“Defend yourself, or be cut down where you stand,” she snarled. Shawna was so viciously tired of this bastard's cultured words. She thought of her father, and the sight of him with blood running down his shirt, trying his best to say one last thing to her. She remembered the look in his eyes.
She drew that memory around her like armor.
“Let me share a bit of truth with you, woman,” Grant said, ducking behind his shield and stepping forward with his blade leveled in her direction. “You and your people are doomed. You might kill me, but I have too many men for you to escape. Your fight is admirable, but stupid.”
“Gods above, don't you ever shut your bloody mouth?” she growled.
He opened his mouth to answer, but she quick-stepped toward his shield and feinted with her right blade, forcing him backwards. He ducked behind his shield and stepped away, holding his sword ready to strike if she tried to get inside his guard. Shawna pressed, tapping his shield with her blades in a lazy attack, trying to keep the man on his heels. Men were scrambling around the deck in the chaos, magic was flying around, and the sea was going mad. If she could make the man stumble, then he would die.
Grant, though, must have sensed what she was doing. He rolled away to her left, and sent a parting slash at her torso. She slipped aside and readjusted her stance. It appeared that he was much better than the men under his command. Shawna showed him her teeth and slid his sword wide of her belly as he thrust, then skipped out of range of his shield as he tried to catch her with the rim.
He pressed his attack, forcing her to parry his sword and slip away from his shield. Shawna tried a few counterattacks, but the man loomed over her when he was close, and the shield kept him well protected. He was able to keep his legs out of range, and if she ducked too low he would be able to trap her with his shield. Shawna kept his blade from getting too close to her, and stepped away from him, trying to give the impression that he was backing her into a corner. She feinted left and right, as if she was looking in vain for an exit, and backed closer to the railing.
Grant took the bait, rushing in to pin her against the rail with his shield.
Shawna threw herself to the right, rolling away from his sword arm, and whipped out with one of her blades as she went. She felt a light tug against her wrist and heard the colonel grunt in surprise, but it couldn't have done much more than graze him. She came up and gained her feet as Grant pushed himself from the railing and took another defensive stance.
“You're quick,” he said, gesturing to the shallow cut she had left across the side of his leg.
“You're not terribly slow,” Shawna smiled, “but you could be faster.”
“We both know that when I catch you, you're dead.”
“You seem to be taking your time getting it done.” Shawna showed the man her teeth.
Grant growled something unintelligible, and came for her with his sword.
***
Bethany huddled into the corner of D'Jenn's cot, watching the door to the cabin with wide, fearful eyes. Her magic blazed inside of her, a storm of noise that made no sound at all. She could hear—or feel, she wasn't sure—what Dormael and D'Jenn were doing up there. It was like listening to musicians playing in the street, trading flourishes of their skill. Bethany had no idea how to make most of it out, and was too paralyzed to try, in any case.
He was up there. She knew it.
Her magic—her Kai, D'Jenn had said—sent her impressions of the people on deck. She would get a flash in her mind of the last burning thoughts of a crewman, or the murderous intentions of a Red Sword. Bethany had felt Shawna—focused and bright—only moments before, and she had also felt the man she was fighting. Though her magic hadn't awakened until recently, she couldn't mistake the impression that her power sent to her of him. He was a dark cloud, an inky darkness, gilded over with a golden face. He was the type to smile and show you kindness...but then his hands would come.
She knew him like she knew the feeling of an empty stomach.
When she'd realized who he was, she had drawn her knees to her chin and huddled into the corner. Her heart beat into her ears, and she couldn't take her eyes from the door. Gnawing fear gripped her spine, and she just knew that he would burst through the door at any moment. He would take her back with him, and this dream she had been living would be over.
Bethany began to feel sick.
“No,” she whispered, pulling her knees to her mouth and praying the door would stay shut. “Please, please, please no.” She wasn't sure if anything could hear her. Bethany had heard people talk about the gods, and a kind old man had once told her stories about them, but she didn't think they listened to little girls. She had tried so many times to talk to them, but they never listened.
That kind old man had starved to death in the cold, so she guessed they hadn't listened to him, either.
Bethany tried to calm herself. D'Jenn and Dormael had spent a few days trying to teach her control. She could feel her magic all the time now, like a storm sleeping in her chest. She clenched her eyes shut—the effort of surrendering her view of the door was terrifying—and tried to remember the litany that D'Jenn gave her every time they did an exercise.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered to herself. That much, anyway, was done. “Now, just think about your breathing. There is nothing in the world but your breath.” Her voice caught on the last word as something large tumbled to the deck outside, but the fear slid from her as she held her mind shut to the feeling with steely determination.
She breathed in a steady rhythm, trying to imagine that her ears didn't work. She filled her mind with the sound of her heart beating, and felt her shoulders relax. Bethany took an extra deep breath, holding her lungs as full as she could make them.
Unbidden, the memory of the man's smell filled her mind.
Bethany's trance rocked, and she had to look to the door as fear gripped her bones with a vengeance. She clenched her jaws together and tried to breathe through her nose, but her heart was hammering against her ribs. Her magic quivered with nervous energy.
Loose things in the room began to shake violently, sending the tiny cabin into a clatter. Bethany stiffened, and the movement caused the cacophony to rise as the shaking went from violent to chaotic. The door made a thumping noise as it pushed against the frame, as if some large, invisible beast were leaning its weight into it, trying to keep it closed. Bethany whimpered, knowing that she was losing control of it, but unable to do anything about it.
“Don't,” she said, unsure of what else to do, “please, just don't!”
Her magic, though, only intensified.
Bethany tried to crawl deeper into the corner, but she could only make herself so small. Shadows danced across the walls of the room as darkness closed in around her, and she squealed in fright. A slow creaking noise began to issue from the wood in the cabin, as if her magic was putting pressure on the entire ship. Tears came to her eyes, and her vision blurred with the wetness.
She heard something strange, then. Just on the edge of her hearing, a new song emerged from the din of noises she was sensing. It was quiet, peaceful, and sweet in the way of a morning sunrise. It whispered into the room and danced with her magic, coaxing it down from the brink of eruption. Bethany wasn't sure how she knew it, but that song—the one from the armlet, she was sure—had calmed her magic. It was still raging through her, but she had the overwhelming urge to reach out to the alien song, to grasp to it like a rock in a raging flood.
Bethany closed her eyes, and reached.
The violent shaking stopped as soon as she felt herself immersed in the song of the armlet. Warmth filled her arms and legs, and trickled into her chest. She felt every muscle in her body relax, and she sighed despite the desperate situation. The heat felt so good in the wake of the hard road she'd had for the last couple of weeks. The snow, the driving wind, the frigid sea, and the fear—it all flowed away into the Void.
When Bethany opened her eyes, she was holding the
armlet in her hand. She started, wondering how she'd gotten from the cot to the chest, reached into the saddlebags, and pulled the armlet from its box, all without realizing she had even moved. The warmth clung to her like an invisible blanket, stifling her thoughts and actions. She looked down at the armlet.
It was beautiful. Bethany had thought so from the moment she'd first laid eyes on it. It had curving, delicate silver bands, and a ruby bigger than her balled fist. The gem was glowing, leaking light that fluttered through the air like mist. Bethany stared into it, trying to force herself to put the thing back. Dormael and D'Jenn had been very clear on this—she was not to play with it.
She tried to make herself move, but she couldn't. She opened her mouth to tell her hands to drop the thing, but they wouldn't listen. Panic blossomed again in Bethany's chest, and the memories of the last time it had spoken filled her mind. She felt her magic try to wrench away from the armlet's power, and for a moment, there was a vicious, invisible wrestling match.
The silver suddenly became liquid in her hands, grasping her arms in a cool, unbreakable grip. Bethany stumbled away from the chest and tried to throw the thing from her arm, but it clung there like a spider. She screamed in terror as it began to climb.
***
Shawna danced to her rear, taking care to stay on her toes. Grant's blade came at her from overhead, from the side, then in a straight thrust, all with practiced, well-timed intensity. The man was no Blademaster, but he was close enough to make it a contest. Shawna turned his attacks aside, and had left him with a long draw cut on his forearm, though it hadn't gone deep enough to matter. The Red Sword commander was faster than she had thought.
Remember to breathe, girl.
Shawna flowed with the rhythm of the fight, keeping Grant's blade away from her and trying to find an opening for a good attack. The problem was the shield. The man was fast enough—and good enough, she had to admit—with his longsword that getting inside his guard would have been tough in a blade-to-blade match, but the shield made it impossible. Each time Shawna thrust over the edge, or tried to force the shield aside, Grant would turn and threaten her with the blade.
It didn't help that her side was starting to ache like fire. She could feel the slight hesitation in her movements, the gradual leaching of her strength. The pitching ship made the fight that much harder on her body, and the activity was beginning to tax her. Shawna concentrated hard on keeping her muscles loose and ready, but the pain was starting to distract her. She struggled to keep the strain hidden from Grant, but she suspected he could tell. The man might be disgusting, but that didn't mean he was blind.
Remember to breathe.
Shawna reversed her momentum and went on the attack, swiping at Grant with quick, deadly movements that put him on his heels. She licked out with her blades, thrusting at his eyes over the rim of his shield, and he ducked behind it to throw a counter-slash at her midsection. Shawna was ready for it.
She slammed the man's blade aside, moving to slip her other blade into his armpit, but something was off. The sword tumbled away without the slight bit of resistance she'd expected from the parry, and her arm went wide, throwing her off balance. Grant's fist connected with her face, blurring her eyes as her nose exploded with pain. She cried out in surprise, but her breath left her throat as he planted a vicious boot into her side. Her world went white with agony.
When her vision began to blur back into place, she was lying beneath the man, retching as her stomach heaved with the pain. Her muscles were locked as her body tried to curl around her old wound, but Shawna fought the sensation as hard as she could. Master Severin had put her through pain enough to deal with this. She gritted her teeth and struggled to move.
“It was apparent that there was no way to beat you with the sword,” Grant said, “so I used my fist.”
Remember to breathe!
She heard the sound of steel rustling as Grant moved above her.
“You must know something, Baroness Llewan, before you die. In all my years in service to the Empire—and the years before—you have been my most worthy enemy. I'll admit that part of me wants to beat you bloody, to wrap my hands around that pretty little throat and look into your eyes as I choke your life away. But I will make your death quick, and I'll leave you with some dignity.”
Shawna tried to rise, but he kicked her back down to the deck. Shawna's side wrenched, and she hissed as she curled into a ball. She tried to move her legs, but her side was knotted so badly that she could barely move them.
Move, woman!
“You should know, however, that what happened here today means nothing. Your family dying, that was a fucking tragedy, but only to you. The truth is that you're just a stepping stone, dear girl. A step on my path to greater things.”
He kicked her again.
“The refined nobility of the old world—”
He kicked her again. Tears came to Shawna's eyes, and she felt the urge to vomit.
“—leaching from the people beneath you as if they fucking owed you something!”
He rolled her over with another kick, and rainwater poured into Shawna's eyes. Her hands spasmed in pain, and she felt her fingers brush the hilt of one of her swords.
“You're a relic. The Empire is coming for the lot of you. At least you faced your end with some honor—for that, you can find a little solace on your trip to the Void.”
The world came into stark focus.
Shawna could feel every sensation in her body screaming at her like fire, urging her to move. Her hand tightened around her sword, and she summoned every bit of strength she had left, throwing herself into a final effort to cheat the gods of their victory. Grant's sword jerked upward, and came for her heart with deadly intent.
Her magical steel met his sword with a jarring, silvery note.
Grant screamed, his blade tumbling away in the rain, clutching his hand back out of range. He tried to dance away from her, but Shawna was dedicated to her purpose. She screamed in pain as she rose against her knotted muscles, rolling to her feet and swinging her sword with the last bit of fight she could muster. Her blade sang a second time, and Shawna nearly dropped it as it gave a heavy tug.
Grant tumbled to the ground, his leg giving way as Shawna severed it at the knee. Blood sprayed onto the deck, washed away by the rain. He wailed in agony as his back hit the ground, trying in vain to clutch at the bleeding stump. Shawna struggled to her feet, the sudden rush of strength leaking away like mist in the morning. She grabbed her second blade from the deck as she rose, and took a few deep breaths as she let the rain wash down her face. She let Grant scream. He wasn't so smug, less half of his leg.
“I think,” she breathed, “I like you better this way.”
He cursed something garbled and tried to roll away from her.
Another Galanian appeared from nearby, coming upon the scene and skidding to a halt. He was a square-jawed man, and had the knots of an officer on his shoulders. Shawna felt her victory sliding away as she looked at him, and he brandished his sword. His eyes, though, slid back to where Grant lay on the ground.
“Havram!” Grant screamed. “Kill the bitch! She's half-dead already, Lieutenant! Kill her!”
Havram looked back to Shawna with a guarded expression, then glanced a second time to Grant. His face hardened, and he took a careful step backwards. He looked Shawna up and down, and then nodded to her. As he was backing away, he spat on the deck in Grant's direction.
“Havram! Havram, help me! That's an order, you gods-damned...Havram! Havram!” Grant wailed.
Shawna felt a smile come to her face.
“You should know something, Colonel, before you die,” she said. Her heart beat a cacophony in her ears, and her hands began to shiver before she clamped down on her emotions. “I think you're the lowest creature the gods have ever shat into existence.”
Grant sputtered something, but she ignored him.
“You should know, too, that what you've done up to this point mean
s nothing. You will die here with my sword in your skull, and I'll dump your body over the side when your soul leaves for the Void. No one will care what happened to you, because you're no one.”
He tried to crawl away from her, but she moved forward and stabbed him through the hip. Her Master had taught her long ago that disabling the hips ended a struggle, and Grant gasped in pain as his body began to betray him. He jerked and twitched like a fool as he bled onto the deck. Shawna loomed over him.
“You're nothing. Just a stepping stone on my path to kill the rest of you worthless bastards. You're the first weight of blood I owe the gods for what they've stolen from me!” Shawna fell to her knees atop the man, and brought the hilt of one of her swords down hard on his nose. He gagged and sputtered as blood poured from it, but Shawna stilled his movement by placing one of her blade tips under his chin.
“Just get it over with, you—,” Grant started.
Shawna ended his speech by sliding the blade a short distance into his jaw.
“Be silent while I speak to the gods,” she said. Grant's eyes went wide with fear. Shawna leaned forward and whispered into his ear. “Look here, Aastinor! See this I offer you now! Take this enemy against my oath to you, and may you choke on the tide of blood to come!”
Grant's eyes filled with terror, but Shawna held his head steady with her free hand. She slid her sword up into his skull, taking care to be slow about it. He made a gurgling sound, his body kicking with wild desperation for a spare moment before he went limp. Shawna rode down his struggles with cold determination. The leader of the men who killed her family, who took everything she loved from her and burned her old life to the ground, finally lay dead beneath her.
He looked ridiculous as a mutilated corpse, even shameful. Shawna felt cold as she stared at his sightless eyes.
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 38
