A Hollow Mountain (The Brightest Shadow Book 2), page 81
Waiting. This time there was no mockery or feints, only a burning gaze that Celivia knew she needed to answer.
Chapter 59
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"I have met a man and a woman who were neither. For the first time, I found someone who understood my... [section destroyed] ...though his drive is terrible, it is her vision of our path that consumes my dreams. For the first time, I am glad that I will not live to see those days."
- excerpt from First of the Sages
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Veron liked to keep her feet firmly on the ground when she fought but, well, there was fucking poison everywhere. That meant she spent far too much of her time in the air, and she wasn't happy about it.
Hopping around in a fight like a man with a rat down his pants was just suicide. Young warriors thought they could get away with it, but they were making themselves targets. Even ordinary archers could notice someone spinning around like a loon and try to put some arrows into them. Worst of all, unless you had some fancy inner strength technique, jumping made your movement entirely predictable.
But if there had been any archers, they might as well have just sat around and jerked themselves off. Given the speed of her fight with Myuneras, they simply wouldn't have mattered.
Their battle took them soaring above the mine, running along its walls, skimming across the islands above the poisonous fog. Veron didn't need to focus for such large jumps, her body simply obeyed, as if she picked herself up and hurled herself at her opponent. And the fur-covered mansthein fighting her might look strange, but he was just as fast, leaping to meet her over and over.
Whatever the hell Olondris did to keep herself firmly planted, Veron didn't have it. Each time Myuneras landed a really solid hit, he sent her flying back through the air. It should have been terrifying, yet when she struck rock on the other side of the mine, it only hurt a bit. And when she hit back, he went flipping through the air too, so fair was fair.
Once again he came at her, snarling, trying to get a firm grip. She decided to let him and he promptly slammed her against the rock wall, then reached for her neck. But that was when Veron slipped out of his grasp, her sword coming around to nick his arm again.
He staggered back, recovering before she could take advantage. She deflected his next two swipes, dodged the third, then his leg was snapping out at hers. Veron barely dodged back and saw his hand coming. All she could do was brace her hands on her sword and block the blow.
And into the air again. As she sailed back, she saw him leaping after her, as he always did. This time, she'd make him pay for it.
The one thing Olondris had never been able to criticize was her ability to pour a huge amount of sein into a single blow, and Veron used every bit of it now. He raised a forearm to deflect it while his other claw prepared to strike, but her sword hit him like an aurochs, biting to the bone and sending him plummeting.
Like a behemoth? They didn't really have aurochs in the north. Fuck it, Veron was just glad to see him crash below, a plume of mist rising where he fell.
She landed awkwardly at the edge of one of the ridges, teetering on the edge of falling into the poison. So far she had pretended that she didn't care, so that Myuneras wouldn't press his advantage, but the truth was that she needed to stay out of it. Veron's training had corrected sloppy use of sein and sharpened her up, but no one could remake their body in a day. From the few wisps she'd tasted, Veron thought that poison... well, it wouldn't be healthy.
Since it was taking Myuneras some time to get back up, Veron looked around the mine carefully. The kids had all been fighting their own battles, a bit slow compared to the arcing fight overhead. Early on she had considered trying to intervene when she had a chance, but she decided against it. So far, Myuneras had remained focused on her, without trying to kill them. It was for the best that he stayed that way, because she didn't want him twisting the head off one of the kids.
All at once he lunged out of the mists. Not wanting to fight on the little island, Veron just leapt backward to the lowest of the tiers. She tried to slash at him when he followed, but he dodged aside, her sword only slicing some of his flowing fur.
He responded with an upward blow so forceful that it knocked her into the air. Veron barely managed to grasp the side of the ledge and pulled her legs up before he slashed at them. She rolled to her feet and found that he was already there.
Off-balance, all she could do was play defense, retreating further and further up the side of the mine as her opponent pressed his advantage. He had stamina, that was for sure. The side had looked like endless tiers of stone, but now that she was using them to defend herself, they eroded rapidly above her.
At the very top, Veron tried to throw the momentum back at him, but her foot slipped on a loose rock. Her swing went wide and in a flash he grabbed her blade, his other hand raking at her face.
Lines of pain tore across it and her head snapped back. All she knew was that she still had both eyes and that his claws were coming for her throat next.
When she tugged her blade from his hand, he flinched for a fraction of a moment, and that was enough. Her boot came up between his legs and landed solidly. He let out a silent snarl and lashed out, scoring another wound on her shoulder and knocking her sword from her hands.
She reached out and grabbed his mane of hair, jerking him to the side. His eyes went wide as if in shock and she slammed her forehead directly into them.
They both staggered back, nursing multiple wounds. Veron scrabbled for her sword, assuming that she would need to defend herself, but to her surprise Myuneras hadn't attacked again. He didn't clutch at his crotch, he simply looked at her and laughed.
"You are strong." His Coran came with a thick mansthein accent, but the words were in his eyes anyway.
"Yeah, you too." Veron let herself rest her hands on her knees for a bit, just aching all over. Blood was dripping down into her eye and from a torn lip, which meant that his claws had very nearly taken her eye. It stung like hell and she'd bet it would leave a scar.
They didn't attack one another again immediately. Though they had fought long and hard, driven by their sein, eventually even they needed a moment to catch their breath. When he didn't seem inclined to attack her immediately, Veron decided to speak up again.
"Why are you fighting for her, anyway?"
He shrugged, muscles rippling through his chest. "I like fight." When he looked at her, she realized that she had been expecting his eyes to be slitted, like a cat, but they were round. "You are what rank?"
"Fuck ranks."
"Ha! Yes, fuck ranks." The laugh made him wince, but even after he continued to grin hungrily. "I am sorry I kill you."
"Don't get ahead of yourself. If we're talking, at least tell me: is Jeraeli that good in bed?"
His head tilted to the side and at first she thought he didn't understand. "She is beautiful and selfish. I accept."
"I hear you there." Veron finally straightened, wringing out her hands and preparing to grip her sword again. "Alright, I don't suppose we can just sit down and have a drink instead of fighting?"
"No." Again that hungry smile.
"Then I suppose we should get to killing each other again."
He raised his claws in front of him, and for a bit Veron thought he was pleading, then she felt the deadly intent behind his posture. When she tried to attack him again, his style had changed. Instead of slashing like a wild animal, relying on his strength and speed, he kept his movements to a minimum. Her feints were dodged and her blows deflected, but he didn't attempt to attack.
Fuck that. Rather than falling into his trap, Veron stepped over the side of the mine, falling to the lower level. She thought she heard a laugh, then he came after her. As she retreated, she managed to bring out more of his ferocity, but he kept it tightly constrained, coiled and waiting to be unleashed.
If she'd had all the time in the world to train with Olondris, she might have had something to counter him. But Veron didn't have anything up her sleeve, and she'd never been much for fancy tricks anyway. She just kept moving, trying to create an opening. Her blade had cut to the bone on his left arm, and though it didn't move slow, it must be weaker.
He struck low again, launching her into the air and across the mine. But this time, he didn't follow directly, instead sprinting across the ridges just above the poison, arriving on the other side first with his feet trailing poisonous mist.
She tried to react, but he was too fast. His claws dug deep into her stomach and twisted, drawing a cry of pain from her. In another heartbeat he'd tear out her guts, so she slammed the hilt of her sword into the wound on his arm. This time he finally gave way, staggering to the side, and she stabbed deep into his stomach.
Then his foot connected with her chest. She sailed back, momentarily peaceful in the air, until she fell into the mists and the poison closed around her.
~ ~ ~
As they danced over the poison, Tani forced herself to remain back and stick to their strategy. She rarely even drew her sickle knife because in hand to hand combat, she simply couldn't compete. Celivia and Jeraeli were much stronger than she was, even with sein, and each time they clashed, their blows fell faster than she could follow.
Keeping her distance, however, she turned the tide of the fight. She could hold the sein within her knives and throw them over and over again, every attempt equally lethal without draining her. Though Jeraeli rarely let any through her defenses, the fact that she had learned to fear them meant that Tani could pressure her.
At last Celivia pulled free, bleeding from several new wounds but still standing. Tani hurled three knives in quick succession, keeping Jeraeli at range. That gave Celivia time to unfurl her whip and lash out with another of those snake-like strikes. Though Jeraeli deflected it, she was knocked backward a step, one foot going over the side and sending mist up around it.
Together they continued striking, pinning Jeraeli down. Though several more superficial wounds opened up on her skin, she simply continued to block. It seemed foolish until Tani realized that Celivia was beginning to slow, exhausting herself with repeated use of her whip. Some of her strikes no longer shifted in midair, her strength only able to pull the whip back to her.
They needed something else, and when Jeraeli ducked aside from another knife, Tani knew that she had her chance.
For one glorious moment, she felt all of the sein along her thread and within her knife. Tani had attempted it before, but now she moved confidently, drawing on that deep connection. It was not only her ties to her tribe or the rigid bonds of errants, but a deeper unity that drew on both. When her knife returned to her, it did not jerk as if pulled, instead twisting smoothly into the air.
Driving deep into Jeraeli's back.
She let out a cry and dropped to one knee... only to lunge off her other foot, crossing the distance between them in an instant. Tani had no time to draw her sickle knife, she was already being driven backward. Somehow she had raised one of her throwing knives in defense, but Jeraeli caught it with one hand and slammed her to the ground, the other lunging for her throat.
Celivia's knife struck her neck from behind. Jeraeli shuddered, and this time she failed to transform her pain into another attack. Though Celivia stabbed her in the back to be certain, Jeraeli sank to the ground with no more fight left in her.
Tani rose slowly, feeling the drops of blood welling from her neck. It had been a terribly close thing, a final burst of conflict far more intense than she had expected. Rubbing her neck, she felt as though she had to voice that tension somehow.
"I had thought... that you would have more time to talk."
"So did I." Celivia stared down at the body. "I didn't realize she was driving herself so hard."
"We all were. Do you think, if the two of you...?"
"Could we have talked through our differences?" Celivia didn't answer the question, only looked up at Tani. They stared at one another without words, though Tani desperately sought them. Had their battles gone slightly differently, it could have been one of them dying.
A snarl echoed across the mine.
Tani turned, readying her remaining knives, and saw Myuneras crouched on the side of the mine, not far away. There was no sign of Veron except her sword through his stomach, and for the first time his gaze fell on them. Though she felt a stab of sorrow for Veron, Tani had no time for fear, not when he was launching himself toward them with that monstrous speed...
In the middle of his leap, Veron burst from the poison with another sword, trailing mist behind her. It spun around her as she turned, strangely graceful, but there was nothing beautiful about the way the sword buried itself in the mansthein's neck.
Veron crashed down not far away, but Celivia quickly went to drag her up onto the highest island of rock. Tani watched nervously for Myuneras to attack again, expanding her senses into the mist. She suddenly smelled a flare of mint, but it burned out the next moment and his body finally lay still beneath the mist.
Though Veron bled from many wounds and she sat just above the poison, obviously exhausted, she had triumphed. Tani couldn't help but shake her head. "You've grown strong, Veron."
"And I should be happy about it." The older woman groaned and dropped the guard's sword beside her. She began coughing violently, blood and wisps of green smoke escaping her lips, but managed a few more words. "It's not enough anymore."
Tani might have inquired further, but her body was beginning to understand that they had actually won. She had come within a hair of death and triumphed. Slaten might be missing, but Celivia and Veron were beside her, still alive. The disrupted mists that floated around them were almost beautiful, fatal as they might be.
Then the sun shone brighter and the poison became emerald silk in the wind. Atop the mine, Melal raised his sword and called out his attack.
Bloodskin raiders charged down the side, howling as they struck out at any surviving guards. Though Tani moved to defend Celivia, she realized that she should have helped the remaining workers. In a flash she saw some of the retreating figures cut down and she could only hope that the others had fled far enough away to escape Melal's wrath.
He leapt down to the island beside them, his eyes bright. Not in fury, but in anticipation. "Where is it?"
"There." Though Tani considered lying to him, she found herself pointing toward the correct tunnel. As he was now, nothing could divert Melal from his path, and lying would only draw his wrath.
The Hero dove directly into the mist and Tani begged fate on Slaten's behalf, without even knowing what she truly wanted.
~ ~ ~
As the Catai dragged his sword across the stone to end his life, the steel screeched in Slaten's ears. He knew he could fight longer, but he also knew that no strategy could overcome the gap between them.
Yet he felt something tugging at his mind, as if there was something he missed. This time it whispered to him not to surrender, but to continue fighting for the sake of the Legend. That victory at this final hour could be glorious. He wanted to reject it, yet found himself listening.
What came to him was no brilliant insight, but a simple fact: he knew the sounds of battle well, and the sword sliding toward him should not be making that sound.
All at once Slaten reconsidered his every experience over the past several days. Again and again, the sounds of battle had seemed to ring within his very soul, and he'd been too much of a fool to understand. He had been hearing sein all along and refusing to listen. As soon as he embraced it, he no longer heard the scrape of a blade, but the pure ring of steel.
The Catai drew close, lifting his blade for a killing blow, but he was too late. Slaten embraced his own sein and the sound of steel filled him.
Sensing something was wrong, the Catai struck early, but Slaten had already begun to move. He dodged aside from the swing and cut his opponent's thigh before retreating out of range.
Seeing the Catai still coming toward him, a grim monolith in the torchlight, Slaten felt a moment of doubt. A little more sein would not win him a victory, after all, and he had no time to train himself in the use of a new technique. Yet even as he doubted, he felt that sein trickling out into his body.
It soaked into him, feeding his strengthened muscles. Immediately he felt lighter as his spirit was no longer torn between wolves. What sein he had left flowed weakly, but his body remained strong and he could use it all freely. Each step he took felt right, as if he finally wore a pair of shoes that truly fit.
When the Catai next struck, Slaten's response came naturally. He deflected the swing, used its force to reverse his grip, and drove a hammer stroke directly into the Catai's chin.
This time the force reverberated through his skull and he collapsed. Slaten dropped against a wall, holding himself up with one arm and staring at the body, unable to believe that he had won. His opponent was not yet dead, but the blow had knocked him unconscious. That was enough.
Once he might have finished his opponent with a fatal strike, yet Slaten felt a deep sense of foreboding. He picked up the torch and walked deeper into the mine as quickly as he dared. Though none of his senses told him anything of the surface, now that he embraced his deeper understanding of sein, the whispering voice in his head left him nervous. Melal must be close.
Down the tunnel, Slaten discovered a large collection of barrels, the poison still hovering thickly around them. For now, he thought of them only as a signpost that promised that he was close. He rushed on, his body strengthened and yet uncertain.
At last he reached a wall, a smooth marble barrier at the end of the tunnel. The mansthein must have reached it and assumed they had found the Zeitai's treasure, but it was no seal. Slaten picked up a fallen pickaxe and swung at the marble.
Though for the first several strikes it was almost as if he had returned to Ith Ire, striking at the stone for days, much had changed. The wall soon crumbled before him, and he carried his torch into the space beyond.
