by Jacinta Jade
Once they were all in the spaced-out formation again, their weapons ready at their sides, Herrin moved one or two of the units around to even up the numbers, then he gestured grandly, his usual lethal grace evident even in that simple movement. ‘And now, to put your skills to the test. Units eight and twelve, stay where you are. The rest of you, move off to the side.’
Siray obediently moved away with the others, wondering just what they were going to witness now.
Once they were clear, Herrin turned his attention back to the two units remaining. ‘A challenge now, to see who was paying the most attention this morning. Using your weapons, you must disable the other team. First unit to incapacitate the other is the victor. Or, the unit with the last person standing.’
Siray merely glanced at Herrin, then turned her gaze on the captives standing there. She knew she should have been shocked at the methods he was prepared to use. Instead, her blood was heating again as she eagerly awaited Herrin’s command for the battle to commence.
Furthermore, the captives who were about to engage each other didn’t look worried at all. They looked … keen. Calculating. Focused.
‘Begin.’
The fight started slowly, the two units circling each other as they each weighed up their opponents. Each individual seemed to pick out a target in the opposing unit, and Siray grew almost impatient for them to get into it. Then one captive leapt forwards to engage another, and this was the move that made all the rest of them jump in.
The fight was short and vicious, with one unit demonstrating considerably more skill in wielding their wooden staffs than the other. At the end, three captives from the winning unit remained standing, two with various cuts and bruises and one limping. On the ground were their other two members and all of the other unit, some of them unconscious and some of them injured and knowing better than to get back up.
Herrin sauntered over, his grey-blue eyes sharp. ‘Well done, unit eight.’ He waved his arm. ‘Now, out of the way. Units six and eleven, help move the injured off, then return.’
Upon hearing both her unit and Melora’s called, Siray felt her muscles go taut. She was ready for this. Had been primed all day to fight the sneering, curly-haired female.
Working with Zale, Siray quickly lifted and carried one of the injured captives off to the side, unceremoniously dropping him quickly to the sand before the space where the other units, including Wexner’s, stood watching.
Then Siray returned with her staff, moving quickly to take up a central position facing off against the members of unit eleven across the sand. Directly across from Melora. Adrenaline was singing through Siray’s veins as her focus narrowed to centre on the stunning but mocking face that gazed back at her, the hardness in the other female’s gaze echoing a ruthlessness that Siray could feel rising within her.
This was her chance to take the other female out—a female that wanted something that belonged to Siray. Melora had tried to seduce other males away from her previously—Zale … And Deson, before he had died … Siray wanted to give Melora a final lesson that she shouldn’t even look at Zale, or any male that Siray might be considering for her own.
So Siray didn’t take her eyes from Melora as her friends fell into position around her.
Herrin folded his arms, his muscled figure languid yet commanding. ‘Begin.’
Siray exploded into movement, her heart already racing in anticipation as she sprinted towards Melora, her feet carrying her swiftly across the sand as her hands nimbly spun her weapon and began to draw it back for her attack.
Across from her, Melora had also broken into a run, and the space separating them narrowed as the female drew ahead of her own unit.
They were the first pair to meet in the middle, their staffs coming together with a sharp crack as they both attempted to land a crushing first blow, the sound eliciting mutters from the watching captives.
Quick as thought, Siray twirled her staff, the movement disengaging Melora’s weapon from hers, and brought one end around to spear forwards in sync with a deep lunge, before she followed up with a wide swing.
Melora deftly dodged the first attack and turned her shoulder to face Siray, her own staff spinning around to form a thin vertical wall just out from her side to block the next blow. Then she flipped her staff again to the horizontal and adjusted her grip, so that the next time she swung, it was almost the entire length of the staff coming at Siray’s head rather than just half of it. A bold strike, it was also one that was hard to dodge, due to the increased reach of the attack.
Knowing this, Siray decided to adapt a strategy she had learned that morning, and she avoided the impending blow not by retreating, which Melora might have expected, but by planting her feet and leaning deeply backwards into an arch, her free hand reaching up and over her head to brace her palm against the warm sand of the arena. Barely had she sunk into that position when she felt the whisper of air from the passage of Melora’s weapon over the slightly exposed skin of her toned midriff, gasps sounding from the other captives.
Yet Siray was already moving again, even as the momentum of Melora’s swing continued on past her. Tensing her body, she pushed up powerfully from the sand with her hand, the strong muscles of her arm, shoulder, and back working together to launch her upright. And as Siray swiftly straightened up from her arch, the weapon still gripped in her other hand came around in a low sweep, and she stepped forwards with the leg on the same side to add further power to her counterstrike, swinging hard as she aimed for the nerve on the outside of Melora’s thigh.
The wooden staff made a loud thwack as it connected with her opponent, and Siray felt the impact of the blow reverberate up through the length of her weapon. Yet the sound of Melora’s growl at the hit was the most satisfactory part of the strike.
The blow also did something to Siray—it made her more eager to continue, to see her opponent on the ground before her, begging for mercy. So she eagerly moved into a new attack, her pulse pounding in time to her movements.
Yet Melora had rapidly shifted, even as she managed her pain, and was now twirling her own staff, bringing it down to trap Siray’s successfully.
Aggravated, Siray scowled and retreated a step to free her weapon.
Mistake.
Melora anticipated the move, and as Siray stepped away, the female brought her staff up and around over her head, then angled it for a strike at Siray’s temple.
Despite seeing the blow coming, Siray judged in that instant that her staff was positioned too low to raise it in time to block the incoming attack. So with defence impossible, she decided to attack again. It was a strategy she never would have considered previously, but now she felt a driving urge to win, to use whatever means were at her disposal. So, ducking her head, she leapt forwards beneath the falling staff of her opponent, tackling Melora around the waist with one arm, her other hand still holding her own weapon.
They went down hard, rolling in the sand and then kicking and punching each other as they both tried to gain the advantage. Siray’s knuckles flared in pain as she landed a violent hit against Melora’s cheek, then she gasped as the other female’s foot buried itself deep into her midsection.
When they both happened to roll away from each other at the same time, causing a little room to open up between them, Siray brought her free hand up to join the other on her weapon, then rolled back quickly and used her momentum to swing the staff with both hands at Melora, who was also still on the ground.
Wood met wood with a deafening crack, and Siray rose to her knees before she pushed up from the ground, leaping onto her feet, all while trying to land another blow. Melora was just as fast to gain her feet, though her balance was affected by the hit she had taken earlier.
And as Melora began to retreat a step at a time, Siray grinned, the pounding in her veins urging her to push herself still harder, to win this, quickly. She doubled her efforts, paying no mind to the stinging in her hands as she twirled her weapon before her, forcing Melora
back yet another step. This was what she had wanted to do from the first—to fight against those who would harm her. And now she was finally getting to do just that.
As Melora reluctantly retreated another step, Siray followed, raising her staff for a final blow as she sneered superiorly at her inferior opponent.
‘Siray!’
The desperate shout came from behind her, and Siray turned her head just enough to track who it was that had called her name, her eyes registering the faces of allies, enemies, and those of Master Herrin and the gaping captives. That glimpse saved her life, as she spotted and dodged a potentially lethal strike from a male in Melora’s unit. The male’s weapon swept by so close that Siray actually felt it brush against her hair as it whipped down past her skull.
Yet as fast as Siray was, even she couldn’t avoid the impending blow completely, so she twisted her head and neck away, bringing around her shoulder to bear the brunt of it instead. The crack of the staff connecting with the top of her shoulder was loud in her ear, and although pain exploded in her shoulder, radiating up her neck and down through her arm, she was barely slowed by it.
Indeed, the pain only made her angry, and she ignored the injury as she stepped neatly sideways around the advancing male, effectively putting both him and Melora in front of her.
And help was coming. From the corner of her eye, Siray could see Genlie rushing towards her, batting away the random attacks of other opponents as she hurtled across the sand, her shoulder-length blonde hair flying back from her face.
Melora, who had only been retreating from Siray as part of the ruse to distract her, now leapt back into the fight, apparently eager to use the brief advantage of numbers to take her opponent down.
So Siray began shuffling back, circling further around to put her back squarely towards the onrushing Genlie. As she moved, she whipped her staff around and inverted the weapon with a neat spin, aiming the tip at the male’s groin.
Predictably, he whipped his own blade around to the defensive and turned his body side-on to minimise the target.
Using this reaction to her advantage, Siray raised her hands on her staff and swung its bottom tip back up and around in a blurring arc, her arms straining as they hefted the entire length of the weapon with speed. The staff connected solidly with the side of the male’s head. He dropped like a stone and Siray smiled with satisfaction.
Then Melora was there, glaring at Siray as the female went all in—desperately attempting to gain the upper hand.
But she was too late—Genlie had arrived.
Side by side, Genlie went low while Siray went high, their combined attack giving Melora two choices. Stand and try to defend herself against a dual attack, or back off. For a moment, Siray thought and hoped that Melora might be stupid enough to stand her ground. But then the female began retreating.
Siray’s hope turned into annoyance, and she was about to begin to circle around to Melora’s other side in order to split her attention between her and Genlie, when another shout came from behind her. Siray whipped her head to the side and back again, the swift glance allowing her to see that there was no attack coming up behind her. Annoyed at the brief distraction, she refocused on Melora.
But then Genlie surprised her. Also hearing the shout, Genlie had also turned to assess the threat too. Unlike Siray, Genlie hadn’t then turned back to continue the fight. Instead, it was like she had completely forgotten Melora existed, and she left Siray and hurried away.
Siray’s anger burned hot at the desertion, but her emotion at the betrayal still wasn’t equal to the simmering hatred she held for Melora. Pushing Genlie’s actions aside as something to be dealt with later—like giving her a sound beating, perhaps—Siray refocused on Melora.
It was an easy thing to do, with Melora’s expression turning from one of surprise at Genlie’s prompt departure to a spreading grin.
That grin snapped something in Siray, and she threw herself forwards, all self-regard forgotten as she let her anger drive her, give her new strength. It felt good to give in to it, a small part of her realised, as she spun her staff in a blurred circle to crush her opponent’s throat.
Yet Melora managed to parry the blow at the last instant, using a deft flick of her staff to knock Siray’s aside.
But Siray’s temper was growing exponentially, the heat of it filling her mind and driving her body. She wanted to end this female who had challenged her, who thought she could compete.
But first she wanted to see her bleed, beg for her life, and announce that Siray was her better.
The look on Melora’s face as Siray launched herself bodily through the air towards her would have been worth the risk of the move itself, if Siray had had the awareness to notice it. But she was too focused to register small details anymore as her mass flew through the space between them and landed fully on the other female, winding Melora and tipping her weight back, until she went sprawling backwards to the ground, Siray landing atop her.
For a moment, Melora lay there unmoving, stunned by the impact and gasping as she tried to regain her breath.
Siray didn’t hesitate but used that instant to spin her staff around her body and press part of its length against Melora’s throat. Brutally holding it there, she applied more and more pressure as Melora struggled, trying to toss Siray off by bucking her hips.
Siray only leaned more of her weight forwards and exerted still more force.
Melora’s movements began to slow as her face slowly turned red, and the female gave up on trying to dislodge Siray and instead attempted to push the weapon away from her throat as her need for air grew.
As Siray’s pulse continued to pound, Melora’s face started darkening to purple, her movements growing weaker with every moment, until her attempts to fight Siray off were reduced to almost nothing.
When Melora’s eyes finally began to close, Siray allowed herself a small, victorious smile, one she hoped the female saw before she passed out.
And when Melora’s entire body went slack, Siray relented for just a breath … and then wondered why. She glanced up towards Master Herrin, who was looking at her curiously, but who hadn’t yet moved to stop her. I can kill her now, she thought, and be done with it.
So Siray leaned forwards, a smile spreading across her face as she moved her staff aside and grabbed either side of Melora’s head.
CHAPTER TEN
‘RRRAAGGH!’
The sound of Genlie’s battle cry startled Siray, and she released her grip on Melora’s skull, her intention to snap the female’s neck forgotten as her friend’s yell reached her.
The first thing she saw upon turning was Genlie fighting fiercely. Her anger, which had stirred earlier when her friend had abandoned the fight with Melora, returned, but it was somewhat balanced now by the realisation of what she was seeing.
Genlie was battling with a viciousness that was unequalled by anything Siray had yet seen in her travels. And the reason behind this phenomenon quickly became evident when Siray identified who it was half kneeling on the ground behind Genlie, one hand to his head.
Kovi was down.
This was such a surprise that Siray actually stood up, still poised over Melora, gaping there for one breath before she got a hold on herself and launched herself away from Melora’s unconscious form and back into the fray. After Wexner and Baindan, Kovi was one of their best fighters—he lived and breathed combat.
Running across the sand towards her friend, Siray watched as Genlie battled Kovi’s opponent back, her mate attempting to push himself up to his feet, tottering slightly. When he pulled his hand away from his head, Siray, mere paces away, saw that it was covered in blood.
‘Stay down!’ she hissed at him, promptly flicking the end of her staff out at his legs just before she jumped into the fray with Genlie, causing Kovi to stumble and land on his backside. For all intents and purposes, Kovi was out.
This time it was Siray who moved up beside Genlie and provided her assistance against a male
who was both tall and broad. In fact, he dwarfed both of them and, quickly recovering from the surprise of Genlie jumping in between him and Kovi, was raining down blow after blow, the force behind each of his attacks evident with the thunderous crack of his weapon against Genlie’s.
But Genlie’s defence remained graceful and sure. Even if she wasn’t attacking, she wasn’t giving any ground. And as Siray stepped in, she timed her own attack with Genlie’s and went straight for a low strike at the male’s genitals, just as he moved to slam the end of his staff violently against Genlie’s head.
Two things happened then—Genlie intercepted the male’s strike, but the force of it still made both her and the male’s weapons bounce back to hit her in the head, and Siray’s assault connected.
The male roared in agony as Siray drove home the blow with a whiplike force, some of the watching captives wincing as they observed the strike. And as the male cried out his pain to the dome of the arena high above, Siray flicked her leg and hip up and around, catching him square on his lowest rib with a brutal kick.
Retracting her leg and letting her body continue the spin, Siray twisted through a complete circle, dropping her leg back down to the ground as she spun the end of her staff back out and around the male’s leg on the same side. Stepping forwards, she used the leverage of her weapon to sweep his foot out from beneath him.
The male crashed down to the sand, and Genlie was poised above him in the next instant, a bruise on her head already appearing as she pointed the tip of her staff at the male’s throat.
‘Go on, move,’ Genlie growled, daring the male, her rage at the vicious attack on her mate still evident.