharp blades were held by the hands of its extra arms. Its skin was a dirty green color, almost black and a single red eye shone in the middle of its head. It stood there. Observing Sybil as she took the thing's measure, too.
"Can I throw you at this thing's eye?" She asked the sword.
"And lose the opportunity to enjoy my stellar company? Bah!"
"Any idea on how to go about it."
"Engage and I'll think of something."
"Four blades against one."
"I've fought worse odds before. Did I tell you that story?"
"Ah, fuck it." Sybil said as she took a running start at the figure.
I need to write more!