A Deadly Bite

18 || Reckless

It's near midday by the time Kavas looms into view. Its wood-panel spires pierce the frosty haze hovering in the air, bladeless knives that sink deep into Sarielle's chest. Her stomach is tight with anticipation. Digging her heel into her horse's flank, she charges down the hill, pressing herself lower in the saddle to endure the rush of wind. Her hair flies into her face.

"Sarie!" Dalton shouts from behind. She blocks him out. There's only the thunder of hooves beneath her and the desperate fear whirring in her ears, too wild to let her thoughts stray anywhere else.

She's forced to slow as the streets close in around her, the path hardening. Scanning the rooftops, she catches sight of the taller, pointed shape of the tavern, and veers towards it, watching each alley slide by with careful glances. They all yield nothing. A chill washes up her spine. The entire town is eerily still, almost as if frozen in time, stiff and empty of life. The shadows cast by the sun seem broader here.

The doors to the tavern are shut, the posts outside devoid of any other travellers' mounts. She hops to the ground, then leads her own horse to the wall, tying it with care and yanking the knot tight. Her hand trails up to deliver an absent pat to its muzzle as she twists to glance over her shoulder. Still no-one.

Could they all be dead?

She shakes her head to dispel the thought before it's even complete. That's darkened thinking, touched with the memory of black flames. It's not even possible. A town reduced to hiding is far more likely.

She can't help but wonder what they must have seen to cause such a widespread retreat. The very air feels tense, soaked through with weighted fear.

At least the silence allows her to hear the twang of an arrow being let loose.

Electric panic jolting through her veins, she whirls just in time to see the arrow soar right for her. Her dive aside isn't quite quick enough. The arrow impales her cloak and buries in the wall behind, yanking her sideways as the clasp rides up and digs into her throat. A cry is forced out before she can bite it in two. Dizzying adrenaline coursing through her veins, she grabs a handful of the material and pulls, trying not to wince at the rough tearing sound that follows. At least she isn't trapped. Hand flying to her sword, she whirls.

A blow connects with her stomach, and the air floods out of her lungs. The metallic clunk of her blade dropping back into its sheath drags serrated teeth through her awareness as her fingers slip numbly from her hilt. Her mind is suddenly wrapped in fog. She blinks in an attempt to clear it, yet her legs are already being swept from under her, and the world spins.

She crashes hard into the path. A boot comes down on her chest, restricting her wheezing gasps. Her vision blurs for a moment before settling enough for her to make out the steely grey eyes boring into her, and the silver flash of a knife landing at her throat.

Fayre. Sarielle fights not to swallow, her fingers shrinking into her side as they crawl nervously towards her hilt.

The Neyaibet girl doesn't smile, but there's a certain amount of pride in her voice as she speaks. "Diraldi." The flat of her knife presses against Sarielle's chin. "There's no pretending this time."

Her eyes flick down, no doubt landing on the golden bird crest revealed by Sarielle's splayed-out cloak. Sarielle keeps her focus on breathing, on the brush of her fingertips against the smooth, cool curve of her hilt. A dagger would be easier to draw with subtlety, but the sword is all she has. Fear thrums steadily beneath her ribs, difficult to keep caged.

Fayre flicks her blonde plait onto her back with a twist of her head, sinking lower in her crouch. Her lips flatten out. "Unfortunately, my general deems you precious enough to keep alive."