Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

"I told you she was fast!" Enns shouted.

Elenya would show them just how quick she was. The gauntlet blazed. She felt the sorcery course through the muscles of her hands, her hips, her ankles. The talisman made her as fast as a person could be.

Her current opponent was the only one heavily armored. The others had sacrificed protection for stealth and mobility. She needed this one out of the way quickly. It took four thrusts to mortally wound him, leaving her barely enough time to meet the man rushing in from the door.

As Elenya engaged him, she saw over his shoulder that Enns was mounting his oeikani, not content with the worsening odds. Her rage made her even faster. The soldier came in thrusting. She parried and drove her point in through a seam under his arm. He winced and jabbed again. She sidestepped, blade high, and spotted an opening.

Her weapon was abruptly yanked from her grip. She jumped backwards, caught by surprise. The man from the goat pen had apparently blocked her demonblade throw, or his armor vest had saved him. He was moving in, a mace in one hand, in the other the whip with which he had disarmed her. He lashed at her again, striking her cheek such a blow that her head rang.

Her plight went from bad to worse. The dying man on the ground grabbed her legs, making her lose her balance. The man with whom she was fencing drove forward. She feared she was lost.

The rythni swooped out of nowhere and beat its wings in the swordsman's face.

Elenya twisted out of the path of the thrust, and, though her legs were still trapped, she managed to fall backward, further out of danger. She kicked. The man on the ground, weakened by blood loss, could not maintain his grip. As she rolled free, she saw that she had landed beside her tackler's discarded saber. In an eyeblink it was hers.

The tip of the lash pinked one of her ears, but she swung in time to sever the last two feet of whip. The wielder blinked in awe at her swift reaction, but like a veteran, did not let it delay his immediate follow-up. She was already out of range, however, on her feet, rushing the swordsman. The rythni had disappeared.

She went high, a dangerous strategy for a fencer. She skewered him in the eye. Though doomed, he began slashing wildly. The first swing nearly cut her belt off of her, but did not touch her skin. She danced out of the arc of the rest.

The whip missed her head so narrowly that the end captured a few strands of hair and ripped them from her scalp. Once again she spun and trimmed the length.

If her adversary was daunted by the rapid disposal of his companions, he did not reveal it. He flicked his lash and, once again, snatched her weapon out of her grip.

She blinked. The man was good. She was caught off guard by someone who could-at least with that particular weapon-match her exaggerated speed. It left her unprepared for his charge.

Her mind was clear. She knew that if she tried to dive out of the way, or jump for a weapon, she would not make it. So she stepped in.

His mace struck a glancing blow on her biceps, numbing her entire arm. But her mailed fist landed squarely under his nose, caving in the front of his face, the magic reinforcing her punch. He went down like a steer struck by a slaughterhouse mallet.

His momentum carried him into her, knocking her down. She had to pause to regain her breath, then she untangled herself and bolted for the exit, grabbing Dushin's sword from his corpse as she passed. She ignored her mount; she could never catch the traitor on oeikaniback. Her augmented legs were the only hope.

Enns had a good lead. She had lost too much time with the ambushers. She pumped her legs as fast as they would go, until the boles of the trees on either side of the lane began to blur. The jewel above the knuckle of her left middle finger began to throb. She drank more deeply of its power.

He would not get away. She would not let him get away now.

After almost a mile, the lane ended, spilling her out onto the main road. Enns was galloping toward Eruth, visible only as a blur at the head of a streamer of dust.

She ran until her feet ached from the force of the inhumanly rapid impacts and relaunches. She smelled the sweat of the oeikani. The ruins of an old building slipped past on her right, the first indication that the village was near.

Her side was beginning to cramp. She heard the oeikani's labored but regular breathing. It was running at its limit, but it was still fresh. It was meant for this kind of a race, and she, in spite of sorcerous assistance, was not.

Her face was stung by dirt kicked up by the oeikani's hooves. The tail of the animal waved before her eyes, just out of reach. Enns turned. A look of horror filled his face. He began to lash his mount.

Elenya forced herself to one ultimate burst of speed. She readied Dushin's sword. She had the chance for one, and only one, slash at the back of the oeikani's knee.

She collapsed as she swung, the roadway scraping flesh from her face. But the pain there, and in her biceps, and in her side, seemed faint and inconsequential against the scream of the oeikani. She lifted her head just in time to see the hamstrung animal slide to a wrenching, tumbling halt. Its rider was flung heels over head.

She could not inhale fast enough. Spots flickered in front of her vision. She spat grit. Only sheer will kept her from fainting. She forced herself up to a kneeling position, bracing her upper body with her good arm. Her weapon lay in the dust not far away, but she left it, unable to do anything but pant. The jewel on her gauntlet had gone dead. That arm, the one struck by the mace, felt like an anchor.

Enns groaned and picked himself up from the road. He stared about, befuddled, eyes drawn first to the thrashing of his crippled animal, then to his torn sleeves, and finally to Elenya. He staggered back, but the half-focused quality left his gaze. He steadied himself and drew his sword.

The graceful way he freed the blade from its scabbard proved that the tumble had not stolen his ability to fence. She crawled to her sword, clasped it, and waited for him on her knees, still doubled over from the pain in her diaphragm.

When he realized how stricken she was, and the mildness of his own injuries, he laughed. He advanced immediately, though with caution, steel first.

He opened with three quick thrusts. She managed to parry them, and when he paused, she threw dirt in his face. He cursed and backed off, instinctively parrying her feeble jab. He stopped after three steps and shook the grit off his eyelashes. She slowly rose to her feet.

Standing took more effort than she had to spare. She got her blade up in time to contact his, but not well enough to deflect his thrust. She stopped the point by catching it with her left palm. As the weapon met the ward around the gauntlet, jagged splinters of electricity snaked out in several directions. She stumbled under the weight of the blow. He winced at the vibrations running down the sword and retreated.

On the next attack he abandoned broad, telegraphed movements in favor of subtle techniques. Elenya parried one thrust with her sword guard, another with her armored hand, and tried to force her enervated body to obey her, tried to shake the effects of the mace blow from her left arm. She licked a trickle of blood, a result of her fall, off her lip. Even if she had been fresh, his swordplay would have been difficult to deal with. Like her, Enns had been taught by Troy, Cilendrodel's best fencing instructor, and he had been an apt pupil.

Enns grinned savagely. "Not so fast anymore, are you, your highness?" The sarcasm he put on the honorific explained a great deal.

She blew a sweat-drenched strand of hair away from her lips. She was finally able to inhale through her nostrils, though she still exhaled through her mouth. She felt a little less dizzy.