Akemi snatched the scabbard from the air, her hand wrenching her sword free. “By the Blade of the Executioner, you are marked!” Her gaze focused, her will came to a razor point, and she made her first strike. In a single flash of motion, she took the head of the forward-most beast clean off its body, the solid stone cut flawlessly through. Bright green moss sprayed out like lifeblood, spilling upon the ground and latching onto the grass. This thing’s destruction would bring new growth, a point of beauty in a battle.
But she wouldn’t get an opportunity like that again. And she knew it. Arc’s fingers ran across the strings of his sitar, the man’s own will infused into his summoned creatures. He had not simply learned to fight with his own two hands, as she had; he had been taught to command, to make them greater. With mere orders, the things would have been no better than the castoffs she had torn through in the lands of Fire. They would have scarcely slowed her down, and she would have been upon Arc in the blink of an eye.
With his will throughout them, with his music imparting awareness they would not otherwise have, it was a very different story. Raw ingrained muscle memory was all that moved Akemi and got her to spin around, scabbard in hand, and not a moment too soon. She caught a set of rock claws upon the scabbard, only its infusion keeping the wood from shattering like glass blown too thin. As it was, she had to hold against as much weight as three men, all pressing down on her from above. The soil beneath her feet began to yield, sinking her down slowly but surely as it compressed downward.
What concerned her far more, were the other beasts. Not the ones surrounding her, waiting for her to break from the one pressing down with a silent howl, teeth gnashing and grinding to have her for lunch as instinct drove it beyond Arc’s command. No, her concern were the ones racing for Clark and Jia, the ones aiming at Arc’s actual objective. After all, it wasn’t Akemi, the mighty Executioner, who needed to fall. It was an effectively powerless girl.
Not an option. “CLARK! CROWD CONTROL!”
That was all it took. Clark’s loyalty was nearly too great; he might have acted without her approval, might have chosen to throw into the fight. But the conflict would have made him hesitate, possibly too long. The instant she gave the word, Clark swung that caster forward, the weapon nearly aglow as he poured his fire into it. “Yes, my Lady!” He wrenched the bowstring back, took aim at the nearest of the beasts, and pulled the trigger, in scarcely more than the blink of an eye.
That first shot echoed as it was loosed from the Steel Shooter, Clark putting more force into it than was perhaps necessary. The core ammunition, a thin bolt made of naught but his will, was engulfed in blue fire. It didn’t so much strike the first beast as it drilled into it, boring it clear through with a wide and gaping chasm through its entire body.
The thing collapsed to rubble in mid-stride, rubble that its followers already bounded over to leap at Clark and Jia both. But Akemi could not watch any longer, her time too precious in the heat of the battle. Already she heard the sound of the earth splitting, of Arc calling more beasts to his side.
She needed room to work, room to get to Arc and settle this. And there was only one way to get it. She planted her boot into the stone beast, pushing it just that bit back. Its claws were forced off of her scabbard, pushed into the air for a split second. That split second was all she needed to give the thing a true and proper kick, a flipping thing that thrust both of her feet into its chin.
As the beast fell onto its back, stunned into briefly losing its animate nature, she landed back on those same feet. The others moved, ready for their pound of flesh.
And so too, did she. Akemi leapt over one, sliced open the jaw of the next, forcing the great hounds to turn and try to chase her. To get over each other, their mimicry of pack animal instincts focused entirely on her. Turning them to the objective, to try and overwhelm Clark instead, would take a precious moment that Arc didn’t have.
For nearly as soon as she was out of the pack, Akemi was upon Arc. She brought her blade down, its edge meeting his sitar with a deeply resonant crash of metal upon its strings. The two were left struggling, each trying to overpower the other. “Tell me your orders, Arc! You owe me that much!”
The man planted his feet, gritting his teeth. A wind swept up between them, the raw weight of their power clashing, that swept a shock of metallic silver hair back on his head. “To kill her, defeat you, bring you back to your senses…”
“Defeat? You’re to leave me alive, then, is that it?” She pushed harder upon the Blade of the Executioner, trying to get past Arc’s own grip upon the Battlecry.
“You think my father would throw away our alliance for a peasant? Just walk away, Akemi!”
“I gave her my word, you empty-headed bard!” She couldn’t let up, not even for a moment. If he could pluck those strings, give new orders to the beasts, Clark would be overwhelmed. But she could hear their pounding footsteps, coming closer now that they’d untangled themselves from eachother. They’d be on her any second.
Yet still, she smiled. She only needed to force her friend to admit defeat. He could say he had done his best, say it honestly, and none would need to die. To cast Arc to death because Akemi acted upon her word and her honor, would stain their alliance just as readily as if Arc struck her down himself. The old man would never do it, as simple as that.
And so, Akemi let one hand free of the Blade, reaching past it and Arc’s own weapon to snatch the young man’s shirt. She planted her feet firm, and with a cry, tossed him into the pack of stone beasts in the instant before they could set upon her. They would not harm their master, but the confusion would give her the moment she needed, to start her work in earnest.
She struck as she reached the pack, each slice of her blade cutting deep into the stone. Infused with power, the blade endured, and her raw strength saw the rock split clean and smooth. The creatures could not stop her in the moment, her speed and strength simply too great without proper orders. Fresh green hit the ground in waves, engulfing the grass and soil as she broke the summoned beasts.
But Arc, Arc was different. The instant she saw him in the midst of the pack where she had thrown him, already on his feet, she saw the key mistake she’d made.
He had gotten a chance to get his fingers on those strings. He strummed the Battlecry, a spread of notes that leapt out as not only sound, but physical force. A wave shimmered and rippled as it spread out from the instrument of war, crashing into her chest before she could prepare herself for it. She was thrust back, sailing into the air.
For just a moment, she could see the battlefield in all. She could see Clark fighting, the other hounds trying to get around him to strike at Jia, but unable to complete the circle. He chewed into them with the fire from his caster, searing blue bolts sticking deep into the rock flesh, yet more were coming up as fast as he could strike them down. Arc’s will wasn’t focused on the fight, but on trying to overwhelm Clark.
That had to change.
Akemi landed on her feet, sliding back nearly a full foot before she came to a stop. She brought the Blade of the Executioner in front of her, staring Arc down as the pack around him properly disentangled themselves at last. She had to get into his head, force him to focus on her alone. “Is that how it is, then? Are you too scared to face me directly? To focus on me properly?!”
Arc bit back an entire array of curses, clutching his sitar as he stood there amidst the pack. “Akemi, why do you have to make this so difficult?!”
“You know why.” She shifted her feet, brought her weight forward, ready to charge. “You and me, Arc. Make it a duel! Fight me with some honor, instead of all of this!”
He stared her down, sitar in hand and ready. The pack didn’t move around him, and even the ones facing Clark started to pace, watching him, waiting. The battlefield was, for just a moment, still as a painting.
And then, at last, Arc yielded. His fingers ran down the strings, a succession of notes echoed through the hillside. The beasts crumbled around him, as he demanded their spirits return to the earth below. He let his eyes close, allowed himself a single deep, smooth breath.
Then he roared, and came at Akemi too fast for a mere peasant’s eyes to track. A thin wave of force preceded him, the raw strength of his will and his training channeled through the Battlecry, and slammed into Akemi’s own blocking blade. Again and again they clashed, Arc even swinging the instrument itself as a weapon when no other option came to him in the moment. But neither could gain ground, not with the experience both had. They had sparred many times, had learned each other’s styles and quirks inside and out.
Had they simply been sparring, it might have stayed that way for minutes, even hours. Two well-matched warriors, each trying to force the other to slip up and make a single mistake to be capitalized upon. But sparring was the furthest thing from either’s mind. This was duty, honor, all the things they built their very selves around, coming to a head.
And with it all, it was Akemi who drove herself the further. She didn’t have regrets, painful orders to honor despite herself. She had her word, her pride, and the duty she took up by her own hand. So it was on that pride, for the sake of that duty, did she take a risk. For a single second, she let her guard slip. Just enough, that Arc could drive home a solid strike, could take advantage, if he was truly driven.
The man hesitated. He nearly flinched, instincts pushing in the opposite direction from orders. His hand upon the sitar couldn’t bring the phantom strikes home upon the music, not for that single moment in time.
It was all Akemi needed. The flat of her blade plunged into the space between Arc’s arm and his torso, her scabbard in hand whipped to the opposite side. She put her weight to it before he could pull back, could get free, and she flipped him straight onto his back at her feet. One such foot slammed onto his chest, pinning the sitar between the two.
The Blade of the Executioner, humming with its own might, came to have its rounded tip aimed for his throat. “Sir Arc of the House of Mantis! I trade mercy for mercy. You keep your life, your weapon, and your honor, and we walk away. These are my terms. Will you accept them?”
Arc just stared, as he processed what had happened. One moment, he had been trying to force himself to finish the job, to put Akemi in the very opposite of this situation. To make her take the offer of her life in trade for Jia’s, to live and let a peasant die. The next, after only the slimmest flash of hesitation, he found himself staring down that damn blade of hers.
All he could do, when he caught himself up to the moment, was laugh. It came slow, with shallow breath, from the weight of her boot still on his chest. “You damn madwoman. You’re really doing this… You’re really, fucking, doing this. I accept, on the House of the Mantis! Mercy for mercy…Now would you get off of me?”
“Gladly.” She lifted her foot, planted it on the ground once again, and offered an empty hand. “Let me help you up.”
He took the hand, let her lift him to his feet. “You know I can’t protect you for long…You need to get out of these lands.”
“That was always the plan…You stay in touch, Arc. Don’t let this hurt things.” She turned her gaze to Clark and Jia, the two of them eyeing the crumbled beasts of stone warily. No time for congratulations, for checking injuries, or even properly gathering their things. This close to the capital, there were too many people who could be sent out to finish what Arc couldn’t. “Come on, both of you! We need to move!”
Italic Serials 