As far as off-hand weapons went, a fire dagger seemed like a pretty good one.
The guard eyed her in a new light, a bit more respect. He moved into a defensive stance and began to circle her, rather than running in to put her down like a defenceless lamb. She did the same, beginning “the dance”.
‘Lord Gehrman Petrov wants you quiet. He didn’t say dead or alive, but better safe than sorry, hey? ’Sides, I always wanted to bag a noble’s head.’
‘Don’t you know who I am?! You can’t just kill me, I’m the daughter of Sir Petranski! The king will have your head, you villain!’ Again, Syline refused to let fear take her, anger welling up at her position in the world changing so very suddenly, and in a manner so entirely out of her control. This wasn’t a contest, this was real; no structure, no rules and no reward in sight but to not die.
‘I think you’ll find’ – the man rushed her, catching Syline’s side with his elbow, pushing the breath from her lungs – ‘that I can.’
She swept her blade for him as she stumbled off to the right. He took a small cut to the bicep but accepted it with only a grunt. His hand darted for her wrist and grabbed her blade-arm in a crushing grip. Syline screamed as she felt her bones creaking. The world slowed. Her eyes graced the walls, the gates, no one was watching. Her mother couldn’t call off this duel. He wouldn’t apologise for playing too rough over dinner later. She was going to die if she didn’t win. He was really going to kill her. He brought his blade back, aiming to stab it through her gut.
Syline brought the flame dagger right for his eyes. The flames lapped over his face, blistering the flesh and searing the eyes. The man squealed like a stuck pig, releasing her, to fend her off as he stumbled towards her, swinging wildly with fist and blade. He caught her collar with his hand, and she saw a grin spread wide. He had no intention of letting this fight end. Grabbing her, the man hefted her up by her robes, the girl struggling as he went to repeat his prior attack. Even half blind, with her in his grasp, he couldn’t miss. He brought his blade up for the killing blow.
Syline’s fire dagger guttered out. The magic was beginning to drain on her and she couldn’t risk weakness at this moment, nor did she want to ruin the man by repeating that trick. The thought of ruining an opponent, someone her mother had always taught to treat with respect and camaraderie, rattled her to her core. With the hand now free of the flames, she held her fingers flat and jabbed them into the one weak point he presented holding her up like this: his throat. The man spluttered as she rammed her fingers just above his Adam’s apple. She felt his grip shake, but his will was stronger than the blow. Eyes still shut, he spat in her face, then resumed his previous grin and slowly pressed the sword’s tip against her stomach. She felt it pushing in against the wool of her robes, the thick fabric the only thing protecting her now.
‘Keep struggling girl, and I’ll make it slow.’
He wasn’t someone she should show respect. He wasn’t a friendly rival to test in play combat. This was real! She was going to die unless he did. She had no other choice; it was do or die. Him or her. That was what she told herself. She had no time for choices or second thoughts. As the man’s blade slowly pressed through her robes, pricking her stomach, Syline screamed her frustration and pulled her arm back. She stabbed forward. She felt the blade pierce his flesh and heard his strangled gasp as it pushed through his ribs. Momentum carried it deeper and bright scarlet blood spilled out over her blade. He collapsed, as she fell to the earth and snow. She had to experience the feel of her blade moving through flesh all over again as he slowly slid off it.
In his last moments, he stared up at her with scared, blinded eyes. He seemed confused, as if he didn’t know what was happening. His eyes begged for answers, his lips mouthing words he had not the breath to speak. He didn’t look like the same man in those moments, it was as if he had awoken from a dream. Syline felt her gorge rising, felt tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned and took off running for the woods before someone in the city saw them out there, her blade held in a loose grip down at her side.
Syline ran for what felt like hours. She ran until each step left her legs burning, left them feeling as if she had hot coals in her muscles and daggers in her knees. She didn’t think as she ran. She only focused on getting away from there. From him. Her mind blank but for the thought of fleeing the scene of her most terrible crime. She only stopped running when she’d arrived at the edge of the island. She stood at the edge of the scant woods, trees at her back and the great frozen river that separated the islands ahead of her. She could see the southern bridge, far along the coast that would take her along the main road towards Dawnsteel. Once she stopped, it was like everything caught up to her all at once. She collapsed to her knees as all the fear and pain overcame her. Exhaustion and the thought that she had killed a man pushed her stomach up to her throat. She vomited, violently. She vomited until she brought up nothing but water, and by the time she was done, her eyes watered, her nose ran, and her breath came to her in big, whooping gasps. She stumbled away from all that she had just excavated from her stomach and collapsed down against a tree. There, she caught her breath and struggled to get her reeling mind under control.
She’d killed a man. If she’d had any chance of getting out of this now, it was well gone. Even if she could call it self-defence, she couldn’t fight the fact that she had just taken someone’s life. She couldn’t… she couldn’t go home. She couldn’t see her mother, or her sisters again. She’d never have another lesson with Anatoly unless she could find some way to fix this. It all simply became too much for her. She curled in on herself, hugging her knees and crying into her robes. She just couldn’t take it; she didn’t know how to survive on her own like this. She’d only left the city on outings with her whole family in the past. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? How was she going to fix this?
Crying was all she could do for a long while, but by the time she had run out of tears to shed, she found her heart felt a bit lighter. Her feelings vented to the world. As if she had to get that behind her to have any chance to keep moving.
She slowly got to her feet, brushing herself down once again. From her pocket, she pulled out her plush sparrow, Malir. Overlarge and overstuffed, she needed his comfort right now and hugged him to her breast as she looked around. Her eyes settled on the bridge and she watched a trio of men go across it on horseback. It was a walk to cross that bridge, but they’d make it a lot faster on horseback. There were closer islands, but they weren’t linked by the Wanderer’s bridges, so, naturally, they didn’t fall into the “main road” that was traced by their path.
She could just make out the shape of spears in the men’s hands. They were looking for something. Someone. Chances are, they were looking for her; it would’ve been long enough by now. Chances are they’d found the soldier’s body and knew she was out of the city. She could fancy they’d been sent to find her by her family, that they’d take her home safely, but after how the guard had met her, she didn’t dare risk that. She had to get moving before they went this way, but she couldn’t follow the main road. That’s where they’d expect her to go. That meant she had little choice but to cross the frozen rivers and move along the bridgeless islands until she found a town these manhunters wouldn’t grace. She could plan further from there.
Now, she had some kind of a plan. Some kind of light at the end of the tunnel, however faint a one it might be. She had the spell-book and she had her sword, and she had Malir. She gave the little toy a kiss on the head before tucking it back into her robes. She wiped her sword clean on the snow and then wiped it again with the hem of her robes before sliding it back into its sheath. With that done, she took one last look over her shoulder, thinking to herself that this was what she had always wanted. She’d always wanted her life to be more interesting after all. To have an adventure of her own. That was certainly what this was, but it had come in a way she would have never expected. One far scarier than whatever she had been prepared for
Maybe that’s how it always goes for real adventurers, she mused to herself, as she stepped off the coast onto the frozen water, beginning her long walk to the bridgeless island on the horizon.
Chapter 5
Magdova stood with her ear to the door, Kassandra at her elbow. It’d been a long time since she’d heard her mother this angry, and the fact she was losing her composure like that, was enough to scare her. Anatoly had arrived, shepherded by their footmen, pale-faced and sweating and the tirade hadn’t slowed since the door had closed. Finally, it opened and Anatoly emerged; the large man looked like a shell of himself, fret and guilt weighing on his shoulders. Hope flared in his eyes for a split second as he turned to look at them, but it died just as quickly.
‘Hello, Magdova. I’m sorry, did we worry you?’
‘Is Syline going to be alright?’
His lips thinned to a line, quivering before he gave the pair a small nod and a pat on the shoulder.
‘We’ll find her, don’t worry.’
‘Magdova?’ Her mother’s voice came from inside the study.
Anatoly’s grip tightened on her shoulder for a moment before he set off, disappearing down the hall. Magdova turned to watch him go. Before looking into the study, Kassandra slunk behind her, fearing they were in trouble. Their mother was sitting at the grand oak desk, head in her hand, covering her right eye. Kat was seated on a sofa by the hearth, looking their way.
‘Were you two listening in?’ her mother asked, but there was no accusation in it.
‘Is Syline going to be alright?’ Magdova asked plaintively.
‘We’ll find her. How long have you been listening in?’
‘Just when you started yelling.’
A sorrowful smile slid up her mother’s lips as she waved them to the armchairs on the opposite side of the desk. Magdova sat as bid, but Kassandra squirrelled her way to her mother’s side, trying to give comfort with a hug about her stomach. Their mother placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair tenderly.
‘You wouldn’t have heard the footmen then. It seems there was a break-in at the archive last night; something was stolen from the Petrov’s vault and, judging by the bloodstains, Syline decided to play the hero and tried to stop the burglars.’
Magdova gasped. Syline, what were you thinking? she thought. You can’t even beat me with a sword.
‘So, they kidnapped her?’
‘Hopefully.’ Her mother sighed, knuckling her eye. ‘Once the burglars know who she is, chances are they’ll issue a ransom. If they harmed her, they would know they, and their whole family, would hang. We can get her back when they show themselves. Until then, I’m mobilising every border guard in the city to hunt for her. Kat’s going as well,’ she said, looking at her eldest daughter.
‘And they better hope the border guard finds them first,’ Kat said, burning with anger.
‘According to Anatoly, Jane Petrov was there last night with a maid Syline struck up a conversation with,’ their mother continued, ‘I’m going to talk to her now and see if we can figure out who might’ve stolen whatever they took. That might give us a clue. Either way, I’ve also sent a runner to fetch your father and brothers and bring some of their forces home from past the northern border. Once they find him, I’m sure he’ll be home with all due haste, and the border guard have some of the best trackers in the land.’
‘So, she’ll be alright?’ Magdova felt like a broken record, but she didn’t know what else to ask. ‘Can I help loo–’
‘No,’ her mother answered instantly, lowering her hand to meet her eyes with her own. They were rimmed red, puffy and raw with recent tears. ‘Neither of you are to leave the house without guards and my permission, do you understand?’
