Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

The chase continued for a few minutes before Ryne realized they no longer gained. In fact, the man stayed just out of reach the entire time. A face, covered in dark green and yellow paint, flickered back at them.

Another Alzari? This far into the Mondros?

Ryne glanced to the side again. Two lapras now loped along their flanks, focused on the Alzari. Seeking easier prey then, or what’ll remain when we’re done. Ryne smiled with the thought.

The assassin’s body twisted and his hand flung out toward Sakari. Before his hand retracted, he faced forward again without losing any momentum to his flight.

Sakari rolled his shoulders and slipped to one side. Three daggers flew past where he was moments ago.

Sunlight glinted from the blades now flying toward Ryne. Unable to duck, he leaped to one side without stopping. The daggers stuck into a tree trunk somewhere behind him with near simultaneous thuds.

Ryne reached through his Scripts for Mater around him. At that moment, what bothered him became clear. He stopped himself from touching the elements. Still in pursuit, he frowned.

The Alzari were Matii who could Forge the element of Forms and its essences. Why didn’t this one do so and make himself one with the trees? Why did he make the mistake of breaking a branch, but now ran without touching a single leaf?

Ryne skidded to a halt, his heart racing. “Sakari. Cease.”

Sakari glanced back at Ryne, and then he too stopped. His smooth gait returned him to Ryne within moments. The Alzari still ran without a sound.

“Is all well?” Sakari showed no signs of exertion.

Ryne’s breathing slowed to normal. “Alzari assassins aren’t allowed on their own until they perfect their craft. If he intended to try to kill one of us, we wouldn’t hear him coming. And this one doesn’t have the aura of Amuni’s Children.”

Sakari’s face remained blank.

“Either he wanted us to hear him and lead us into a trap, or he’s protecting something. Think. When we came within range, he slowed for us. He never used Mater to escape as they often do. Why’s that?”

Sakari shrugged. “Let us return and see.”

Winding their way back, they stopped to check several possible hiding spots. Behind them, lapras howled. The earlier beasts had drummed up the courage to attack the Alzari after all, Ryne thought with a smirk. The fight wouldn’t end well for the animals.

They continued to search until they stood close to where the chase began. A slight movement drew Ryne’s attention. His gaze crossed an area that did not quite fit within the leaves and brush. An aura bloomed with light in patterns he recognized, but he pretended not to see.

“Mariel’s returned,” Sakari said.

“Yes. I meant to ask you on the mountain. Have you ever seen an aura like hers?”

“Besides yours? No.”

Ryne’s eyes narrowed at Sakari’s answer. He was about to speak when an unusual sound fluttered behind them. The noises of the forest ceased. Moments later, the sound repeated from behind the roots of one of the biggest trees.

A soft whimper.

They looked at each other and turned away from Mariel’s aura. The noise issued again, followed by shushing sounds. Ryne and Sakari split apart and crept closer.

A figure leaped from behind the roots, hands flashing. Several daggers flew through the air.

Sakari rolled to one side, three blades cutting the air where he once stood.

Three other daggers sped toward Ryne. He swung his sword swung up, batted them away with loud pings, and sheathed the weapon in the same motion.

Hands gripping two matching, wide-bladed knives, an Alzari woman stood before them, her hair shorn short like all the others of her clan. War paint hid her face. Keeping her elbows squared with her arms extended in front of her, one above the other, she held the knives flush against her forearms. The foot-long serrated blades pointed outwards, steel glinting as she swayed from side to side. Blood stained the right shoulder of her tight green shirt. Reddish-brown crusted her forearm. Her lithe body trembled, and dark circles rimmed her wild eyes, her gaze shifting from Ryne to Sakari.

Several dozen feet behind the woman, three new lapras crept through the trees. Whimpers rose from the roots in the animals’ path. Before the sounds subsided, she attacked.

The woman flowed toward the closest threat, Sakari. He extended his arm with his unsheathed sword held by the middle, chest-high, between him and the assassin. Her blades spun upright in her hands as she swept in.

The woman’s hands flickered with lightning speed. She attacked low, her blades slicing at Sakari’s thighs. With a subtle shift of his body, he dodged. In the same motion, her knives swept up toward his face. Sakari leaned away from the strokes, and they swished through empty space.

The assassin’s blades flashed again, hurtling down at Sakari’s now exposed midsection. He sucked in his stomach and chest, the weapons missing flesh by a breath and slicing his shirt instead.

The Alzari woman continued her attack, her hands in perpetual motion. She spun and sliced, up and down, left to right. Her feet took tiny steps through the damp leaves as if she danced.

Dodging every attack, Sakari danced with her. Not once did he unsheathe his sword.

The woman’s brow furrowed, and she growled. Her attacks sped faster and faster. A storm of movement.

Yet, for all her attacks, she didn’t use the Stances like the other Alzari they encountered. Her attacks were basic, and only once or twice did Ryne notice a Style. Not one blow touched Sakari’s flesh.

Under her marred war paint, Ryne could see her jaws clench. Now she grunted with each missed attack, her breaths laboring. Fresh blood showed through the shoulder of her shirt.

The blows slowed, and there was a brief respite as the woman paused. She no longer held her weakened arm in a fully poised position. Instead, she tried to hide that she cradled it with the other. Sweat flowed freely down her face. Her good hand edged up until she wiped her forehead.

In that instant, Sakari darted in.

Still sheathed, his sword rammed into her stomach. She gasped, the air knocked out of her. With the same motion, he landed a spinning kick to her head. As his leg swung down from the kick, his fist shot out and slammed into her bloodied shoulder.

She staggered, her knives falling from limp hands. Sakari caught her before she hit the ground and eased her onto the leaves.

Whispers upon the wind were Ryne’s only warning. He dodged three small daggers that split the air within an inch of him.

The Alzari assassin from earlier sprinted among the trees toward him. Two blades spun up into his hands.

The whimpers from behind the roots increased. They became a full-throated baby’s bawling.

Ryne reached for his sword and ran toward the roots.

The Alzari woman screamed.

Ryne landed behind the tree roots, sheathed sword in hand. Below him, against a corner where two large roots met, huddled two children. One was a young boy, no older than three or four, and the other, a crying baby, both dirty and disheveled. The boy’s eyes bulged from their sockets, staring past him.

Spinning away from the children, Ryne unsheathed his greatsword and swung up. The blade took the first lapra’s head with one blow while the second creature was dashing in, dripping jaws agape. Ryne’s sword flashed down as part of the first motion and another head fell. Green, foul smelling blood spurted into the air in viscous jets. The third lapra turned tail and fled.

The Alzari jumped over the roots behind Ryne. Blades bared, he placed himself between Ryne and the crying children.

Ryne turned to face the man with his palm upraised. “I mean you and yours no harm.” With a flick of his wrist, he shed the blood from the sword before returning it to its scabbard.