The Anari

by Adrianna J Tetnowski

  Ariadna seemed to have caught onto the idea herself and if it killed her to bring Kanra down; she decided there was no better way to finally go to the underworld and meet her maker than by taking someone down with her. Her twin swords were out and flashing by her sides in the great fire still roaring in its pit, sweat continued to slide down whatever gaps were offered between Ariadna’s skin and her leather fighting gear; it was enough to make her want to strip her uniform off here and now but she couldn’t risk the exposure.

  It was Kanra’s turn to attack; he tackled Ariadna with a tight grip around her waist and they both went flying again. The sound which left the assassin as she struck the floor; with the weight of another body pressing down on her, it gave Kanra hope that Ariadna’s strength was finally leaving her. He flashed her his teeth, all smeared with blood from the previous punches she had inflicted on him.

  Ariadna choked on air as Kanra’s hands found their way around her throat. They did not linger there long as she caught the glare of a blade coming from Kanra’s boot and it took all her strength to keep him from burying it into her skull. She felt Kanra continuing to press the blade closer to her. Ariadna wrapped a leg around his waist, steadying herself, and with the other she pressed her boot against Kanra’s bicep in an attempt to stop him from getting his blade any closer.

  “Perhaps,” Kanra began amidst his struggling. “You will… learn to respect my gods,” he paused to let out another roar as he felt Ariadna’s boot keeping him from getting any closer. “When I send you down to meet them.”

  Preeya had finally loosened the last strap around her ankle enough to slip out of it. Wasting no time, she leapt off the slab she had been spread out across and retrieved her ruined tunic and slipped it on, tying it with a knot at her hips to keep it from sliding around. The priestess rushed to where Troian remained laying and tried to stir him from his state of unconsciousness.

  The mercenary did not wake up.

  Preeya looked to Ariadna desperately and then moved before she had even fully comprehended what she was doing. With both hands she took up Kanra’s sword and kept it lifted from the ground by just an inch; using Ariadna’s struggling as the perfect distraction. Preeya raised the sword high enough for the tip of the blade to meet Kanra’s flesh but, she lacked the necessary strength required to do any real damage as the sword drove through Kanra’s skin, nothing more than a flesh wound on his side.

  It was all Ariadna needed to draw her foot back from the distracted Dictator and send it against his shoulder next. A loud crunch had her knowing she had hit home as she shifted Kanra’s shoulder blade enough to dislocate it. She watched as the dagger fell from his hand and clattered onto the floor just beside her head.

  “Ari?” Preeya called out as she retreated a few steps. She arched herself back as Kanra found his feet and lashed his arm out at her; the ends of her boots catching onto each other, and she fell onto her back. Preeya felt a sharp pain jolt through her, yet she did not press a hand against the back of her head to ease the sting. She was too afraid to do anything other than roll away with high hopes of creating a safe distance between herself and Kanra.

  All the while, Ariadna felt a surge of strength kindle amongst her dwindling energy and she located a small blade of her own, in a hidden pocket on her left thigh. She unsheathed it and charged at the Dictator. Her silver hair stuck to her damp face in clumps and she could feel her eyes burning from the sweat dripping into them. Damn that fire! And damn this man!

  As the assassin sent her blade towards his spine, Kanra turned and took hold of her wrist with his left hand. He sent his right elbow towards her face, striking Ariadna in the cheek rather than the intended temple, and when he had surprised her enough, Kanra slipped the toe of his boot beneath his sword and kicked it up into his hand. He turned and lashed his sword out against her, catching onto skin and leather alike as it cut her back.

  Ariadna screamed. It was a brief sound, for she refused to give him the pleasure of hearing her in pain for too long. She arched herself back enough to duck underneath Kanra’s elbow as he tried to strike her with it again. All the while, she loosened his grip on her with each swift movement.

  With gentle hands, Preeya tried to wake Troian again but, he seemed to have been sent so far into oblivion that she feared the worst. He was not dead though, the uneven rise and fall of his chest proved otherwise.

  “Troian!” she hissed and shook him harder, thinking it would help. Preeya pressed a hand against the back of his head and when she drew it away, it came back sticky with blood. The blood flow was little but, steadily ongoing. Preeya rested Troian’s head back onto the floor, making sure she added the weight of him onto the wound without making it worse, hoping it would somehow ease the bleeding even just a little.

  The priestess felt Kanra’s shadow descend upon her before he even did himself. A cold hand clamping over her mouth muffled her scream and Preeya felt her body leave the ground on which she had been kneeling on; her heart dropping to her stomach at the unexpected attack.

  “I will not leave my goddess deprived of even a single priestess.” Kanra hissed into her ear. He held her tight whilst she struggled and in his other hand he held the same bone dagger which he had shown to Preeya before.

  There was no doubt about who would win in this fight, Preeya’s strength was no match against Kanra’s but, the adrenaline pumping through her veins gave her enough of it to keep her fighting. She flailed her legs around, striking her captor anywhere and everywhere she could – only getting a few grunts or curses from him.

  Kanra brought the blade down to her stomach, yet as he did he felt the strength of Preeya’s leg restraining the blow as she tried hard to press his arm back with her knee. A single muffled scream from the girl was not what Kanra was after. He wanted her life, to offer it as a gift to his goddess.

  The ceiling above them groaned and a few rocks loosened, crumbling down just next to them both as they continued in their struggling. Blood squelched beneath their boots whilst they moved, as though in a dance, from one side to another.

  Still, Preeya kept up a fight long enough for Ariadna to attack again. The priestess turned in Kanra’s grasp, forcing his body to move with her so they would not both lose their balance.

  Kanra felt the sting of a cold blade kiss his cheek upon turning around. He let go of Preeya, ignoring her cry as she was dropped to the floor in a heap, like some rag doll. He heard Ariadna curse at having missed her original target of the back of his neck. Pressing the back of his hand against the wound, Kanra dragged it across the wound and licked the blood off his hands; his long tongue curling around the jagged bones of his knuckles. The taste of iron filled his mouth and made his nostrils flare. He wanted a taste of Ariadna’s blood too; to make a judgement himself of just how tainted she was. Kanra swept to one side, effortlessly dodging a few lumps of rock which continued to drop from the ceiling every once in a while. Distretia must have been angry; why else would the cave be trembling so much like this?

  “Assassin!” he roared, still clutching the bone dagger in his pale grey hand. He felt his body sway from the blood he was losing; drenching the side of his tunic from the wound which the priestess had inflicted on him so unexpectedly. There was no time to even press a hand against it, not as Ariadna took the responsibility of charging him before he could regain his strength.

  Ariadna did not let him begin what she was certain would have been a long list of gruesome ways to butcher her, all which would have meant nothing to her, anyway. She did not plan to die today, nor did she intend to let her remaining companions suffer a similar fate. Artus was already dead and Ariadna did not want to admit that she could not have done anything to prevent it. The flash of iron had Ariadna ducking underneath Kanra’s blade, which he had retrieved so suddenly. It had to end. It had to end now! She danced past the Dictator, hooking her foot around his ankle all the while, and she tugged at it hard; the adrenaline coursing through her body nearly sending her into a fit of tears a
s she felt him stumble. Now. Now. Now! Ariadna swung her body around to face Kanra, kicking her back leg behind her to narrowly avoid being knocked over herself by the dictator, as he too tried to unbalance her. The assassin sent her dagger up to meet Kanra’s face as he finally stumbled forward once more and the blade lodged under his chin, just above the delicate skin of his throat.

  From behind them both, Preeya choked on a scream and she clamped both hands over her mouth in time to muffle the sound escaping her. From where she remained sitting, she could hear the pattering of Kanra’s blood as it dripped from the wound the assassin had inflicted on him. Preeya could smell it, even from a distance. It was rich and metallic.

  Ariadna wanted to celebrate. To scream at the top of her lungs and spit on Kanra’s body as he lay before her, bleeding out. But her head spun and the wound of her back was painful enough to send her body sweating and trembling. She was exhausted. Ariadna felt the cool floor of the cave kiss her cheek, hardly processing the act of falling itself, and before her vision went blurry, she made out Preeya crawling towards her calling out her name.

  Ariadna! Ariadna! Ariadna…

  58 –

  Ariadna

  There were too many sounds around her for Ariadna to keep up with. As she danced in and out of consciousness, she could hear voices but, could not make out the words they spoke. Boots pressing against stone, yet the faces before her were blurring quickly. A cool hand taking hold of her face had Ariadna jolting at the sudden iciness kissing her skin; even then she could not make out who it was. Gods, she was exhausted. And the pain, she had never experienced anything like it – from both her wounds and exhaustion itself.

  “Ari!” a distorted voice called out to her. “Ariadna!”

  It took a moment longer for the assassin to crack her eyes open a little wider and she found Troian kneeling before her, looking to be in no better shape than Ariadna herself. His hands were covered in blood and the scent was making Ariadna feel more lightheaded than she already was.

  Troian had already seen what remained of Artus. He needed to look elsewhere, long enough for him to muster the courage to finally face the horrible truth. He was not sure he wanted to be reminded of how his Brother in Arms had met his end. Just a moment longer; that was all Troian was begging himself for. Then he would take a look if he really had to. Or if he really wanted to. His cheeks were already wet with tears and he did not bother holding them back as he worked; trying to stop the bleeding from the wound Kanra had inflicted on Ariadna’s back. He tore a piece of the Dictator’s tunic from his body and pressed it against Ariadna’s skin, hushing her as she hissed at the pain.

  “You’ll live, I can promise you that.” he told her. As he spoke, he checked for any broken bones which may have gone unnoticed. Thankfully, there were none.

  Ariadna did not have the strength to thank him. Yet she knew he did not expect her to. She needed to focus on breathing; or at least trying to breathe. Her lungs felt tight in her chest and Ari could taste blood lining the inside of her mouth. Even trying to spit it out was a pain. There came the sound of soft sobbing and all Ari could do was flick her gaze ahead, to find Preeya kneeling before her lover’s cold body.

  In her lap Preeya cradled Artus’ head, not caring how ghastly the sight was or how much blood had now soaked through her trousers. She felt the iciness of his skin melting into her fingertips and it only made her cry louder. Preeya pushed Artus’ blood-soaked hair from his eyes; her body trembling, and she rocked herself back and forth as she brought his head closer to her chest. All the while, the blood from Artus’ severed head was beginning to clot up, and it was already decaying slowly.

  Troian felt an ounce of courage build up inside him now, enough to draw closer to what remained of his good friend and brother-in-arms. With trembling hands he took hold of Preeya by the shoulders and gave her what was an attempt at a comforting squeeze. It did nothing to make her feel better and Troian, quite frankly, did not expect it to have done anything. He wiped his eyes of the tears which burned them and with one heavy sigh; he slung Artus’ body over his shoulders and found his feet. But not without struggling. He fought hard to keep his balance, even when he felt the weight of Artus’ body becoming too much and he swayed. Troian encouraged himself to keep breathing and he did not look at either of the women as he carried his friend’s body to the very slab which Preeya herself had almost died on.

  It was going to be a pathetic funeral for Artus but, it was the best Troian could do for him. This was no place to die in, let alone be buried in it. So Troian avoided such a thing entirely. He would not dig some hole for Artus to be buried in where his flesh would be eaten away by worms and his bones left to decay in such unholy grounds. Artus had no religion but, Troian did not doubt he would be offended if his own brother had left him buried in a place like this.

  “Troian?” Preeya began. She could not find her feet, nor could she muster the strength to look at Artus again. So she forced herself to crawl towards Ariadna instead and she helped the assassin sit up, allowing her to rest against her chest as she bit back any curse words against the pain coursing through her body. Preeya ran her now dirty fingers through the assassin’s hair and shushed her gently every time she hissed in pain.

  Around them all, the prisoners still hanging from the walls had fallen silent. Even their tears fell without the sound of sniffling or coughing accompanying them. They were not too sure what they were more upset over – having watched a brave man die trying to protect the woman he clearly loved, or that fact that their chance of freedom had likely died along with him. The prisoners did not assume the three people who remained would bother to cut them all loose, seeing as half of the prisoners were already too close death, and the three intruders were too weighed down with sadness at the loss of their friend to even bother glancing at those around them.

  “Hey! Cut us loose, please!” a man called out from where he had been strung up on the wall. The skin on his legs had been peeled back, and all that remained visible were clumps of blood from it that had already clotted up. It was a miracle he had not bled out already.

  “Please! Hey, you! Someone – cut us down, please!” another voice begged.

  Troian slammed his hand down against the slab on which his friend now rested on and let out a loud wail.

  “Shut up! Stop talking – the lot of you! Just be quiet – quiet, quiet… quiet!” he screamed. His face burned with a mixture of rage and sadness, his skin soaked from the tears which spilled down his face in continuous gushes. Retrieving a dagger from his belt, he sliced his palm without even wincing and clenched his fist over Artus’ body. Blood trickled down his wrist and droplets of blood finally spat down onto the dead mercenary’s fighting leathers.

  Preeya did not dare interrupt the funeral rites with even a sob.

  “In death, I honour you.” he whispered, struggling to make his words clear over his sobbing. “In death we’ll meet again, Brother.” Troian whispered, choking on both his words and the tears spilling down his face.

  Preeya could not even bear to watch. She had kept her eyes closed the entire time and her head angled away. Preeya did not want to see anything of the funeral. Even when Troian set a torch blazing and worked quickly to burn Artus’ body, the smell of flesh burning was enough for the priestess to know that it was done and Artus was gone.

  Troian was on his knees before he could even fully process falling and he watched with gleaming eyes as Artus’ body was wholly consumed by the flames. The heat of the fire did not force him back – it urged him to stay, to watch a little longer and to allow himself a chance to say goodbye properly. Troian was not sure what to say. Nothing could be said without him curling up into himself on the dirty ground, with his fingers buried deep in his hair and his face soaking wet again. He simply remained kneeling there and watching. Then, as if he sensed some danger yet to be faced, he leapt to his feet and slung one of Ariadna’s arms over his shoulder. He had forgotten how badly the assassin was injured b
ut, he did not apologise when Ariadna let out a cry as he helped her find her feet.

  “We need to go. We need to get out of here.” he told Preeya and together they both limped out of the cave, with the injured assassin dragging her feet in an attempt to keep up with them.

  59 –

  Troian

  The members of The Anari were an unwelcoming site, and it appeared they had been waiting for Ariadna and the others on the outskirts of the castle, weapons drawn and horses at the ready.

  Vinn’s eyes widened at the sight of a battered Ariadna and as he swung himself off his horse, he took a few steps closer to the trio as they approached. He swallowed hard. It seemed beating the woman did nothing to help discipline her and, with the state she was in now, Vinn decided she had already suffered enough – even if it was her own fault for having returned to Vhorgo in the first place. He could not contain a frown as Troian slipped away from the assassin’s side and approached him with his sword already out.

  “I suggest you turn around and walk away, before I bury my blade into your skull.” he threatened.

  As though knowing, or perhaps just guessing by the lack of a fourth companion, Vinn had the audacity to ask, “Your friend didn’t make it out? Never trust a mercenary to get a job done,”

  Troian sent a clenched fist against his cheek before Vinn could even finish the sentence and it gave him such pleasure to see the bastard assassin stumble back a few steps. He raised his sword against Vinn, only to feel a pair of hands grab him by the arm.

  “Troian, no.” Ariadna cried, having appeared beside him so suddenly he had not even noticed. When he turned to look at her, Ariadna felt her body begin to sway and she had to grab hold of him to keep herself from falling.

  The mercenary dropped his sword without a second thought and caught hold of Ariadna before she could hurt herself more. He kept her upright and was not pleased when Vinn took a step towards the young woman, with his arms outstretched.