"Very good, Namida," she heard her father say as though he were at the other end of a long tunnel, so focused she was on the fight at hand. "I only wish that you would use that power of yours for the right cause."
Namida snarled, pushing back against Kilish and sending one of her blades clattering to the ground. She quickly kicked it away, sending it skittering over the rocks away from their fight—and any unwanted audience that might see fit to try and get it back to its wielder. "What gives you the right to judge what cause I should fight for? Your cause is the one that left me orphaned and crippled!"
Zuwa sighed. "My dear child, can't you see that you are neither of those things?" He spread his arms in her peripheral vision as though to indicate himself. "If you would only join me, we could be a family again. And you are no cripple, the way you wield your sword...and your magick. You would be a valuable addition to our cause..."
"Damn your cause!" she shouted, knocking Kilish further back with her rage-fueled blow. The older woman grunted as she stumbled, desperately trying to keep her footing.
"You need to open your eyes, my child. This country needs a new leader more desperately than you know. You would follow the queen that hides herself away from her country while it tears itself apart from the inside, who fears only for her own life rather than the lives of her people?"
"No, I wouldn't," she growled. "But I won't follow Kaska, either. I...will destroy them both!"
Kilish's other sword went flying from her hand, and she fell to her knees before her opponent. There was fear in her eyes as Namida stood over her, chest heaving from exertion as she brought her sword up for the final, killing blow.
"Kilish, what do you think you're doing?" her father shouted. "Get up!"
It was the last thing Kilish heard before her head was separated from her shoulders. Her father cried out as her head and body tumbled to the now blood-soaked ground independent of each other, her head turning to him, face now frozen in a permanent look of fear. He let out a wail of anguish and charged at her. She barely registered her own father slipping away into the remnants of the camp as she became locked in combat once more, dodging the unwieldy great sword that Kilish's father brandished against her.
Namida was distracted from her opponent by the sound of metal plunging into flesh; the sound of choking. She quickly disarmed the man before her, sending him stumbling backwards with a kick to the chest as she turned to check that her would-be lover was okay.
Only to find him kneeling unarmed before his foe, his bleeding hands gripping the sword running through his chest.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"DARWE!" Namida shrieked, and suddenly, it was like nothing else mattered. Not the years of training she had endured just to reach this moment. Not the thirst for vengeance that had driven her all of those years after her village had been destroyed. Not the betrayal and heartbreak she had suffered at the hands of Kilish and Momal, and even Master Dorozi. Not the hatred for the war and Kaska and all of his Fate-damned followers. All that mattered was Darwe, and the need to reach him; to protect him; to save him. She turned to run towards him, but he was looking at her and shaking his head, opening his mouth to warn her of something she didn't care what.
Pain blossomed from the back of her head, and she saw stars as she collapsed forward onto the ground at the same time Darwe's opponent withdrew his sword, sending the man she loved sprawling forwards onto the dirty ground, clutching at the yawning wound to try and stem the blood flow as it seeped out of him at an alarming rate.
Kilish's father kicked Namida in the ribs, forcing her to roll over onto her side, clutching them as she glared up at him. His lip curled in distaste as she glared up at him with a spiteful look.
"What's the matter? Not going to say your last prayers?" The dirty man sneered. Namida clutched at her bruised ribs, trying to catch her breath so she could curse the man who would see her dead.
"Get...out..."
He cocked his head to the side, cupping his ear mockingly, as though he actually cared to hear what she had to say. "Sorry, what's that?"
"Get...out of my way!" She slashed out with the blade hidden in her boot, slicing the man across the face. He stumbled backward, crying out in pain as he clutched his severed eye.
And suddenly, the world was on fire.
Men were screaming, thrashing about as the flames consumed them. They screamed and ran and dove, rolling to try and quell the flames, but nothing they did seemed to work. Namida was blind to all but the red.
All but the red—and Darwe.
Namida crawled as best she could with her one arm towards Darwe's fallen form in the midst of the chaos. He lay curled on his side, both hands pressed against his open wound, but there was too much blood soaking into the earth around him, into his clothes, staining his hands like spilled wine. Her vision grew blurry with tears as she reached for him, her fingers tangling in his matted braids as she kissed him deeply, urgently, for the first time.
"Don't leave me, Dar," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the screams of the dying in the flames all around them. "You know I won't make it without you."
He gave her a weak smile, but she could see the fear flickering behind his expression; the fear of death, the fear of going alone to meet Fate in the eternal thereafter. "Yes, you will. That's part of what I love about you." He moved one of his blood-slicked hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks, replacing them with sickening streaks of warmth. She didn't want to think of what a grisly sight it must be. She grabbed his hand, kissing him fiercely once more. She needed him to know how she felt.
"I love you too," she whispered, the words finally spilling out of her after so long of being repressed. She hated that she was only saying them now, when she was about to lose him. She wished she had said them so much sooner, but there was no way for her to change it; no way to go back in time and tell him everything she had felt for him in the last fifteen years, how he had gone from being someone she hated, to her brother, to her friend, and finally to the man she loved but would never let herself be with. She wanted to explain to him how she had only ever pushed him away to try and save him from herself, and when that hadn't worked, she had simply made herself an island out of the fear of one day losing him. The fear of just this situation ever coming to pass. When she opened her mouth to speak, though, he hushed her gently.
"I know," he said, and the twinkle in his eyes spoke of the love he had for her, of the fact that he had known all this time of her feelings, even though he had never said a word. Her breath hitched in her throat, but then he was pushing her away.
"Go. You need to go. If you don't Kaska is going to escape, and this will never end," he said, suddenly filled with urgency as he pushed her away. She fought his hands, slippery and weak as they were, trying to reach for his wound.
"Let me—just let me try—" If she could just get her powers to spark, she could at least cauterize the wound! She tried to focus on her hand, on creating a flame, on creating something, anything—
An inhuman roar ripped through the air.
"WHO CHALLENGES KASKA THE MAIMED IN HIS OWN LAND?"
She couldn't face him, not now, not when she hadn't produced a spark for Darwe, but the flames around them were falling and the stench of burnt flesh was overwhelming as she struggled to her knees and turned to survey the carnage, Darwe's hands pushing her weakly away.
And there he was; Kaska the Maimed. He stood atop the hill overlooking the bloody, burning battlefield and sneered at his own dying men, his towering figure looming like some ferocious beast on two legs. His hair was long, wild and untamed, and the gashes running down the right side of his face were interrupted only by the empty eye socket there, a dark void that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His three-fingered right hand clenched around the pommel of his sword as he lifted it lazily, his single, bright yellow eye catching on hers.
"You must be the girl Kilish spoke of," he said with a sick smile, twirling his blade absent-mind
edly with nimble fingers. She refused to let the action intimidate her, as he must have hoped it would. "The little girl with one arm who fancies herself a swordsman...a pity you made it this far just to be proven wrong." It certainly didn't look like he thought it was a pity, if the bloodlust and excitement gleaming in his eye were any indication. He was itching for a fight, for a challenge. Any other time, Namida would have been more than happy to provide that, but...her eyes flicked back to Darwe, who tried to smile for her, but it turned out more like a grimace.
"Go," he said. "There's nothing more you can do for me. You need this," he whispered. But he was wrong. She didn't need this, she needed him. She could still save him, if she could just get her Fate-damned powers to work—
There was no time to think. Kaska was rushing down the hill, his boots skidding on the loose soil. Even in the badlands, the footing was no good. Namida grit her teeth and hefted her sword, running to meet her opponent. If he insisted on bringing the fight to her, the least she could do was keep the fight away from Darwe.
Kaska snarled. "You think you can face me?" he spat as the sound of steel meeting steel rang out across the plateau. "I was wielding a blade before you were even a lump in your mother's belly."
It was Namida's turn to growl. "You don't get to speak of my mother," she hissed as she dodged a kick aimed for her kneecap. So Kaska wasn't above fighting dirty, she thought. It was a good thing she wasn't, either. She dodged a sweep of his blade, but couldn't dodge the hand that was suddenly grabbing at her braid, holding her still, her neck exposed as the warlord she had been hunting for so long raised his other arm, blade poised to fall in such a way that in moments, she would quite literally lose her head.
"Any last words, worm?" he hissed, his foul breath causing her to crinkle her nose.
"Actually, yes," she said with a malevolent grin. "Never underestimate your opponent." She drove the blade in her boot into his foot, causing the warlord to yell; a wordless, angry sound as she dropped to the ground, tucking into a roll to dodge the sword that sought her flesh. Behind him now, she sprung to her feet once more, her empty sleeve flapping as she readjusted her grip on the hilt of her thin sword. Sin-Seeker had seen the fall of many a supporter and spy for Kaska through the years it had been in her possession, and she uttered a silent, desperate plea to Fate and the Ancients that it would not fail her now as she hefted it once more, Kaska quickly recovering from the surprise and pain of his injury as he whirled to sneer at her once more, the blood seeping from his boot.
"Oh, you've done it now, you wretch," he hissed, sliding another sword out of the sheath she hadn't noticed strapped across his back, twirling it experimentally in his hand as his eyes flashed with anger and eagerness. "I'll kill you slowly."
He was upon her in a whirl of blades, his teeth bared as she struggled to dodge and dip and parry, trying to focus her fear into her blade as it began to glow red-hot. Kaska snarled as his blades sparked, clashing against hers over and over.
"What devilry is this, woman?" he barked. "You won't throw me off with your petty tricks!"
She didn't bother telling him it wasn't a trick, too focused on not letting him land a blow on her, sure that if he did, it would all be over. It was all she could do just to keep him from slipping past her defense, let alone try and land another blow on him. Now that he was no longer playing with her, she was struggling to keep up with the frantic pace of his swings. But wait—there! She could tell that Kaska was starting to tire as well, his footwork becoming sloppy. And if she could just turn enough to back him towards the patch of earth beside him...
She drove forward suddenly, catching him off-guard as she used a burst of momentum to speed her parries and force him to stumble backwards as the soil crumbled and sank at the sudden pressure of his weight. The fury that poured out of her at the movement caused a pulse of bright heat to surge through her blade—lopping his own in half. His shock—and yes, she was sure that was a glint of fear in his eye that was only moments ago so sure and prideful—rendered him motionless, and she didn't give him the chance to recover as she swiped with her blade at his right hand; his main sword hand.
His scream echoed as his fingers flopped, useless and bloody, to the sand. Kaska dropped the ruined stub of his second sword, the dull thud of it hitting the ground echoed shortly as he dropped to his knees, clutching his ruined sword hand.
"How," he panted, "how did you—what are you?"
She stared at him, unsure why she felt nothing at having the man she'd wanted to kill for over half of her life knelt prostrate before her, weaponless and desperate. Surely, she should feel some sense of accomplishment, of relief, of pride; something. Yet her heart and mind were blank, like unused parchment. It was as though she was unable to process that this was actually happening. Or perhaps she had truly become the cold-hearted killer she'd once feared she would. It left her with a nagging feeling that she was missing something, that something was not quite right about the situation. It almost seemed as though she had defeated him too easily. Was this really the vicious warlord she had sought all those years? Was this really the one responsible for ordering the destruction of her village, of hundreds of innocents, in nothing more than the pursuit of power? There was a doubt that ate at her, saying this was not what she had come here for, but she could not help but feel the need to finish it anyway. She had come all this way, after all, and Kaska was a rabid dog that needed to be put down, whether he was the end-game or not. She stared straight into his pained brown eyes, knowing her own must be flashing red as the fear crept back into his face.
"I am the one who will see you pay for all that you've done in the name of your own selfish greed."
And then, the flames engulfed him.
The sound of his screams was swallowed up by the roar of the fire as it burned so hot it flashed blue at its core. Namida watched resolutely, not daring to look away as she bore witness to the death of the man. To the death of her ambition. To the death of the one desire that had kept her going all these years. But no...no, that was not entirely true. "Darwe," she breathed, whirling back to scour the fields for the man she loved.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
The sharp sound caught her attention, dragging her reluctantly from her search as she sought the source of the applause. Ah, there—up and to the left, standing on a shelf in the cliff face, overlooking the fields of the one-sided war she had waged; the burnt and bloody bodies riddling the soil. The only one that was important, though, was the one she couldn't seem to find. She clamped down on the rising panic, forcing herself to appear calm and aloof before the stranger, his sweeping brown robes pulled low over his face, concealing his identity. The markings in the Old Language embroidered into the fabric, though, rather marked him for what he was: a mage.
"You've made quite the mark, haven't you, child?"
She bristled at the flippant term. "Have I?" she replied, her tone biting and sarcastic. "I hadn't noticed."
She watched in shock as the mage disappeared in a curl of black smoke. Hot breath whispered against the back of her neck, and she whirled to find him standing there, his shadowed face mere inches from her own. She bristled, resisting the urge to take a step back. Somehow, she felt as though that would be admitting defeat to the intimidating stranger. A slow smirk curled across his lips as his hood shifted, the lower half of his face coming into the light. His skin was pale; paler than any Solan's or Memirian's. That meant he must be from the north-eastern continent; the one that had once been called Nath'Reen. She tried to recall what it was called now, but could not. All she remembered was the whispers she had heard in the taverns of the unrest across the sea—of the fact that the crown princess had been made an outlaw, and the oppression from the monarchy there that was slowly breaking its people. She didn't care much for the irksome rumors of the unrest across the sea when she had enough bloodshed and despair to deal with in her own homeland. Now, faced with a mysterious mage from the north-east, she found
herself wishing she had held onto every scrap of information she could have, even if it might not have proved helpful to her now. Her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, but she didn't bother to raise it. If he wanted to, she thought, he could likely sever her hand from her wrist with a flick of his fingers, if the electric aura of power he gave off was anything to base her judgment off of. The mage breathed in deeply, as though he were savoring the smell of death and smoke that hung heavy in the air around them.
"Namida, daughter of Zuwa and Lallur, born of the since-destroyed village of Endothar, late in the season of Korrin." She couldn't hide the way her fingernails bit into the fabric wrappings on the hilt of her sword as he spoke of things he had no way of knowing in such a succinct, matter-of-fact tone. Who was this mage? She could feel the cold sweat prickling at the back of her neck. "Raised by the swordsman Dorozi, also known as Dorozi the Unbound, after the destruction of your village." He flashed his teeth in what she thought might be a feral attempt at a grin. It came across as more menacing than anything. "Shall I go on?"
"I believe you've made your point," Namida said coolly, as though he hadn't just put the fear of Fate into her. The question remained, though. "Who are you? And why are you here?"
The man began to raise his hand, and she immediately slid back into a defensive posture out of pure reflex, even as she thought to herself that there was no real point in doing so thanks to the man's display of some of the most powerful magick she'd borne witness to just moments ago. His wicked grin widened as he finished raising it to pull back his hood, revealing a handsome face framed by tousled, long brown locks. It wasn't, however, the single beaded braid in his hair that traditionally signified an accomplished warrior that caught her eye; nor was it his strong jaw, or the slight bent angle to his nose that signified it had been broken and never set quite right. No, it was his eyes that drew her own. The two-toned eyes both intrigued and frightened her, because they reminded her of something her mother had taught her once, long ago. The irises were sky blue, with thick rings of gold around the pupils—the colors of the original ruling family of Nath'Reen; the family chosen by Fate to govern that land, the most vast of the four continents.
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