Record of Ashes War

Chapter 26 - Hunting a Blade of Subtlety

Right foot before the left. Feet one foot apart. Body tilted to the side to reduce target surface area.

Sar'tara felt uncomfortable. Her hand ran along the thick single braid that Meredith had done for her earlier in the morning. Plains dwellers fought with such precise methods. It felt impractical, and difficult to maneuver. Kalin had insisted she tie her hair in a bun so it wouldn't interfere during combat. Sar'tara refused. She liked keeping a single braid, and it was how most elder sisters had kept their hair during hunts. At the least, the use of bows and arrows were not much different. But the types of bows were many. Crossbows, shortbows, recurves —which had become her favorite— and longbows. Longbows were useful with their far reaching range. Crossbows were too complicated and ugly. Very ugly. There was no beauty in using one.

"Your Grace, are you certain about this?" a young beardless man asked. The one-handed sword he held seemed an extension of his body, as if he'd been born with it and had used it since he was a child. He still looked somewhat like a child.

"Are you questioning me, Captain Faren?"

"More so doubting myself, Your Grace. The sudden promotion… and now this?"

"So you are questioning me."

The young man spoke no further. Sar'tara looked into his eyes and tried to read his emotions. Fear. Not afraid of her. Rather, afraid like a little girl just learning to use her bow. As if she would snap it and anger her elder sisters. Faren was afraid of snapping Sar'tara. Of hurting her. She smirked. Shooting the Union messenger had garnered her respect, its rumors spreading throughout the encampment quickly. Clearly not enough respect. Faren thought himself the predator in this strange game. She bent her knees just as Kalin had taught her. The wooden training sword in her hands felt just as heavy as a real one.

"Any time now," Kalin said.

Faren took hesitant but measured steps towards her. He was looking past her rather than at her. Sar'tara lunged and swung just as she'd been taught the night before. Faren brought his own training blade up to block. It was haphazard. He still refused to look at her. He had strength enough to block despite barely trying. Sar'tara couldn't tell if he was trying to humiliate her.

A few others had drawn close to watch with a side-eye.

Sar'tara drew her hand back and swung wide, putting as much of her strength and weight into the blow. She saw Faren's left hand twitch. He could have brought it up behind the blade of his sword to increase his defensive strength. But instead, it stayed glue to his side. Only the hand holding the sword came up. The weight of Sar'tara's attack swatted Faren's weapon away. She struck him lightly at the side of his head and unexpectedly, he fell over.

"I win," she declared. The victory left a bitter taste in her mouth. Faren wasn't trying at all. She couldn't understand why. Nor could she understand why Kalin had asked someone younger than her to be a teacher.

The duke sighed. "I would threaten you with a demotion," he began, "but by the way you've been acting, you'd probably welcome it. Were the Empire soldiers you faced yesterday this weak, Captain?"

"No, Grace," Faren said. He began rising to his feet. "I—"

"You what?" Kalin's sudden shout surprised the young man and he slipped on the wet morning grass, falling on his rear once more. Mocking laughter from his peers followed. A glare from their lord shut them up. "Face her appropriately. She's more than capable. You are a soldier of House Serene. You should learn to judge your opponents more carefully."

"I can't bring myself to hurt the lady. Also, I can't look at her without... you know…"

"The lady?"

"Everyone else has been saying how you and her… Is it wrong?"

Kalin sighed again. There'd been another rumor Sar'tara had heard whispers of. This one was kept from her, strangely. Like when I'd come up with 'Kiali the Cruel'. It made her think these rumors were negative, made her feel more alone. Despite the supposed respect she'd garnered, everyone but Kalin and Meredith kept their distance from her.

Kiali… Sar'tara regretted ever coming up with such a name. In some ways, Kiali had been kinder than even Freya. She imagined what it would have been like adapting to this new environment with them. Learning new things —new ways of fighting, new foods to eat, perhaps even riding a horse with them…

"Don't go believing things you hear from secondary sources," Kalin told Faren. "Do they not teach you this at the garrison academy? Misinformation can go a long way to undermine an army's cohesion."

"Er, yes. But it isn't exactly secondary…"

"Start over. Keep your eyes on her as you would any opponent. Don't let her wide swings go unpunished. You're the teacher here. Remember that. Sar'tara, get back in position."

She nodded. Faren still held that same hesitant expression. 'Wide swings' Kalin said. They felt natural. It felt natural to swing as hard as possible. But the strange grace with which the swordsmen of the plains dwellers fought showed otherwise. The sword was as much a defensive tool as it was a weapon. To swing wide was to expose her bare body to harm just as a thick tree trunk was used for target practice by the young girls of the Selharr. Sar'tara was glad to learn this new art. It was like being a child once more.

Only, she was no longer in the Papillion Forest. She would never again be there. Never again be among her sisters.

Kalin announced the beginning of the spar. Faren, despite his hesitant expression lunged forward. Sar'tara recognized his hand movements. They were similar to what Kalin had shown her earlier. He meant to strike with a thrust. Sar'tara moved to deflect. The thrust never came. Faren disappeared from her field of vision. She thought that he'd slipped again when she felt something strike the rear of her ankles. Her feet slid forward of their own accord and Sar'tara found herself sitting on her rear, baffled.

"I win!" Faren announced with an easy going smile.

She rubbed her ankles, frowning. She now knew why he thought himself the predator. The hunter. A thin smile spread along her lips as her eyes narrowed. She slowly stood up. Let's see who the hunter really is.

"Again," Sar'tara declared.

Faren glanced towards Kalin who nodded his approval. The fighters returned to their starting positions. Sar'tara bent her knees once more —this time much lower. She resorted to the primal fighting style she'd tried using when fighting against the mist soldiers of her Mother's Trials. The plains dweller style was unsuited for her. It was too complicated.

Kalin announced the beginning. Faren stood still, ready in his own way. His eyes still held hesitation. Something about it seemed genuine this time. She lunged towards him, going even lower than her starting position before swinging her sword upward whilst springing up with her legs. Faren didn’t block as she expected. He simply backed off. He couldn't block an attack that came from directly beneath him.

Sar'tara exhaled a heavy breath. The attack would be difficult to land if her opponent merely dodged. Dodging was also less tiring than attacking. She needed to find another strategy. Sensing her brief lull, Faren rushed her.

Sar'tara charged at the same time, making sure he wouldn't have the opportunity to catch her with another feint. His attack came faster than hers. She expected as much, barely blocking the strike aimed at her head. The weight of it made her arm buzz. Sar'tara was pushed back further, parrying and dodging to the best of her ability. Faren wasn't completely serious. He was still afraid of hurting her. His arms slowed ever so slightly with his relentless assault.

Sar'tara used the opportunity to step in and deliver a knee to his gut, causing him to reel back. She pressed forward, swinging as precisely as she could imagine, making sure she wasn't swinging too wide. Apparently she still was. The flat of Faren's blade caught her right hand. Sar'tara yelped and dropped her weapon. In an instant, Faren's sword turned down. He held it in a backhand grip, the round wooden pommel reaching for her temple. She ducked low, her primal instincts forcing her to reach behind her back for the daggers at her waist. She'd barely finished drawing one, eyeing his knee, when a wooden sword stopped short of her neck.

"I win," Faren declared once more. He didn't look particularly tired. His breaths were only slightly hurried. He glanced at the dagger in her hands. "You weren't actually going to kill me, were you?"

She shrugged, wearing a smile. "Probably not." She almost did though. Almost let survival instinct consume her rationale. Her fingers trembled. Sar'tara's mouth grew dry as she recalled being attacked by men with swords. The searing pain on her back. "Again?" she asked, standing up. She relaxed her breathing. She needed to conquer her fears if she was ever going to fight her enemies.

"No," Kalin said. "Let's take a break." He began walking away, motioning for her to follow. They made their way to the command tent, the armored guards standing before it looking as emotionless as they always were. Kalin filled a cup using a pitcher of water and handed it to her. "I know what the eyes of a killer look like. Next time, you train without those daggers on you."

Sar'tara nodded. She took a sip and swished it around.

"I'm not disappointed. Just keep in mind that you're sparring, not fighting for your life."

Another nod. She handed the cup back, fingers still shaky. She jerked her hand back and pretended to examine her dagger. Kalin looked over the papers left at a small table. There were hushed voices at the tent's entrance that made both of them turn their heads. Someone entered shortly after; a man wearing a dark grey cloak with a bow and quiver strapped to his back. His attire marked him as a scout, Sar'tara had come to learn. She caught from him the sharp smell of fresh blood. He only had minor stains upon his clothing. He was breathing heavily, almost unnaturally she thought. As if faking his exhaustion.

The man's eyes flickered to her and then back to Kalin. "Er, Your Grace, I thought you'd be alone. Is this a bad time?" he asked. His quick words did not match his supposed heavy breathing.

"Flames! Scorch you and your stupid rumors! I can't believe grown men would give in to gossiping. No, it isn't a bad time. Speak quickly. What is it?"

The man nodded, glancing at Sar'tara again. He stepped in closer to Kalin. "The Tarmians… they… It'd be faster to… show you," he said, fumbling through the large pockets sewn into his cloak.

Sar'tara frowned. All of a sudden, he was speaking as if out of breath. Kalin seemed to make nothing of it, instead inspecting the man's attire. "You're a scout? How is it you have blood on your clothes? Did you catch a stray enemy by any chance?"

"No, that's," the man began. He pulled out a white cloth folded in many parts. From where she stood, Sar'tara could see what seemed like a hilt poking out from the end of the cloth. Kalin couldn't see it, standing directly in front of the scout. "Ah! Here it is," the man said.

The duke tilted his head. His eyes narrowed at the cloth in the messenger's hands. The cloth tilted. A dagger slid out. The messenger caught it with one hand. A deep scowl settled on Kalin's face. He began stepping back, his hand reaching for the sword at his waist. He wasn't fast enough.

Sar'tara watched the scene play out in slow. She lunged just as the scout prepared to stick Kalin with the dagger. One hand caught the scout's and the other plunged her own dagger into the man's side. Sar'tara pulled out and stabbed again, growling as she did so. The would be killer turned towards her before falling to the ground whilst clutching his wounds.

Kalin stared wide eyed, one hand resting on the hilt of his undrawn sword. "Thank you," he managed after a few seconds of blinking.

"What was that about knowing the eyes of a killer?" she asked, smirking. She looked at the writhing scout. No emotions registered. He threatened her benefactor and she'd reacted accordingly, defending Kalin just as she would have done for any of her sisters.

The duke coughed. "Knowing them and reacting to them are two different things," he grumbled, regaining his posture. He looked down at his attacker. It wasn't long until the man's heart stopped beating. "Guards!"

Two stoic men entered into the tent. Their faces finally showed emotion —that of surprise. "An assassin. Strip him." They did as they were told, removing the stolen clothes. The man's bare torso was revealed to them, two holes at the side still leaking dark red. On the other side, a scorpion tattoo.

"One of the Wickar," Kalin spat. "Kazir's hounds. As expected. Alert the camp. Wickar assassins are known to hunt in groups. The worst part of all this is that we'll never know which of our scouts were slain until we do a head count later." One of the guards left, shouting once outside. The other remained, sword in hand, staying at his lord's side. "Kazir is a cunning commander. If I know anything about him, he'll attack us now assuming the assassination attempt to have either succeeded, or at least succeeded in causing chaos in the camp. Assuming he himself isn't slithering about somewhere here."

Wickar assassins. Sar'tara racked her brain. The term was unfamiliar. They were hunters of sorts. Hunters of people.

Kalin marched out, Sar'tara trailing alongside his guard. He began shouting orders. Rask quickly came and left again, relaying orders of preparation. The encampment roared to life. Soldiers filed out and began lining up as armsmen handed out spears and shields. The order at which such large numbers moved and with such cohesion was astonishing.

Sar'tara spotted another in scout attire. He seemed bewildered at first, but then began following similar movements. He tried hard to blend in. It was obvious. She stepped away from Kalin, darting from side to side. The assassin spotted her and Sar'tara walked towards the man normally with a bright smile, her hands clutching the hilts of daggers behind her back. He recognized her feeble attempt for what it was and bolted.

Sar'tara heard Kalin shout her name. She ignored it. She wanted to be recognized. Needed to be recognized. If one could attain a high position within this society through hard work, then she would do just that. She needed a high enough position within the army to command thousands of her own. Vengeance for her dead sisters was not out of her grasp. She couldn't always rely on Kalin.

Sar'tara also couldn't let the deceitful assassins near him. She needed him alive. He was her benefactor. And her… friend? She couldn't recall when she'd started thinking of him like that.

The fleeing assassin stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a few quick whistles. Two more men disguised as scouts appeared, chasing after her. The first man stopped running and turned around to face Sar'tara, brandishing a strange hooked sword that she had never seen before. She was suddenly caught inside a triangle formation. The assassins veiled their faces. Sar'tara crouched low, shifting her feet and attempting to keep her eyes on at least two of her foes.

"She's a forest survivor," one of the Wickar said, his accent thick, much like her own. "Inform the master."

An assassin broke off and continued running. Sar'tara thought to chase him but decided against it. Two opponents were hard enough. She lunged towards one, briefly catching a glimpse of Kalin and his guard running towards her. The assassins exchanged hand gestures with each other. They dodged the short range of her daggers and danced around her. Played around her. Treated her like a fledgling fawn trying to break out of an encirclement of wolves. They wanted her alive she realized. Their eyes constantly flickered past her. Kalin. He was still the target.

Sar'tara turned to warn him as he rushed in, sword drawn. A gloved hand clamped down on her open mouth and something sharp and cold bit into her throat. She dropped her weapons, limbs rigid and frozen, standing still at the mercy of her assailant. Her warning cries came out as muffled sounds. The second assassin turned to face Kalin and his guard. The duke hesitated, seeing her held captive. His guard, however, did not. The priorities of the armored man was his lord and his lord only.

The assassin narrowly sidestepped a thrust from the guard. He caught the guard's sword with the hook of his own blade and twisted it out of the man's grip. The guardsman, unarmed, stood wide eyed before the assassin. He began backing off too late as his hands reached for the daggers at his waist. Kalin stepped in to save his own soldier. It was the opportunity the assassin had been waiting for. He tried a similar disarming move. The duke didn't fall for it. He rushed in past the killer's blade hit him with his shoulder, forcing the assassin several steps back.

"The Wickar are blademasters, Sar'tara. You misjudged," Kalin said, his tone level. His eyes had held a faint glimmer of fear when seeing her captive. None of that was now present. His cold gaze was fixed on the opponent before him. "Do you think you can take me alone now that I have a sword in hand?"

"Disarm yourself, Lord Serene. Or the woman dies."

"She'd be dead already if you wanted that. Is that not why your third man has fled? You know she comes from the burnt forest."

"We take her with us regardless."

Sar'tara swallowed. Take her? To another unfamiliar place and away from Kalin? She tried not to let panic show on her face.

"For what?" Kalin asked. "The forest no longer has any magical Artifacts." The assassin shifted about. Kalin was winning the argument. He looked past him and at the second man also wearing scout's garb. Sar'tara met his eyes. It filled her with confidence. "What you have in your hands is not a frightened hare," he began just as Sar'tara bit down on the hand covering her mouth. The iron against her throat eased just slightly as her captor winced in pain. She wedged an arm in between and tangled her feet with that of the assassin, sending them both down. He fell first, the back of his head striking the ground. She fell on top, her hands finding one of her daggers, the tip of which was soon plunged into the assassin's chest, staining the scout's garb with more blood than it already had. "But rather a lioness," Kalin finished saying.

The last remaining assassin fled. Blademaster though he may be, he no longer fancied his chances. Sar'tara gave chase. Out of instinct, her dagger left her hand. The flying blade grazed her prey's calf. It was enough to cause a stumble. The man tripped, face first, and slid forward on the wet grass. She leapt on top of him, her weight keeping him pinned down. She grabbed hold of both arms to ensure he wouldn't try anything funny. She felt no resistance from him. His body had gone limp.

"Let him go," Kalin said. "It's pointless."

Sar'tara didn't understand. She did as she was told, leaping away quickly and keeping her guard up. Kalin kicked the assassin over. His eyes had rolled to the back of his head. He was foaming at the mouth. "Poison?" she asked.

"Yes. They'd rather die than be caught."

She frowned. So long as one was alive, there always remained an opportunity to fight. But these disguised killers killed themselves when defeat was imminent. "Why do they want to kill you?"

"I am one of Xenaria's bastions."

"That is all?"

"The Empire of Tarmia is an expansionary nation. They seek to extend their borders by conquering others. If I'm gone, their task becomes easier. Though, they've only become large enough to be called an empire within the last decade."

Sar'tara thought for a moment. The nation of Xenaria was Kalin's home. A home he was the guardian of. She wanted to remain at his side. She had no one else to lean on. No one else to care for her. The Papillion Forest was gone. She needed to accept that. The very thought sent sharp ice through her chest.

Xenaria was her home now. If she was going to be a leader in Xenaria, a guardian of the nation, this Tarmian Empire would be her enemy as well. She would bear a responsibility to protect Xenaria. Protect Kalin and his people from all threats, whether they be the Union or someone else. Her thoughts were interrupted by horns blaring in the distance.

"Tarmia's war horn," Kalin said, looking at her. "It's not your war, Sar'tara."

"But it is yours."

"You wish to involve yourself then?"

"I wish to climb the ranks," she declared.

His eyes narrowed. "To one day command your own sizeable force and go after the Thousand Sun City?"

She nodded slowly.

He bit his lip as if hesitating. "I will not tell you that it is impossible. Sieging a city is different to waging open war. Sieging that city, even more so." He smiled. "But as I said, I will stand with you every step of the way."