Faces of Betrayal

by Daniele Cella

  She leapt right at them, but they plunged away in different directions, avoiding the sharp edge of her knife. The sound of tearing fabric followed, and Isao felt something jerk him back. He ducked, dodging a follow-up blow.

  Ranbelt thrust his knife arm out, but missed the female assassin, and fell. Isao struggled to stand straight, but fell back to his knees, overcome by dizziness. The woman stepped up to Ranbelt, but Isao threw his body toward her. She dodged him, stepping away. Ranbelt managed to swing up, stabbing her in the sleeve as Khalem and the male assassin grappled in the background.

  Isao panted from his place on the ground, aware in a very real sense that he might not make it out alive. His attempt to stay alive in the Imperial City – escaping the burning stable and the enemy soldiers – was nothing to compared to what was going on here.

  Dizzy or not, he had to attack with all he had left. He would make his father proud, even if these were his final moments.

  The woman lifted the ocarina back to her lips, making it hiss again. The resulting feeling of disorientation hit Isao like a stone in the chest. Ranbelt let out a strong yet desperate cry. Isao struggled to his knees and spied blood dripping from Ranbelt's shoulder.

  There was another grunt from Khalem, who stepped quickly from one foot to another, ducking a blow from the male assassin before falling down onto his side. The man swung his blade down, catching Khalem in his right arm. He shouted, jerking himself back from the blade and rolling onto his stomach.

  Isao threw himself at the male assassin and hit him with his body in the small of the back. The man fell forward, tripping over Khalem and buying both Isao and Khalem a moment to stand up, pressing their backs together again.

  "Khalem," Isao panted. "You're injured."

  "Flesh wounds."

  "Can you still fight?"

  "To my death."

  "So it may be, my friend," Isao murmured. "I will be right there with you."

  The woman locked her eyes on Isao. She lifted her palms, rolling her hands forward with her fingers. The air around her distorted, as if growing and shimmering, but oddly . . . sharp. With a flick of her wrists, a mass of air drove toward Isao, cutting toward him at a super speed.

  Isao turned to the side and lifted his jiang, exposing the flat outer side. The air mass slammed into much of him, but bounced off his blade and blew off to the side. Pain tore through Isao’s shoulder. He let out a cry and fell to his knees.

  "Sheng!" Khalem called as he stumbled over a rock.

  Ranbelt stopped the male assassin from kill Khalem with a dexterous swipe, slashing the man in the ribs. The man screamed and spun away.

  The woman stalked towards Isao. As she approached, Isao felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach. Death's beginning embrace, he imagined. Was his father still alive? If not, had he felt this way before he died too?

  The harder Isao struggled to right himself, the more he fell. Finally, the woman stood just out of arms’ reach, her palms held out. Time itself slowed down. The thudding of his heart slowed as well.

  This was it.

  The air distorted, rippling again. The razor-sharp edge appeared, speeding right toward him.

  Isao sucked in a sharp breath. It would be a quick death. At least he would have died fighting.

  A warrior's bellow came out of the glade.

  Like a tigress, Celty barreling forward towards the woman, her club held high over her head. She brought the club down and threw herself on top of the woman, tackling her.

  The deathly air dissipated. A fresh surge of hope streaked through Isao as he clambered to his feet. On the ground, Celty pulled out clumps of the assassin's hair as the two rolled. The woman escaped her embrace, darting to her feet. So did Celty.

  "Sheng!" Khalem screamed. "Keep fighting!"

  Celty dodged the thrust of the woman's knife, and attacked in return with a swing of her club.

  Khalem was upright now. Ranbelt fought the male assassin with surprising ease, parrying, ducking, and moving at one with his hunting knife.

  The woman and Celty faced each other, panting. Celty bared her teeth and snarled. "I was a slave!" She gripped the cudgel with white knuckles. "I will never, ever submit again!"

  Celty attacked, swinging the club.

  "Yes!" Ranbelt shouted as he ducked another swing from the male, who showed signs of tiring. "Go, tiger girl!"

  Khalem pounced into the fray against the male as well.

  In the midst of Celty’s flurry of swings, the woman hesitated for just a moment. The span of a breath was all that it took to give Celty the advantage.

  She swung to the right, missed, and then swung the club back in the opposite direction. The heavy end of the club caught the female assassin in the jaw. She fell to one knee in the grass.

  Celty advanced, swinging again. The club caught the woman in the ribs. A sharp crack broke the air. Isao dodged forward, stepping on the woman’s hand as she reached for her sword. Her eyes connected with his.

  Celty screamed, brought the club up over her head, and then pounded it down on the woman's exposed neck. Bones cracked, and the woman went limp. Celty hit her again and again.

  "Celty!"

  Isao reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. She stopped, breathing heavily. He squeezed hard, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Celty, it's me."

  She blinked, sucked in a long breath, looked at the woman, and then nodded. She stepped back, club swinging at her side.

  "She's dead. You've saved me. You . . . I can't believe it. You saved me, Celty."

  Celty's eyes widened. "But not Khalem!"

  The two spun to find both Ranbelt and Khalem still engaged with the male, who bled from the face. Just then he staggered, falling to the grass as well. Ranbelt slashed at his sword wrist. The man released his weapon with a deep cry of pain just as Khalem swung his sword. It lodged in the man's throat.

  The remaining assassin gurgled as blood bubbled up around the weapon. Khalem slid the sword free, and stepped back.

  Blood spurted from the wound in a reddish spray. The man slumped over, his blood pumping onto the soil.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. They stared at the two bodies, still in death.

  Ranbelt blinked. Isao reached over, feeling his injured shoulder. A series of thoughts brimming with gratitude and disbelief slipped through the prince at unusual speed.

  If Celty hadn't come, he'd be on the ground with them. He'd be dead.

  He forced his spinning mind to slow.

  Later. He'd think about all of this later. Right now they were injured and vulnerable. There could be more assassins hiding in the trees. There could be more . . . anywhere.

  Isao swallowed, staggering forward. "We must move," he said, rasping. "Leave. In case there are more. We must bandage what we can and get out of here."

  Ranbelt looked up, blinking. His bright garments were torn in several places, stained with blood. Sweat dropped down his weary face. He nodded once. "Yes. You're right."

  Khalem opened his mouth to reply, but collapsed, dropping to the grasses with a heavy thud.

  "Khalem!" Isao bellowed.

  He darted over, falling to his knees. The general grimaced before his expression grew slack.

  "Don't you pass out on me, Khalem!"

  "Sheng, I – "

  "Where are you hurting?" Isao asked, glancing over his body. Blood stained everything – all of Khalem's clothes. Much of his visible skin. His sword. "Khalem, this blood. Is it all yours?"

  "His," he muttered, gasping. "Some of it . . . is his."

  "Where does it hurt?"

  "Everywhere."

  "You have to do better than that, Khalem."

  Isao moaned, motioning to his shoulder with a weak jerk of his head. "There. Arm. At the . . . at the top."

  Isao peeled away the tattered shirt to find a deep black wound deep. He gulped. This was Khalem's sword arm. He'd almost had his arm cut off, yet he'd still managed to fight like a true Hiwan soldier.

&nbs
p; Isao quickly stuffed some cloth over it. "Bleeding. A lot," he murmured.

  Isao glanced up, right into Celty's violet eyes. "The bandages," he said. "They're in your bag. Get them for me. And as much water as you can."

  She nodded once and whirled around. Isao ripped his jacket off, tossing it to Ranbelt.

  "Tear that in strips. We have to stop the bleeding. Khalem, keep talking to me. I need you to stay conscious."

  "Thirst," Khalem whispered. "Thirsty."

  Celty appeared again and Isao pulled the water pouch from the top of her bag as she hastily rummaged through it for the bandages. With Isao’s help, Khalem took a long, slow draw of water. Then he leaned back, his eyes closed.

  Isao removed the cloth, then poured the rest of the water over the wound in Khalem’s arm. The general winced, but Isao ignored it.

  Celty passed him the bandages and a bunch of herbs. "Here, Sheng. These will help numb the pain. Pack them around the wound. The blood will seep through the skin."

  Isao met her eyes for a brief moment, pausing only a breath, feeling as if he saw the entire expanse of eternity in her endless violet eyes. “Celty, I am so happy to see you again. But . . . why did you come back?”

  She swallowed, seeming uncomfortable. “I just . . . I felt something bad.”

  “You felt it?”

  She gestured with a hand. “In the air. A smell or . . . I don’t know. I just…I know when bad things are about to happen.”

  “Yes,” Isao murmured. “You mentioned that before.”

  “I don’t always know what they are, I just know when they’re coming. I felt that when I was leaving. At first, I ignored it. But it’s like it is…pushed on me. Mind and soul. I had to come back. And then I saw what was happening.” She shrugged. “I had to help.”

  Isao reached over and squeezed her hand, wishing he could tell her how much she'd done for them. Without their fierce tiger girl, they all would have met their deaths. He smiled.

  “Thank you for what you did.”

  Isao turned back to his work of dressing the wound.

  "Well," Ranbelt said with a sigh, "I, for one, am glad you came back, tiger girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so surprised and seen someone fight with such a fierce spirit.” His eyes sparkled. “Tiger girl, indeed! Not so bad for facing death yet again. Although, between us, I'd prefer our first attackers."

  Celty snorted with a weak laugh, but Khalem chuckled. "Yet again," he murmured, holding up a fist with his other arm, "we stand strong."

  Isao worked on Khalem, temporarily bandaging every bleeding spot he could find. As soon as it was possible, the group slipped deeper into the trees, near the stream. Blood continued to bubble from Khalem's wounds, staining the bandages. Meanwhile, Celty dragged the two dead bodies together, then remained at their backs, watching the forest with a wary eye.

  Ranbelt cared for himself, cleaning his wounds with cool water.

  It wasn't until Isao leaned back, content with the best haphazard job he could manage on Khalem's wounds, that he realized the full extent of his fatigue.

  His head swam again. He wanted to sink into the ground and sleep forever. The ring and clash of swords still reverberated in his ears, but even that couldn't banish the soul-deep weariness in his mind.

  Celty caught Isao before he could fall.

  "Whoa, Prince," she murmured. "Let's take care of your arm now."

  With gentle motions, she cleaned and bandaged his wounded arm, wrapping it with pieces torn from her own clothes that she first soaked in the stream. When she finished, they stared at each other with grim expressions.

  "We need to get you and Khalem to Havin," she said.

  “We?” Isao asked, blinking. “But . . . what about your trip?”

  She pulled in a long, slow breath. “I can’t leave you now. Especially not now,” she said, gesturing to Khalem and then Isao’s injured shoulder. “I’m the only one who can really fight, and there is still a long way to go. My own adventure can wait. Once you are safe within Havin’s walls, then I’ll go out and explore more.”

  “Thank you again, tiger girl,” Isao murmured.

  She nodded once, turning away, clearly embarrassed by his attention. They glanced at Khalem, who dozed in the dappled sunlight.

  Ranbelt met their gaze from only a few paces away. He dropped his voice to a low whisper.

  "Khalem can move, but only very slowly. Celty aside," he said with a wry grin her direction, "none of us are in any shape to be fighting, and she can't fight for all three of us. If we meet anyone else on the path, we're in trouble."

  Isao nodded once, taking the warning in with a grim feeling deep in his belly.

  With Khalem badly wounded, that left Isao in full charge. All the leadership his father had taught him – the need for decisiveness in action; choosing the best for the good of all, not the one – came rushing to the front of his mind.

  Isao forced himself to step back and study the situation until he felt certain about the best option.

  "We must go," he said. "Even if we're slow. Even if we have to take turns carrying Khalem. There may be more coming after us to ensure we're dead. There may be more waiting right now. The Empire needs me to live and restore order. I refuse to die, and I refuse to allow Khalem to die for me. We go to Havin; that’s the only safe place for us right now. We go there, even if we have to crawl."

  A smile appeared on Ranbelt's face. Celty grinned too, reaching out to take Isao's hand with a warm, friendly clasp, the likes of which he'd never had – had never been allowed to have –before.

  Ren's hand would never have felt so warm and full of life.

  Ranbelt inclined his head. "Spoken like a true leader, Sheng Isao. Let us press on and save the fate of the Empire."

  "And hope that no one else falls upon us," Celty muttered, wielding her club back into her hands with a menacing smile.

  Rakesh

  The stunning emerald and marble city of Nagon was laid out before Rakesh in the glistening valley below.

  From his perch on the high bailey of the extravagant Nari Clan palace, he viewed the white marble structures lining the clean cobblestone streets. The Hundred Blossom Path surrounded the city, ringing it with bursts of color from rare, exotic flowers found nowhere else.

  Everything built in the Anpu nation shimmered, and held an air of easy elegance. But what held Rakesh’s gaze the longest was the gardens for which the Nari clan was known.

  The elegant gardens of Nari offered elegantly shaped bonsai trees, carefully tended flower patches, and clear, trickling streams. All this resulted from decades of manual labor, and the utter devotion of the Nari people.

  Under Rakesh’s feet, the palace’s rare azure crystals glittered in the sunshine. Although he stood too close to the crystals to be able to glimpse it for himself, he knew the pattern of the crystals created the intelligent face of a nine-tailed fox, his bushy tails splayed out behind the attractive face.

  The sound of a grunt diverted Rakesh from these thoughts. Giving into his instinct, he ducked. A leg whizzed through the air above his head. He reached out, slamming the heel of his hand into the back of a knee. The soldier fell, but used his momentum to shove the butt of his sword into Rakesh's shoulder. He grunted at the sudden pain, but dodged the sharp blade and straightened up to stomp his foot on the soldier's wrist. The sword clattered to the ground.

  Rakesh loomed over the soldier. "Close, but not close enough. Good work getting one hit in, though. At least you can boast that against me, unlike the others."

  The other soldiers who formed the fighting circle laughed. Rakesh grinned, then held out a hand. The fallen soldier – a young recruit who showed promising talent for hand-to-hand skills – accepted it with a wry smile. Rakesh pulled him to his feet and clapped him once on the back.

  "Next time."

  The soldier stepped off to the side, where the others congregated in a loose grouping. A bead of sweat trickled down Rakesh's back. The warm sun had turn
ed hot, although he didn't mind the friendly burn on his shoulders.

  "Lunch!" called out a voice. "More afterward."

  One by one, the soldiers sauntered toward the edge of the roof. They disappeared down the stone steps, each one etched with gems. Rakesh lingered behind, as he always did, to clear up the area.

  Silence followed in the wake of their departure. He paused, soaking it in, then gathered his wrap, wiped his face off – and froze.

  A familiar face appeared from the far stairs, peeking just above the roof with a playful, mischievous grin. Rakesh sucked in a breath when its owner crossed the rooftop with small, graceful steps, her silk dress billowing behind her in the gentle breeze. The lass moved quietly, quickly skirting out of sight of all those who might see her– except for Rakesh.

  She stopped within arm’s reach of Rakesh, a smile dancing on her lips. When she reached up to touch his cheek, the touch of her fingertips burned his skin.

  "Rak," she murmured, smiling.

  He lifted a hand, grazing her cheek with his knuckle. He clasped her hand in his own and pressed his cheek into it. "It has been too long."

  She grinned. "It has only been two days!"

  "Two days too long."

  "You act as if you were weak."

  "For you, I am."

  A scuffing sound caught their ears. They both froze.

  Rakesh’s eyes darted around as he grabbed her wrist. "Come," he said. "Over here. Let us have a moment of privacy. At least one. It will get me through to the next one."

  He tugged her to the other side of the roof, hiding them behind the base of an elegant spire that rose into the sky. Behind it sprawled a lush garden bedecked with emerald plants and vibrant flowers with petals as broad as a hand. She laughed when he hurried her through the paths and past a tinkling waterfall.

  "Rakesh!" she cried quietly, stepping over a short, burbling section of stream. "Where are you taking me?"

  "Somewhere quiet."

  "But it's quiet up here!"

  He winked at her over his shoulder. "And not nearly private enough."

  They slid behind a drape of ivy studded with white blooms. She paused, taking it in. "This is beautiful. How have I not seen it before?"