by T.M. Nielsen
***
When she woke up, night had set in, and she could see her breath in the freezing air. She was shivering in the cold but was finally able to summon the strength to stand slowly and get dressed. There was enough wood around to make a small fire, and she fell down beside it and warmed her hands.
Swift movement off to her side caught her eye, and a small creature came into view. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was going to be her next meal. It wasn’t paying attention to her, so she was able to cast at it and immediately kill it. Within minutes, she was tearing at its flesh, too hungry even to bother cooking it.
Once she calmed the hunger pains, she looked around carefully but didn’t see or hear anything that would point to danger. She allowed herself one tiny swallow of water from her flask, and then leaned back against the ground to get some rest.
An hour later, the sound of fast running woke her up, and she stumbled to her feet with her flail in her hand. The footsteps were erratic and coming nearer. Within a few seconds, she could hear fast breathing and a soft, panicked mumble.
Kyrin crouched low against the wall, hoping whoever it was would just run by. Her fire had long since died out and there was no other sign that she was even there.
She looked over when a tall, thin figure in a robe appeared and knelt down not ten feet from her. His back was to her, and he was peering around a pile of rubble, still mumbling incoherently. Just as she readied to kill him, the sound of hoof beats pounded in the darkness.
Kyrin looked up suddenly as four horsemen came into view. She held perfectly still, glad that the shadows hid her from obvious view.
“We told you that you cannot hide from us, priest,” one of the horsed men said, laughing.
“Why are you doing this?” the man asked frantically.
“You know why! Your Lord has been the bane of my existence for years, and how better to get back at him than to kill his loyal priests.”
“He’ll not stand for this!” The priest’s voice was high and squeaky.
“No, he won’t, will he? He’ll be forced to come after me for this. I fully plan on dealing with him once and for all when I get him away from his adoring minions.”
The priest stood up and shook his head. “No… no, don’t do this! Sithias will not stand for this.”
“I’m not afraid of your god!”
“Hey, look over there,” another of the mounted men said. Kyrin gasped when all of them turned to look at her.
She stood slowly and her hands immediately began to glow.
“Well, hello there,” the closest one said, smiling down at her. She knew the look, and it infuriated her. It was the look one gave a helpless damsel, not someone they feared.
“I have no business with you,” Kyrin said angrily.
He rode his horse up closer to her. “Gorgeous thing, aren’t you?”
She scowled at him.
“Are you from Valhara?”
“No”
“You can’t be from Qualsax. I would have remembered you.”
“Again, I have no business with you, so I suggest you kill your priest and get out of here,” she said, backing up a step. She reached in and grabbed her flail, reveling at the feel of its heavy steel in her grip.
He leaned his head back and laughed. “You don’t care if we kill him?”
“Why would I care?”
“Evil little wench, this one,” he said, smiling at the others.
Kyrin had had enough and swung her flail at the unsuspecting man’s neck. The sickening crunch of bones sounded as blood splattered across her and his horse. A gurgle escaped his dying lips, and he fell from his horse as the other men dismounted and came at her, no longer interested in the priest.
She fell into a defensive posture after her hands touched, and she readied the flail in her right hand. Her left hand balled into a fist and began to flicker with a deep yellow.
The closest man frowned and took a step back, his sword dropping slightly. “What’s that?”
“She’s one of them magic people,” another replied, somewhat fascinated.
“There’s no magic anymore.”
Without letting them finish, she advanced on them. The first she took out with a face hit from her flail. She spun and ducked down under a sword, then brought her hand up toward him and shot a yellow arch of lightning directly at his chest. It disappeared inside of him, and his eyes grew wide, moments before he exploded, sending raw flesh onto his companions.
Kyrin dodged just as one of them swung a long sword at her, but the second caught her in a tight grasp and turned her to face the other, with her hands trapped at her sides.
“You just killed two of the Qualsax Warriors!” he yelled, moments before backhanding her. She glared up at him and ignored the blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.
“You are under the mistaken impression that I care what a Qualsax Warrior is,” she yelled. She dropped suddenly, catching the man restraining her off guard. The second she was out of his grasp, she spun and brought her flail up squarely into his groin.
The white-hot stab hit her instantly, and she looked down just as the tip of a sword appeared from her stomach. Lightning erupted from all around her, and she fell to her knees. The last thing she heard was someone shouting in a language she didn’t understand.
