Incite, page 25
“Dinner.” Two pheasants are tossed down by his feet.
Calix picks up one of the birds by the tail, “Do you even know how to clean and cook it? We have provisions, you know.”
Amiria shrugs, “How hard can it be, get rid of the feathers and the insides then cook it over the fire. Come on, fresh poultry over hard meat pies?”
She has watched Stirling dress and clean a variety of animals. If she really focuses, she is sure she can recall each step from memory. Calix tilts his head thinking over what she has said.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He agrees with her point about fresh meat.
“Team work, we’ll each do one. Follow my lead.” Amiria instructs.
“Sure.” Calix picks up one of the birds as Amiria sits on the grass beside him.
She shows him how to dress the birds in only a matter of minutes by removing the legs, wings and head then skinning the bird instead of plucking the feathers.
“This is actually really hard,” Calix admits.
With her completed bird, Amiria skewers a long branch through the length of it, she pauses to hit her clicker twice, “Yeah, I give props to the chefs at the castle.”
Staring down at her blood and feather-covered hands she recalls the quick and fluent speed Stirling was able to complete the tasks. After several years of practice, he didn’t even break a sweat, as if it was no different than cracking open an egg. Here and now trying it herself, she has discovered a new appreciation for Stirling and those who must prepare meals that she takes for granted to be served to her on a silver plate.
“DAMN!” Calix curses.
The fire Calix tenderly kept ablaze blows in the cyclone created by Dicun’s landing wyvern. Leaping to his feet in a clanging of metal, Calix rushes to the other side of the fire pit in an attempt to use his body to shield the fire from the wind.
Dicun dismounts from his dragon, “I had no visuals on the troop. On another hand, I luckily had no visuals on anyone else out there. Did you guys miss me? Or were you just enjoying this little peasant date you two are on?”
“They’re pheasants,” Calix states.
“I didn’t mispronounce. Why are you two playing farm hand when we have packs of provisions, and items to barter with the locals,” Dicun criticizes.
Amiria speaks up, “You can eat your cold supplies, we’re going to have a warm meal in this damp weather.”
“Fine. You guys do as you deem fit. But don’t look at me for help when the bird catches on fire,” Dicun grumbles, the moisture of the air seeping through to his bones.
Calix shrugs and turns the cooking bird over. “Suit yourself. But we both know the truth.”
With the poultry charred on one side, the three of them sit around the campfire picking at the meat. None of them have removed their armor, there is no changing into more comfortable clothing when you sleep on guard. Calix and Amiria sit with their hips touching on a shared log they had pulled over for seating. Talking over the tips of the flames on the opposing side of the fire Dicun had planted himself on a large rock.
Even if the job was poorly executed there is something immensely satisfying about the whole occasion. We did this. We made this.
Amiria wonders if Stirling felt as proud about any of his possessions that he made himself in his cave or how he figured out how to clean an entire deer and turn the pelt into a leather cloak. Maybe not, maybe to him it was just part of life and not some camping experiment. Amiria sneaks a peek at Calix from the corner of her eye. He seems as proud of himself as she is about herself.
Dicun wipes the grease from his face with exposed fabric in the crook of his arm, “You know I believe that boy has to be dead by now. It has been what? Almost two months? He’s been hiding in an empire that for one speaks another dialect and two is our personal enemy. As soon as he landed and tried conversing with any of them, he would have been apprehended for trespassing on their land. If the officials didn’t get him, living out here in the woods sure would have, if not by the elements, then surely by bandits.”
Amiria’s chewing slows, the food suddenly tasting like bile in her mouth. She knows Stirling has no issues with surviving the elements, for three years he has proved that. What’re two more months? On the other hand, bandits. Stirling is not a fighter. If Ignis is unable to protect him, bandits can easily overpower him in a matter of seconds.
“You okay?” Calix asks, nudging Amiria with his shoulder.
She stares absentmindedly at the flickering flames, her eyes transfixed on their elegant display, “Yeah, why?”
“It just seems as if your mind slipped and went elsewhere,” Calix explains.
Dicun interrupts, “Are you two love birds even listening to me?”
“No, we're not listening to your rambling. No one ever does.” Calix snaps.
“It's because you’re too busy drooling over a girl you were only able to get because no one else wants her.” Dicun chucks the bone he was eating from into the fire sending up embers in the direction of Calix and Amiria.
Calix is on his feet in a blink, standing off to Dicun who is slipping on his gauntlets, “You can talk trash about me all day, but you keep her out of it.”
“Oh? You’re going to defend your lady like a little chivalrous knight?” Dicun rises to his feet and shoves Calix in the chest, the armor plates clanging. “I liked the old you, the bitter lonely you.” He shoves Calix again who accepts the blow and takes a step back to hold his stance. “Come on whipped boy, fight for her!”
Amiria steps in between them with a bladed stance. “Lay one more hand on him and I’ll make sure it ends up so mangled you’ll never have use of it again.”
Raising his chin, Dicun peers down his nose at Amiria. He isn’t a tall man, but even with his average height and fit stature he still has a physical advantage over her, “Interesting? You’re protecting him now? I guess you two really are made for each other. I guess it is better than dying alone. I’ve got a proposition, let’s see how devoted he is to you.”
Dicun’s hand strikes out like a snake, the fangs of his hand aiming to bite around her neck. Countering, Amiria’s small hand curls around his index and middle finger, her thumb at his knuckles and her pinky at his fingertips. Naturally lower than Dicun, Amiria barely needs to drop her hand while simultaneously curling his fingers back to the point at his own forearm.
Dropping to his knees Dicun’s instinct is to straighten out his hand and alleviate the pain. Amiria only lowers her hand and pushes farther until she is the one looking down at him.
“Don’t, ever, touch me.”
He can’t move. His fingers locked and on the verge of breaking.
Calix peers around Amiria, bragging. “I think she can handle herself.”
“You’ve proved your point. You foul excuse for a woman. Now let me go,” Dicun growls.
Amiria releases her grip. Taking a step back she collides with Calix oblivious to the fact he had stepped closer to stand over her. He cups his hands on her shoulders, steading her. Tilting her head back she looks above her. Calix’s bright smile shines down on her.
The sound of a twig snapping steals her attention. She puts her arm out protecting Calix as she scans the tree line. All three dragons lock their snake-like eyes in different directions.
“We’re surrounded,” Dicuns warns, his voice an underground rumble.
“They won’t attack melee, not with the dragons right here. They’d have to be crazy or stupid.” Calix wonders out loud.
“Get out your shields,” Amiria instructs. She can hear it. The sound of dozens of strings being pulled back. “GET OUT YOUR SHIELDS!” she screams.
Dicun and Calix strip the shields still mounted to their backs. Their legs react before their minds, kicking up clumps of dirt and moss they take off sprinting to their dragons. They duck in-between the beasts taking cover between the scales of steel.
Arrows rain down, each watering the field and sprouting a meadow of fletchings.
“They aren’t aiming for us directly,” Amiria reads, half kneeling beside Taika’s flank. “They’re trying to hear us.”
“We should douse them in flames and take off,” Calix suggests.
Dicun points out “No, this forest is too dry. The whole mountain will go up in flames. We have our own men and women out there.”
“We are the Winged Cavalry, we don’t run and give our possessions to bandits,” Amiria says out of spite. “Plus—”
Taika hisses as a few arrows slip between the creases of her folded wings sticking into the thin membrane.
Amiria continues, “With this many archers at this close of a distance you’re risking turning the dragon's wings into pin cushions,
“We can’t just sit in this clearing waiting for them to run out of arrows,” Calix says in desperation.
“No, we won’t. That’s why I am going to give them exactly what they are hoping for.” The whites of Amiria’s eyes glow in the fire’s light making her dark iris’ a bottomless pit waiting to be filled with the excitement of a fight.
“AMIRIA!” Calix calls out.
He is too late. Leaving her helm behind Amiria uses her valances and gauntlets to cover her exposed head as she charges into the daunting colorless woods.
“That girl is nuts! We don’t even know how many of them are out there!” Dicun chastises.
“As Winged Riders, the amount shouldn’t matter to us,” Calix realizes. “Amiria is a true warrior who is upholding her promise to never back down and eliminate the enemy.
“It does matter when we have a mission to complete,” Dicun snaps.
Thirty-Eight
Amiria unsheathes the two short swords from her scabbard. The sun has already reached twilight leaving little to no light to illuminate the enemy through the thick fog. She steadies her breathing. Her surroundings are no more than dark gray walls locking her in a small room. The campfire long vanished behind the closed door.
She listens.
Standing as still as a statue, she is fully aware of her surroundings like a meek mouse listening for a swooping owl. Her knees flexibly bent; she raises her blades up defensively.
From the right.
One of the twin blades reflexively slices through the air deflecting a chipped bastard sword. Moving swiftly and tight she thrust her left blade at an upwards angle through the bandit’s rusting chainmail stabbing the soft flesh of his stomach and slipping under the protection of his ribcage.
Yanking the blade free she whips around splattering blood in a half circle as she traps the partial blade of a broken two-handed sword of an incoming attacker by pinching it between her double short swords in the shape of an “X”.
The man’s murderous leer glows through the small window of his enclosed helmet. Not retracting his blade, the bandit insists on pushing down on her crossed blades in an attempt to over power the girl before him.
Well-balanced, Amiria kicks the man’s foot out from beneath him while throwing his blade out to his side. The man tips over as his body is put into momentum in two different directions. Through Amiria’s calculated movements, the man’s exaggerated fall moves in slow motion. Taking her sword in the hand closest to his head she lowers it closer to the ground with the tip pointing up. With the help of gravity, the blade slides through the viewing slot of the enclosed helmet.
As she kicks the man’s body free of her blade a set of muscular arms wrap around her thin frame lifting her from the ground.
“You should never have left your man’s side,” he grumbles, the whiskers of his face scratching her ear as he speaks.
A secondary bandit forms out of the fog before her with a dagger in hand. “Let’s carve her pretty face before we have our fun.”
Amiria kicks out in rage, the tip of her metal-covered toe connecting with the man’s exposed chin snapping his head back with a crack.
“You’ll pay for that!” the man holding her threatens, he slides one of his hands up to her neck. His large hand spans from her neck and up around her jaw.
With her short swords from end to end being similar in length as her arm she lines the flat of the blades against her hips and drives them backwards into the groping man. Blood drains from his mouth and showers the back of her head wetting her hair. His grip slackens and his arms fall away. The slick leaves beneath her feet shift as her feet touch the ground. She holds her footing with the weight of the man pressed to her back. Letting gravity pull the man free of her swords she raises them just in time to counter the next opponent.
Moving deeper and deeper into the forest, Amiria fights. Each poorly equipped bandit fell to her touch. Unable to match the steps of her dance. Understanding they are unmatched when fighting one on one, they move into a mob approach. They attack from all directions, there is no choreography, and there are no rules. These aren't wooden swords made from branches as you call time out. This is life or death.
Amiria is accustomed to these rules. The Winged Cavalry are aware of their low numbers compared to those of the Uviktiland’s army and has arranged their training accordingly, by systemically focusing on one versus a group scenario.
She twists and twirls through the ribbons of steel. This is her stage; this is her show. She will be the last to bow.
As long as she can avoid any well placed jabs where her armor does not cover like her underarms, any blades slipping beneath her brigandine, or any blunt force trauma as in a mace or war hammer, she will be able to walk away.
Running up a slate, she scales a massive boulder. She vaults off the stone diving board landing with her knees striking a bull of a man in the chest. As his body leans back from the force, she power drives her blades into the slots of his collar bones. She takes the ride down, the man crashing into the ground like a timbering redwood. She moves to leap up.
Stuck.
Her blades jam in the man’s bones as she pulls at them from a different angle than their original entry. An overpowering weight slams down into the armor above her shoulder blade crushing her down against the gurgling man. She gags choking on the air through waves of pain, the agony of her shoulder blade screaming out through her whole body.
A bandit wielding a war hammer kicks her in the stomach, toppling her away and out of reach of her weapons. “You’re lucky. I’m not going to kill you. You’re way too pretty for that. But I will break your arms and legs for what you’ve done to my friends.” He threatens.
Full of adrenaline, Amiria bites her lip and fights through the pain in her shoulder and shoots up into a crouch. She spits in the bandit’s direction. Her saliva dyed pink with blood from her tooth-punctured tongue. Seething, the man’s face contorts into a ghastly scowl as he bares his teeth like an enraged animal. He lifts his war hammer out behind him and with a battle cry, he swings down at her with the motion of chopping wood. Amiria dodges rolling out of the way of the slow deliberate strike. She lets out a whimper as her injured shoulder hits the ground.
Coddling her arm, she poises herself into a low crouch. She eyes the man watching for any sudden movements as she tests her stiffening shoulder in its socket. Even with both the metal and padded armor receiving a large sum of the blow, she can still feel the grinding of her shoulder blade. She needs to end this fight, now.
With the drooling man too busy fantasizing about what he is going to do to her, Amiria analyzes the long staff of the war hammer. She spits another wad of bloodied saliva near her feet. In her mind, the war hammer and mace were a weapon for those who couldn’t learn the art of swordsmanship and rather rely on brute force. She will admit though, one strike to the head, and her skull will split as easily as a gourd. Any blocks with her forearms will snap the bones despite her valances and with her current injury, she’s standing on the chopping block before the executioner.
A sinister smile stretches across the bandit's face. She looks into the bandit's demented eyes. Traveling through them she can see into the absence of his soul.
A rare emotion vibrates her bones. Fear is beginning to pump through her veins hindering her mind of coherent thoughts. For once her body screams flight over fight. She can’t dodge him forever.
What can she use to her advantage?
Think, think.
There. She sees it. The war hammer is held on a long-staff, long-ranged weapon with a slow swing. Steading her hitching breaths, she watches. The bandit rears the war hammer back preparing himself for the next blow.
Timing it she lunges in the direction of her swords. He falls for the faint. Falls for portraying what any normal opponent will be opting to do when cornered, desperately attempting to rearm themselves.
He swings from below, with the goal to strike her in the chest at an upwards angle and knock her off her feet—and hopefully incapacitating her. A deadly pendulum aimed directly at her.
She springs in the opposite direction. The head of the hammer swings up through the empty space. Tucking in her head she drives her strong shoulder into the bandit’s gut. His mouth gapes open in surprise. The hammer slips free from his grasp as he stumbles backward finding it difficult to regain his footing on the pine and oak leaf-layered rug beneath him. The backs of his heels bump into an object.
Amiria careens with the bandit as he trips over his comrades' legs. Agile as a cat she rolls with the fall leaping for her blades still protruding from the giant's body. Her hand barely reaches the hilt as the war hammer bandit seizes her by the ankle.
Flipping over she stares at the man reeling her back in, at the man who wants to do more than kill her. Frantic she kicks at his fingers, her heart racing up through her throat choking her. With a helpless cry, she grabs a handful of damp earth and pebbles and flings it at the bandit’s face.
His eyes are forced shut from the contamination of foreign debris. Screaming out in rage, he instinctively releases Amiria and he wildly claws at the dirt in his eyes. Barely able to open one, he searches blindly, desperately trying to find Amiria again.
She scampers past the dead man’s head before the bandit is able to take hold of her again. Putting her feet on the man’s shoulders she grips her swords pulling them free.
