A Warrior's Revenge

1. A Warrior's Revenge

The sun slowly disappears behind the frosty hills as stars begin taking form in the ever growing night sky. Swirls of purple and black mix together like an artist painting on a blank canvas. The image was strikingly beautiful with fluorescent orange lights shining in the atmosphere in a dark backdrop. Northern, icy wind rustles her ash-white waves across her face until she pulls them back behind her ears. Cirilla Arvandor sighs and looks once more to capture the night sky into a perfect memory in her mind, after years of not seeing the outside world. Slowly, she uncoils her dangling legs from the cliff and tucks them into her body, so that her knees are against her chest. Her body hums with exhaustion and energy all at once, a feeling all too familiar.  

Ciri had seen so much death, so much horror, that it was nice for once, to feel happy and free. Uncurling her knees from her chest, Ciri looks down at her hands, the red marks that encircled her wrists peaked out from underneath her cloak. The manacles were next to her on the soft green grass, the strong metal covered in brown dirt. It felt good, she supposed, to be free, no longer a slave and being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. From where she was sitting, Ciri could see the city of Mistwatch in the horizon. Fire blazes from the city, illuminating the streets with help from the moon. She would make it there, she knew that. But from her broken body, she did not know how long it would take.

From a distance, horse's hooves pound on the floor as well as men's voices echoing through the trees. The hair on Ciri's neck stands up, and in one feline movement, she hauls herself away from the cliff and into the nearby forest. She keeps her footsteps light and careful of any fallen sticks that might attract the guards to her location. Her breathing catches- she was so unfit, so unhealthy that any physical exertion made her want to vomit. Her head felt leaden with dizziness already. Ciri ran towards a nearby tree, her necklace bobbing against her chest, and as her hand shot out to catch herself, her eyebrows went up. Her nails were jagged and broken, dirt lined her cuticles and every crevice on her palms. When was the last time her hands were clean?

The hooves grow louder and louder, as did the voices. She was so dirty she probably blended in with the trees and darkness of the night. Her breathing slows as her back hits a tree, quietly, with an expert stillness that has been drilled in her head since birth. Ciri's ears strains as she listens for the numbers of her enemies. She counts eight horses, seven with guards, and an extra horse just for her. Ciri's arms trembles with the need of a weapon, but she clenches the thought down. The guard's voices rise in octaves with directions of where to look for her.

"Sir, her manacles are here." She hears a guard say. Ciri reaches her head out to spy a look at the guard, her manacles in his hand. "Looks as if she somehow cut them off of her."

"Men, be on guard. Her hands are free." The Captain shouts to his soldiers. Oh, how silly they were. She could inflict just as much damage with the manacles on. Ciri rolls her shoulders, and stretches her neck as the sound of a guard's footsteps came ever closer. He was easy prey, she thought. His expensive soap gave his position away more than hearing his footsteps.

The guard was seconds away from where she was, and Ciri was ready to attack. She spied the glint of his sword coming around the tree, and that was all she needed. She whirled, using her left arm to dislodge his sword from his hand. The guard reached for daggers from his belt, but a swift knee to the groin caused him to stumble and grunt heavily. This was bad, he was making too much noise, she needed to end this now before anyone else heard. Her hand moved down to his belt, and grabbing one of his daggers, she lifted it above her head and slashed his throat. Ciri's hand covered his mouth to keep him from making any noise until he died, his blood pooling out from his mouth stains her hands a dark red. She looted his body for the hunting daggers and stored the four of them in her own belt before picking up the sword he dropped earlier. She focused on her breathing as she had so many times before, careful not to draw too much noise.