Shadow of the Avatar

Chapter 21 --A Mailed Fist and a Need For Redress

In my decade or so of guild work I've been hurt plenty. I've seen my own blood a lot more than I'd like. Given all that, I have just one thing to say: "Not in the face!"

--Wren

After being teleported by Desiray, Wren had instants to adjust and find her opponent. By then, the armored warrior was attacking. The huge man's elongated helmet was fashioned to look like a serpent's head. The stylized cut outs for eyes and mouth were trimmed with red tinted glass that glowed in the torchlight.

The stairs at her back, walls to either side, she moved in the only direction she could; toward the towering mercenary. His blade failed to cleave her in two, but the man's thick armored wrist crashed down on her shoulder.

She went to her knees, guts twisting and vision turning gray from the effects of the magic teleportation. She fought off dizziness and aimed Corona at the fighter's heart. The weapon shrieked forward. The man blocked with his shield. The dagger punctured the metal and the arm behind it, pinning both to his shoulder.

Blood splashed her arm as she tore Corona free. Teeth bared, the man countered by swinging at her head.

She sidestepped and drove Corona into his belly plate. The force slammed him into the wall and knocked the sword from his hand. Coughing blood, he drove his mailed fist into Wren's face. She caught only a glimpse of an oncoming spiked gauntlet before colors and pain exploded in her head. She toppled. As she fell, she flipped Corona at him.

The dagger flared out of Wren's hand. The spinning metal punched through the man and whizzed through the air back into her hand. The mercenary left streaks of crimson as he slid down the wall.

Wren tumbled down the steps. Sticky wetness covered her face, the salty tang of blood filled her mouth. Her tongue pushed against sharp fragments and she spit out shards of broken teeth. Horrified, she watched as they dribbled down the steps.

Her vision did a slow roll. When she tried to move, her arms and legs merely twitched. The shock of being teleported, combined with the mercenary's punishing attacks, had left her helpless. Corona lay in her palm, making frightened piping sounds.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. Desiray leaned over her, green eyes wide. <Ow, you're supposed to duck.>

Wren's tears mingled with her blood. She couldn't say anything. She put a hand to her face and felt a squashed nose and split lips. The world flickered out, then back in.

Through a teary blur, she saw Desiray shake her head. <Damn it.> She heard a sword slide home in a sheath. The mistress moved up the steps and bent over the mercenary. The man's corpse vanished in a flash of light and whoosh of air.

Desiray returned, grabbed Wren around the hips and lifted her. A shoulder shoved into Wren's stomach. <Have to get you someplace safe where I can look at you.>

As she hung over the woman's shoulder, her own blood trickled into her eyes. A nightmare--this must be a nightmare. Two days ago she had her life under control, no chaos, no pain, and most importantly--no Hethanon. Now, Grahm was dead, and she'd begun to wish she'd died too.

As Desiray descended the stairs, each bounce gave Wren a rattling jolt of pain. Corona made squeaks coinciding with the jarring as if he were experiencing the discomfort too. The mistress pressed on the wall, and slipped into another unfamiliar passage.

The narrow corridor opened into a small chamber. Wren felt herself laid on something soft.

Desiray shook some decorative metal balls that hung from the ceiling. The agitation of containers caused a dim red radiance. Though she'd never seen one up close, she guessed they were glow balls; rare and coveted magic items made in the east.