I shifted my feet. Slightly, only to confirm the cool hilt of my dagger pressing against my ankle. “Would it matter?”
He freed his sword from its clasp, pointing it at my chest. “Surrender peacefully and you will face a fair and just trial in the courts of His Wisdom, Supreme Rawain.”
“Is that so?” I laughed. “Only two months ago, an Orbanian merchant illegally trading in Jasadi body parts was brought to your Supreme’s fair and just courts. He confessed to crushing and selling Jasadi bones to those eager to ingest traces of magic. His patrons, blessed with the brains of a goat flea, believed Jasadi remains were flush with health benefits. Your precious tribunal released the merchant with a warning and a hearty chuckle. He helped people eat Jasadis and walked free.”
The soldier’s expression didn’t waver. Of course not. All he heard were more whimpers of Jasadi scum.
I stretched my neck. “Identify yourself, soldier. I would like to know what name to mark on your grave.”
“This is your last warning. Surrender. And if you try to use your magic on me, be informed it will result in a sanctioned execution.”
“ ‘Nizahlan idiot’ it is, then.”
The soldier lunged, swinging the broad end of his sword in a powerful arc. Impressive. If it landed, it would sever my head quite cleanly.
It had been a long time since I’d fought to kill, but my instincts remained. I rolled into the soldier, grabbing his sword arm and slamming it against my knee. His fingers spasmed. Before he could drop the sword, a blow caught my gut, knocking me to the side. I steadied myself on a tree and coughed. Damn it to the tombs, he wasn’t going to make this easy.
There was no time to recover. The sword slashed inches from my ear, nearly slicing my shoulder. I twisted away at the last second, leaving his sword wedged in the bark. I freed my dagger from inside my boot while he pried his sword from the tree.
We lunged at the same time.
I moved with the vindictive speed of a wasp, avoiding his deadly swings. Each time I succeeded in moving close, he evaded me. It was the most frustrating dance. Too close to throw the dagger, too far to plunge it into him. His sword caught the edge of my tunic, the rip of my sleeve cutting through our labored breathing.
“Why do you not use your magic?” he growled. “Your kind has one advantage, yet you squander it. I will not think you virtuous for withholding.”
“Rest assured, I would love to use my magic to peel your flesh and boil your eyes. Virtue. Ha! I have many weaknesses, but virtue is not among them.”
He wrapped both hands around the hilt of the sword and swung. I threw my weight to the side, catching myself on a knee. Before I could stand, the sword was under my throat. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking it hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. Hot breath wafted over my cheek. “How long did you live in that disgusting little village, fooling everyone into believing you were nothing but an apprentice? But I could see the foul stain of your magic. That your kind continues to exist is a testament to how insidiously you have snuck into our societies. Jasadis are the rot in our ranks.”
My cuffs tightened. They reacted sometimes—to certain insults or emotions. They were too random and varied for me to figure out the pattern. All it did was remind me that my magic existed, skimming under the surface of my skin, but remained impossible to access.
If I had the choice to reach into my body and tear it out, I wouldn’t be sitting here, swallowing past the blade at my throat.
“Then I suggest you do a better job,” I said, and dug my teeth into the hand holding the sword.
“Agh!” He hurled me away and I sprung to my feet. Strands of my hair hung from his fist.
I threw a glance at the sky. In two hours, dawn would stripe across the horizon. Mahair would rouse for a new day, and a different pair of Nizahl soldiers would arrive to relieve the evening patrol. When this soldier didn’t appear, it would be a matter of minutes before chaos fell upon the village.
I am not ready to leave. The traitorous thought filled my throat with ash. I had stockpiled food in a smelly ravine for the express purpose of preparing for a situation like this. Hesitation was a luxury I rarely indulged. Mahair wasn’t meant to be permanent. I had escaped these woods five years earlier with blood on my hands and one clear goal: I would never be trapped again.
But it would not be this soldier who drove me from the village. He would not win that honor.
I kicked hard and fast, connecting with the crook of his arm. He howled as my boot slammed against bone. The sword dropped. He clipped the side of my head with a forceful blow, but I twisted my chin in preparation. I surged forward and plunged my dagger deep into his lower belly. The angle could not have been worse. I quickly yanked the blade through the resistance of skin and muscle, slicing him open from hip to hip. A lesser gut wound would leave him writhing in agony for hours, and I took no pleasure in torture.