The portal stood open to her army, now twenty paces away. Nesnys beckoned them to enter.
A voice boomed behind her. “Face me, fiend! I challenge you!”
Nesnys turned to find an imposing warrior facing her. He was a big man, a barbarian by the look of him, bearing scars from many battles. He wore armor fashioned of thick hides, and tribal tattoos covered his muscular arms. A greatsword was clutched in his large hands.
“Finally, a foe with some stones. I had thought all Ketanians to be eunuchs.” Nesnys strode forward to meet the barbarian, grinning broadly, eager to face a foe with some mettle.
Someone loosed an arrow at Nesnys. It glanced off the armor at her hip. She scowled, looking for the archer.
The barbarian whirled, face flushed with anger. “Hold! I challenge this bitch to single combat.” After a moment, he turned back around. “Enjoy your last breath, for this is the day that you die at the hand of Kelfromm, son of Kelveidr.”
“Then let us see what you are made of, Kelfromm,” Nesnys replied.
Kelfromm approached cautiously, rather than rushing in as she’d expected. Nesnys felt no need to be cautious, however. She uncoiled Willbreaker and lashed it at the big man. He tried to swat the lash aside with his sword, but the whip coiled around his blade, and she tugged, attempting to disarm the man. His muscles bulged as he held on, at first merely maintaining his weapon but then striving to disarm her.
She was impressed with the man’s strength. They each held their ground, straining their grips, with neither gaining advantage. Nesnys loosened the whip, and it snaked free of the man’s sword. The resistance abruptly gone, he stumbled backward.
Nesnys sprang at him, spinning around and allowing her wing to buffet the barbarian, slashing his forearm. He grunted and strove to grasp her arm, but Nesnys drove a fist into his jaw, rocking his head back. She formed Willbreaker back into a sword and slashed, but the big man parried.
Her entire body seemed to pulse with bloodlust—she longed to slay the man and slake her thirst with his blood. She sheathed Bedlam Judge, not wanting to spoil her prey with its corruption. Kelfromm thrust the greatsword at her, and she parried his strike, dodging away and slashing at him, but he sidestepped. They exchanged several blows, blades clashing together with neither gaining advantage. They came together, crossguards locked. The barbarian was bigger and heavier than Nesnys, and he shoved his greatsword against Willbreaker with all his might, eventually forcing her back a step. His mouth was wide in a snarl, and hatred gleamed in his brown eyes.
Nesnys fed off it, enjoying every moment of their battle, yet all things must end. She suddenly disengaged her sword from his, dropping backward to the ground. The barbarian stumbled forward, falling onto her. She brought her feet up and into his midsection, kicking him up and over her. He fell heavily, rolling over, and sought to regain his feet.
By that time, Nesnys was already on him. She dashed in, stabbing down into the big man’s chest. He wheezed softly, his greatsword falling from his hands and eyes going wide with shock. Even as she leaned on the blade, driving it deeper, he reached up, seizing her neck in a meaty hand, trying to crush her throat. Despite Willbreaker’s tip biting into the flagstones beneath Kellfromm, his grip on her neck still remained powerful, and his gasping breaths sent droplets of blood to spatter her face. Nesnys licked the salty drops from her lips, bloodlust nearly consuming her even as her foe choked off her air. She rocked the sword back and forth in his chest, watching the flow intensify around the blade. Finally, the barbarian’s grasp weakened as the life drained out of him.
Nesnys released the sword, leaving it embedded in his chest. She knelt and clutched him to her breast, feeling his heartbeat slowing in his chest. She twisted his head to the side and tore open his jugular with her sharp teeth. Blood poured from his vein, and she sucked it as she would a honeycomb, shuddering with pleasure at the taste of such vitality. She witnessed his end, reveling in the pain of his final moments even as she respected the passing of a formidable opponent. The spark in the barbarian’s eyes faded, and Kelfromm, son of Kelveidr was no more.
She became aware of the shouts and renewed sounds of battle around her. Scores of Nebarans had swarmed the bailey, and more poured through the breach, forcing back the defenders. The keep would be secured in short order.
Nesnys rose and withdrew Willbreaker from the barbarian’s chest, sheathing it once more. “You proved a worthy opponent, Kelfromm son of Kelveidr. Travel with pride to the hall of whatever god you worship.” She briefly lamented the fact that such a mighty warrior was exactly whom she was seeking as her own champion.
After several moments, General Leodegar marched up to her. His sword was stained with blood, a detail that earned him a small amount of respect in her eyes. He regarded her with fear and a bit of disgust, evidently having seen the resolution of her duel.
Nesnys smirked at him defiantly, her mouth and chin stained with the barbarian’s blood. “The gates are open as promised, General. You have your victory.” She gave a mocking bow. “Best get this campaign on track now if you know what’s good for you.” She brushed against him, slowly tracing one talon across his ornamented breastplate, which made an unnerving screech that made the general flinch.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now you do what you’ve been charged to do. Pacify this keep, and move the army into southern Ketania. Any more blunders, and you’re likely to be replaced.” Nesnys brushed her hair back from her face and regarded him with a hard stare.
“Aye, it shall be done, Warlord.” He bowed stiffly and turned away.
Nesnys looked around to see if she could find any more worthwhile defenders to fight, but the situation was well in hand. Troops were still pouring through the gates, and the last of the defenders were being cut down in the bailey and on the walls. Squads were sweeping through the barracks, inner keep, and outbuildings, mopping up the last bits of resistance.
With a sigh, Nesnys took to the air, soaring upward until she was high above the fortress. She turned to a southerly bearing and headed back toward the capital of Orialan. She could have teleported herself, but she was drunk on the sensations of battle and partially satiated bloodlust and was content to enjoy the simple freedom of flight.
A pity my fun is to be for such a brief time, but I must return and check in with Zegrath and Amralad. She needed her Inquisition teams on the ground to begin rounding up mages for interrogation.
That can wait for the morrow. I’ve a long flight to reach Orialan and may need to make an impromptu stop along the way. She smiled to herself and flew south, savoring the sensation of the wind streaming through her hair even as her pulse raced, demanding that more blood be shed.
Chapter 7
Three robbers entered the camp shortly after Mira and Brother Cerador finished a humble meal over a small campfire. She turned at the sound of loose gravel scuffing and found the three hard-faced men standing at the edge of the firelight.
Mira let out a gasp. Brother Cerador calmly looked up at the men over his mug of tea. All three were dressed in filthy ragged clothes and were armed.
“Give us your food and coin,” the first man growled. He was lean and dirty, with an axe in hand and a thick red beard.
The other two were larger. The one on the left had a round face and a rusty mail shirt and held a bow with nocked arrow. The man on the right had a scarred face and crooked nose and carried a notched sword.
“We carry very little food or coin,” Cerador replied quietly. “If you deprive us of that, we shall likely not survive the trip out of the mountains.”
“He lies.” The round-faced man spat on the ground. “You two are from that temple up top o’ the peaks. We heard you’ve got lots of treasure up there—eating off gold plates and drinking from jeweled goblets.”
Cerador looked amused. “I assure you, that is not the case. We are but humble monks, seeking enlightenment. That is all. We only keep what we need to get by.”
Seekin
g enlightenment… and training to defeat the enemies of the Balance by martial means. Mira had been taught her skills were to never be used to harm others unless she herself or the innocent or helpless were in danger. Or if the Balance itself was threatened.
“We ain’t gonna stand here and argue with you, old man,” Red Beard snapped. “Hand over your food and coin, or you and the girl will get hurt. Piss us off enough, we might even take her with us for some company.” Crooked yellow teeth showed when he gave them a grin devoid of any humor.
“This is your next test, Miralei,” Cerador said, ignoring the bandits. “These men have threatened our lives. See that they are shown the error of their ways… while remaining alive to appreciate the lesson, preferably.” He remained seated and took another sip of tea, unconcerned by the looming violence.
Mira rose smoothly to her feet, her staff in hand. “As you say, Brother.” She bowed respectfully to her mentor then took a deep breath, focusing on drawing her ki.
The red-bearded robber guffawed while the other two stared at her in astonishment. “You really think this little—urk!”
Mira drove her staff into Red Beard’s solar plexus with a quick jab like a striking snake. The bandit stumbled away, wheezing for breath.
“Foolish wench.” Round Face drew and loosed his arrow at Mira.
She reacted the moment the arrow cleared the string. With her intense focus, time seemed to slow, and she saw the fletching rotating and the shaft of the arrow wobbling slightly in midair. She swept one end of her staff across to the left and struck the arrow midshaft, swatting it aside and sending it flying harmlessly off into the darkness.
The archer stared, shocked, and Mira was on him before he could react. She sprang forward, planting the staff on the ground to support her weight, and pivoted her body around. Her foot caught Round Face in the jaw. His teeth snapped shut with a loud click, and he reeled backward, dropping hard onto his backside.
Scar Face swung his sword at Mira. She brought her staff up to block. Rather than catching the blade on the staff, which could break if struck by a strong enough foe, she deflected her foe’s blade to the side then effortlessly spun the staff in her hands, reversing it and driving the end into the man’s chest. Scar Face grunted and reeled away.
Red Beard came at her again at the same time, swinging his axe at her exposed back. Mira sensed his attack, dodging aside and driving her elbow into his nose. He grunted as his nose broke, blood spattering his mouth and bearded chin.
Scar Face grabbed Mira’s arm. She immediately ducked low and threw her hip into the bandit, pulling on his arm. Scar Face launched into the air, flipping over and slamming to the ground. A strike of her fist to the face bounced his head off the ground, and his eyes rolled back as he fell unconscious.
Red Beard raised the axe again. Mira swept his legs out from under him with her staff. He fell awkwardly, catching himself with one hand on the ground. She kicked his planted forearm and the bone snapped. He screamed, and she silenced him with a blow of the staff to the side of the head.
Remembering the third man with the bow, she quickly scanned her surroundings. His boots were sticking out from beneath a bush at the edge of the firelight, and she was relieved to find him unconscious.
“Well done, Miralei.” Cerador hadn’t stirred from beside the fire, but his eyes shone in the light. “Perhaps they will learn their lesson about accosting simple travelers after that showing.”
Mira flushed with pride. She relieved the men of their weapons, cast them away into the darkness, and rejoined Cerador by the fire. He handed over her mug of tea, which he had placed near the flames to keep warm.
After a few minutes, the bandits stirred. Round Face was the first to recover. He slowly regained his feet, cursing as he fought his way free of the bush, then glared at Mira but made no move toward the two of them again. Instead, he roused his two companions.
“Do not think to try to ambush us further along the trail,” Cerador warned. “The next time, my student won’t be so forgiving.”
The three robbers cast wary glances at the two monks before stumbling off down the trail into the night.
“My sole critique,” Cerador said, “is to maintain greater awareness of the terrain. It is unwise to rely on planting and putting weight on your staff for a strike. The ground here is sloping and rocky, with patches of loose scree. It could prove unstable, and your attack could have failed, allowing them to injure or kill you.”
“Yes, Brother. I’ll remember that for next time.” Mira bowed her head.
She replayed the fight over and over in her mind. That was the first time she’d used her martial skills against an actual opponent who meant her harm. Seeing the results of years of rigorous training felt good, not having to pull her punches as she was used to doing. She noted several areas for improvement and even saw how her strikes could’ve been fatal had she so chosen, for her ki expenditure had been minimal.
“Judging from this encounter, it would be prudent to set a watch from here on out,” Cerador observed. “Times must be lean if robbers are way up here in the high country. I’ll take first watch. You should get some rest.”
Mira finished her tea and lay down. She stared at the stars for a time, fearing she wouldn’t be able to sleep as she was still excited and adrenalized from the combat. After going through a series of simple relaxation exercises, though, she fell into a deep sleep.
***
Toward the end of the second day, they were nearing the edge of the Giantspears’ foothills when the clamor of battle sounded from ahead. Battle cries and bellowed curses, grunts and squeals, all punctuated by the clash of steel, shattered the tranquil evening.
Mira stopped, not sure if they should proceed or not, for visibility ahead was poor, the narrow path twisting between encroaching boulders and bushes. A thick stand of brush choked the lower part of the canyon, obscuring their view of what lay ahead. Brother Cerador stepped up beside her, a wrinkle of puzzlement on his brow.
“Who would be fighting this far north, Brother?” she asked.
The elder monk just shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak when a squeal of fright came from the opposite side of the thick brush a few dozen paces ahead. The bushes rustled, and twigs snapped before a dozen small creatures burst free, plunging headlong in their direction. The creatures were wiry, standing waist-high or slightly more. They had dark-green skin, with beady yellow eyes, flat noses, and wide mouths full of needlelike teeth. The creatures wore hides and skins, and most carried rusty and notched swords and axes in their small, clawed hands. Preoccupied as they were, casting fearful glances over their shoulders, they didn’t see Mira and Cerador.
“Goblins,” Cerador said, clearly surprised.
The goblins huffed and grumbled amongst themselves, scrabbling spryly across the rocky ground until they reached the trail, where they picked up speed.
“Halt!” Cerador commanded, his voice booming with authority.
The goblins skidded to a stop, eyes wide as they evaluated the new potential threat. A couple muttered in the goblin tongue before a larger specimen shoved its fellows aside and pointed a rusty sword with a broken-off tip in their direction. It opened its mouth, but before it could speak, one of the others barked something in the goblin tongue then turned and bolted back into the bushes.
The bushes rustled for a moment, and the ground pounded as if from a galloping horse before a squeal of alarm sounded. Brush crunched, and the goblin came flying back out of the bushes as if launched from a catapult, to smack into the side of a boulder. It was plastered there a moment before sliding brokenly to the ground.
The remaining goblins shuffled and looked in alarm at the rustling bushes. The apparent leader pointed its broken sword at Mira and Cerador.
“Skatch!” it shouted.
The small creatures growled and scampered forward a few paces, the leader content to let its minions take the lead. The bushes behind them crunched and snapped loudly, then a broad,
shaggy head with large curling horns shoved through the leaves. Mira saw dark, liquid eyes regarding them a moment before the rest of the sturdy mountain goat pushed through the brush, its coat a thick brown fur.
Mira’s eyes grew even wider at the sight of a rider perched upon a saddle on the goat’s back. A female dwarf in gleaming plate mail and carrying a huge warhammer rode on the animal. Her eyes were a bright amber green and her hair a thick mass of blond-and-brown braids spilling down her back from beneath her helm. She halted her mount, studying the goblins and monks.
The goblins whimpered in fright at the sight of the dwarven maid. A moment later, two more mounted dwarves, both male with thick beards down to their waists, rode from the bushes to take their places on either side of the woman.
Deciding they’d rather take their chances with the monks, the goblins broke and fled up the trail, rushing toward Mira and Cerador. They came upon the pair, waving their shoddy weapons, but went no further.
Mira swept her staff in a broad arc, cracking one goblin on the raised elbow. The bone cracked, and the rusty sword dropped from its grip, then it screeched and reeled away. Her staff continued on its path and struck the next goblin in the chin, dropping it like a stone.
Cerador turned his body slightly sideways and shifted his weight on his right foot. His left foot lashed out in a powerful side kick, slamming the nearest goblin in the chest. Its breath whooshed from its lungs, and it was propelled backward, taking the two goblins behind with it and sending them all sprawling back down the path.
Another goblin nimbly leaped at Mira, a rusty, serrated dagger slashing out at her left leg. She shifted her leg back out of its range and brought her right knee across in a sharp blow, smashing the goblin in the ear. It yelped and stumbled into the goblin beside it.
Cerador lashed out again, and two more goblins flew backward from a circle kick. The two goblins left standing stood open-mouthed a moment then turned and fled.
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