She swung her sword, hoping to catch him off-balance, but he tumbled to her right and passed under the swing. She scowled and started to turn when she felt him strike her in the back of the knee.
The paladin staggered and then felt herself pulled backwards. Gravity took over and she crashed to the hard ground. Her breath exploded out of her mouth as the weapons in her pack drove her armor into her back and her neck. She grunted as the helm twisted on her head. All she could see through her tilted visor was a few scraggly pine needles of a tree branch and the dark clouds of a storm heading into the mountains.
Aleena was a fast fighter. She'd known from the beginning of her training that she would be hard pressed to match strength against the other knights, but she could make up for that with speed. Over time, she'd grown stronger and sacrificed some of her speed to wear the armor of a knight of Leander. It was a badge of honor and she considered it resilient enough to more than make up for her loss of agility. Until now.
She threw her left arm up and realized too late that her shield had fallen free of her arm. Her instincts saved her, allowing her to deflect the descending blade so that it struck the side of her helm and glanced off instead of spearing through the now exposed chain links that protected her throat.
She thrust her left arm out farther and managed to grab the elven warrior's leg. She squeezed tightly and yanked on it, forcing him to stagger. He tried to leap away over her but Aleena's right hand brought her sword up and across while her hand clung to his ankle and twisted him in mid-air.
The elf crashed on top of her and rolled away. She followed him, rolling and kicking as he tried to rise up. Her heavy boot caught him in the hip and sent him rolling across the short pine needles decorating the floor of the valley. He left a trail of red on the ground, proving that her random slash had struck true.
Aleena flipped over again and rose up on one knee. She saw her shield was lying too far away to grab, but it didn't matter since the straps had been broken when she fell. She used her sword to help her climb from one knee to her feet and felt it wobble in her hands. She picked it up and noticed how the blade was at an angle now, the tang bent inside the hilt.
She let the broken sword fall from her fingers and moved up to the fallen elf. He was glaring at her and holding one hand across his side where her blade had cut him. The gash was deep enough the blood ran from his wounds and she saw pink bits of flesh that were best left unexposed to the light of day. In his other hand, the elf held his sword in a defensive guard, refusing to give up.
Aleena reached behind her and loosened the tie on her pack. She pulled out the first weapon she grabbed and held the heavy footman's mace in her hand. The shaft was made of oak but girded with iron. At the end, it was a heavy steel club with knobs protruding from it. The mace was a heavy weapon used by brawlers, not by swordsmen. It was not her weapon of choice.
The elf stared up at her and spat. Aleena clenched her fist on the handle of her mace and glance up at the overcast sky above them. It was a foul day without the blessing of Leander's light upon them. A perfect day for an ambush from a dark-hearted foe like the elves were proving themselves to be.
Aleena reached up and lifted the visor on her helm so she could reveal herself to her foes. The elf on the ground stopped snarling long enough to stare at her in shock. She heard a few gasps from the gathered elves that surrounded her.
"I gave one of your kin mercy the last time we met," she called out loud enough to be heard over the din of battle. "I will not make the same mistake twice!"
Aleena lifted her mace in both hands and drove it down through the guard of the fallen elf. His sword was driven down into his arm and chest, but the real damage came from her studded mace crashing into his chest and snapping his ribs like twigs. She straightened and stared down at him, and then reached up to the symbol of Leander that was visible beneath the dirt and scratches on her breastplate. "Leander, grant this fallen warrior your light so that he might know your warmth in his final moments."
She looked down at the elf. He'd collapsed fully onto the ground and blood ran from his open mouth. His eyes were filled with hate as he stared up at her. The symbol on her breastplate flared with a golden light that chased away the shadows from the forest and caused the elves to gasp and stumble back. "Seek the peace and atone for your violent and hateful ways in the hereafter," Aleena said to him. "Your soul may yet be saved."
The elf screwed his eyes shut and tried to shake his head. He only managed to roll it to the side before his head fell back and his eyelids slipped open. Aleena frowned and the light radiating from her cuirass faded.
She looked up and saw the elves staring at her and the fallen warrior. They spoke to one another in their language and then broke away one or two at a time. In moments, they were all retreating, fleeing back through the valley and rushing up the ravine with the skill of mountain goats.
Aleena stared after them as they fled, her anger giving way to weariness. She sighed and shook her head, and then turned. She had to find Moonshine and see how badly she was hurt.
"Lady Aleena," Celos said, stopping her and making her look up at him.
She didn't want to deal with him now. She wanted to tend to Moonshine and pray that the noble creature wasn't hurt badly. They could fight later, after she'd had a chance to catch her breath and have a drink. And find a new sword.
"Aleena, look at what you've done," Celos said to her when she didn't respond.
Aleena looked at the fallen elf. "He fought well, but not well enough. He didn't have the training and heart of faith."
Celos walked up to her, his helm in his hand as he said, "Yes, that's true, but I mean look behind you."
Aleena turned and saw the other knights had dropped to their knees and placed their swords before them, point first in the ground. "What is this?" she asked.
"Your sword is broken," Celos said. "Each of them is offering you their sword."
"We have spare swords in the train," Aleena mumbled, not understanding. She turned to the knights and beckoned with her hands for them to stand. "You'll need your swords, brothers."
"Pick one," Celos hissed at her. "It's an honor for you and for the knight whose blade you choose."
"An honor?" Aleena asked. "Why? Swords break. It's a fact of war."
"Yes, but how would you feel if you knew you were helping out a proven champion of Leander?"
Aleena opened and closed her mouth. She was going to refute Celos's claims but realized she could not. Saint Leander's light had shone from her. She nodded and looked at the gathered knights. She wasn't sure who to pick from. Each wore distinctive marking on their armor but she hadn't spent enough time among them to get to know them all. She went to a knight she had not yet met and stood before him.
"What is your name, brother?" she asked.
"Jorm, my lady." He lifted his visor and bowed his head. The visor fell back over his face with a clang that startled the knight and made a few of the others chuckle. Aleena smiled when he opened it back up to reveal cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Jorm, you look strong enough to break one of these trees over your knee."
Jorm smiled with her. "By Leander's grace, I'll try if you'd like me to."
Aleena shook her head. "No, Jorm, these trees witnessed a horrible thing today. Let them grow and forget what violence savages bring into this world."
He nodded. "By your grace, my lady. Would you have my blade?"
Aleena nodded and reached for it. "I would, but tell me, Jorm, would you use this mace in its stead?"
Jorm took the mace and looked at the scratches on the weapon from the elf's sword. He grinned and nodded. "It is my honor, Lady Aleena."
"And wielding this will be my honor, Jorm. I thank you." She smiled at him and turned to the rest of the knights. Behind them, she saw the ogres moving about and tending to their wounds. Graak watched her with his perpetual scowl on his face. "I thank you all for your trust and for your devotion to Saint Leander. M
ay his light shine upon us all in these dark times."
Graak snorted and strode through the kneeling knights, almost knocking one over. He strode up to the elf Aleena had killed and chuckled. "Killed yourself an elf prince," he said. He turned back to her and grinned. "There will be war!"
Chapter 21
Jethallin clutched Jennaca close to her chest as the ground rushed up at her. She tucked her shoulder in and put as much strength into extending her far leg as she could to twist her body as she fell. She hit with a grunt and heard a tiny puff of air as her daughter's wind was knocked from her. She held her daughter tightly as she rolled into the trunk of a long dead tree that the desert sun and wind had preserved.
Jethallin opened her eyes and gasped. The pain in her head was only a memory. She'd been exhausted by a day of hiking through the blistering heat. The wind and sun had sucked her breath from her. She sweated out water faster than she could drink it, leaving her waterskin empty midway through the afternoon. Jennaca had been protected as best she could but her baby girl slept and fussed until crying and moving took too much effort.
She was on her feet now and standing in cool water that should have refreshed her. Instead, it was cold and it filled her with dread of what was coming. She looked around and saw the mists parted where Snake-Killer stood waiting for her.
"You are tired," he said as she turned to face him.
"It's been a long day," Jethallin said. "I'm only here because my leg gave out and I fell. Landed hard, but I had to so I didn't hurt my baby."
He frowned and shook his head. "Why couldn't a man find me instead of a woman?"
Jethallin scowled. "Well, you don't have a man, you've got me. So stop your whining and fight me. Show me what a man can do that I can't."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He lifted his spear from where it rested in the water and caught it in his other hand. Jethallin grabbed her daggers from her hips and rushed at him, moving faster than she could have if she'd had to rely on her overheated body lying on the desert ground.
Snake-Killer grunted and danced out of her way, slapping her in the back with his spear as she passed. She spun around and cut at him but her dagger only passed through thin air. He kept her out of his reach with his spear, poking and slashing at her and forcing her to dodge and try to block him. He was faster, stronger, and moved with a sense of balance and skill that made her feel inadequate. It was only a matter of time until he struck her down.
The thief turned warrior used what Snake-Killer had taught her and kept her balance low. She dodged his thrusts and blocked the slashes she couldn't avoid with her knives. Jethallin noticed that she could take his strikes easier now that she had at first. Her dream body was getting stronger, even if her real body was weakening.
She gasped and stepped back, earning a snarl and a thrust that she barely leapt away from. "Wait a minute!" she cried out.
"Wait? There is no waiting in battle. If you hesitate, you die!"
"I'm getting stronger," she said, ignoring the tribal warrior. "But only here. Out there, where my real life is, I feel weaker."
Snake-Killer regarded her with eyes that seemed as cold as the reptiles he was named after. Finally he grunted and relaxed his stance. "You eat, you sleep, you do what you must. Here is not there. Here, you are what your mind thinks you should be. Out there, you are as you are. You are the same, and you are different."
She blinked as she worked through his answer. She was the same person because she was who she was. But she was different because he was teaching her things. Things her mind knew, but her body did not. She was stronger with Snake-Killer because her mind knew her body should be stronger. Her real body was weak because she'd walked across the desert during the heat of the day and run out of food and water.
Jethallin leapt at him and threw one of her daggers as she jumped. Snake-Killer responded and leaned out of the way of her knife but couldn't react in time to stop her from slicing along his side with the dagger she still held.
He batted her aside with the shaft of his spear and scowled at her as she rolled through the water and picked herself up. Jethallin smiled at him. "Hesitate in battle and you die," she echoed his earlier words.
He bared his teeth and rushed at her, swinging his spear in a pattern that was too fast for her to dodge or block. She grunted as she felt the blade rip through her collarbone and into her chest, and then she jerked and sat up. Jennaca was sitting on the ground beside her and playing with some small stones she'd found on the ground.
Jethallin took in a deep breath and let it out. "It's not real," she reminded herself. She had to reach up and touch her chest to make sure.
With the passing of the training session and her heart slowing, she noticed the ache in the back of her head where she'd struck the tree root. The rest of her body followed suit, reminding her that she was exhausted and in need of water. Her daughter giggled and started to put a stone in her mouth before Jethallin grabbed it from her and stopped her.
"Come on," she rasped through lips that were peeling from the abuse of the sun and the wind. "Let's find shelter. Then at least you can have something to eat."
Jennaca cried for a moment before Jethallin picked her up. She bit down on the groan that tried to escape her mouth. She ached everywhere. With Jennaca tucked back into her sling, Jethallin stumbled on through the increasingly hardpacked landscape in search of something that could serve as a shelter before the sun set.
After several minutes of trying not to let the sinking sun blind her, she spied a large collection of rocks and moved towards it. As she got closer to it, she saw them looming higher and higher until she could see that the rocks weren't rocks, but crumbling ruins. Jethallin stopped and stared at them, wondering how long they'd been forgotten. She turned and glanced behind her to look for the road but the setting sun had dipped low enough to leave the desert in a mix of grays and purples.
She turned back to the ruins and clutched the hilt of a dagger in her right hand. "Let's see if they left anything for us," she whispered before heading towards the crumbling stone walls.
Jennaca cooed as the sun slipped beneath the horizon and plunged the world into shadow. Jethallin glanced down at her daughter and smiled in spite of the pain in her sunburned cheeks. She pulled her cloak tightly, knowing the temperature would drop quickly.
"Ho there," a man called out to her.
Jethallin gasped and looked up, spotting the man as he stepped out from the shadows of the broken wall.
"I was wondering to myself what the odds were of a fine lady wandering into my camp," he continued. "She'd be needing my help, of course, and in return she'd be sure to show me just how appreciative she was."
"Um, I'm, uh—" Jethallin stammered but he ignored her.
"Imagine that, a man like me, what with all the things I done, doing something like that and earning the respect and admiration of a fine young lady like that. Why, it's downright humbling, it is. To think that such a fine woman would be so thankful as to offer her services to me for whatever it was I wanted."
Jethallin glanced around at the darkening desert. She could run, but she wouldn't get far and she knew it. She was too weak. She glanced back at him, studying him in the dim light and wondering just how dangerous he was. Did he live out here by himself? What did he do for food and water? Jennaca distracted her by shifting in her sling and she started crying as she tugged on the fabric.
"What's this? A baby? Who brings a baby into the desert? Must be you're no noble lady after all. Pity that," he said and reached for the sword at his side.
"Wait!" Jethallin cried out. She stumbled towards him and stopped. "Please, I'm not a lady, but she is."
The man stiffened and then started forward. He walked up to her but stayed a few feet away. "Open your cloak. Let me see her."
Jethallin let her cloak fall open and then reached down to pull the sling aside. Jennaca stopped crying for a moment and looked up towards her mother's chest with her lips pursed.
"She doesn't look like a noble to me," he said.
"She is." Jethallin nodded her head and smiled down at her daughter. She grabbed at the names she'd heard and strung together a barely possible story to explain herself. "I was a servant in the palace and, I, um, I worked for Lord Badawi. I served him many times, in his special way, while he courted a woman from afar. My daughter is the fruit of that service."
"Is that right?" He reached up and rubbed the short beard on his cheek. "What you doing out here so far then?"
"He married the princess from the north," she explained. "And that meant he didn't dare have a child older than any she bore him. I took her with me and we fled into the desert."
He chuckled. "Lord Badawi. I've heard the name but can't place him."
"He's a royal, but a distant cousin to the king," Jethallin said. "Rich though, like all the royals are. One day, Jennaca stands to inherit part of his fortune."
The man's hand froze. He lowered it and chuckled. "I see. Have you any proof of this?"
She shook her head. "None, but Lord Badawi is dead. Slain by his new wife."
"What?"
Jethallin nodded. "It's true, and so is her blood."
"So she stands to inherit now?"
"Except I dare not show my face. They think I played a part in it."
The man grunted and looked down at the fussing child. "Sounds like more trouble than you're worth. What good is a fortune if you can't claim it?"
"After things settle down and Lady Badawi is dealt with, we'll go back," Jethallin added to her lie. "And we would both be very appreciative to anyone who helped us."
"You would, would you?" he asked as his eyes slipped up and down her body and never quite made it to her eyes. "How thankful, exactly?"
Jennaca started to cry again so Jethallin rearranged her shirt and exposed herself to the man's lecherous gaze before she lifted her daughter to her breast. She hoped she hadn't sweated so much that her milk had dried up. "About as thankful as any woman could be for a strong man who saved her."
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