THE FURY OF GODS

Chapter 1: THE BLADEMISTRESS

OLIVIA

3456 I.E

Meccai, Capital of the Gomorrahi Kingdom

IT WAS KNOWN on the streets of Meccai that I straddled the line between life and death with glee and a swinging sword.

Well, the death part could be metaphoric depending on whom you asked.

However, today it seemed like I was the one who was closer to death than a tourist who went into the wrong alley.

Anger flared inside me as the thief's sword came plummeting downward toward my head in an act of retribution for demanding he returned what he'd stolen from my father's forgery; a rare, priceless relic that had been in the Saint-Denali family for over a century. It wasn't the first time someone had attempted to steal from us and I'd told him to take better care of the only things we had to trace our ancestry.

With quick reflexes, I parried his brutal blow that made my shoulders and arms quiver with the pressure. Taking the opportunity, I landed on my steel-toed sandal into his belly. A mewl rose from his throat and his momentum faltered long enough for me to deliver another brutal kick.

We circled each other like wild boars in a ring. The thief bared his teeth in a comical fashion that almost made me laugh. Sweat dripped from his face in thick droplets as the wicked brilliance of the midday sun pelted our exposed flesh with blisters. People made wide berths around us and a few known gang-members passing by bellowed and cheered for my blood. They would rather see a girl bested by a thief than a girl reprimanding a man for his crimes. Typical. Gomorrah might have left the Divine Era but the old, traditionalist mentality had seeped into the Iron Age.

"I'm going to walk out of this Trading Hub with my wits, my life, and this sword," he jeered through gritted teeth. "Be gracious and let me have it."

"If you're going to be a thief," I said, "at least have the wits not to be caught."

The radiance of the sun gleamed off the stolen sword he now carried in the sheath attached to the sword belt bound around his waist. His free hand wrapped around the bejeweled hilt, one finger at a time and his eyes danced with mocking mirth. He flipped the sword into the other hand with expert precision. He'd done this kind of thing before and was always the victor which explained his confidence. Fliers were posted throughout the capital, Meccai and in its sister city, Trida, warning merchants of treacherous buyers who came under the guise of an interested buyer. They're purpose was to scout the place for its strengths and weakness before striking at night to steal our merchandise. This thief may have been one of those men but he'd picked the wrong family to target.

With my fury guiding me, I swung my blade toward him. The thief met my blow, our swords kissing in a song of steel and cinders. We could have been inside the city's amphitheater, battling for money and prestige for all his skillfulness with his weapon.

"It's true what they say about you, Olivia Saint," he spat. "You're relentless in your passions."

"You've heard of me," I snarled. "I'm touched."

Around us people spoke in local dialect, and Andian-Thala, the language of trade used throughout the continent of the Andies-Thalasaur, betting on which of us would walk away without bleeding.

A tuneful whistle came from above the roof of the shops and colonial taverns. A distraction attempt. I ignored it. Behind me was the sudden heavy rolling of an incoming wagon. My opponent's mouth pulled into a victorious smile and his gaze flickered over my shoulder. The smell of burning coal permeated the air. The thief straightened and took one step backward as if he was retreating from our fight.