Elven Legacy

Chapter 44

Kitera

She ran down the narrow stairs, people shouting their complaints as she unceremoniously pushed her way past them. She jumped down the remaining four steps and landed in a half-crouch, before she harshly elbowed and shouldered her way to the spiked iron fence that circled the pit.

Nothing filled her mind or body save for a newfound raging energy, coursing wildly and making her move. As if sensing this, people slinked out of her path almost like they would a rabid dog.

Hey, whatever works.

The weariness from the day's hard riding, the soreness in her thighs, the dull ache from her sunburns, the heat that made her swim in her boots, that made her riding pants and blouse cling to her skin – all of that dropped out of existence as Kitera stepped onto an iron crossbeam and grasped up at the spikes just under their sharpened tips.

With a determined grunt, she hauled herself all the way up until her boot reached the upper crossbeam, and she leapt over to the other side, landing hard.

It occurred to her then that, shockingly, she still carried her stuff. How in the gods' names did I even—?

Anyway, she let it all go thumping into the dust – save for her sword. Which she unsheathed fiercely, blade's edge capturing the sun. Meanwhile, the confused crowd gasped, and basically wondered out loud what the fuck was going on.

Kitera tossed away sheath and strap, wielding her Felleran sword right-handed, and she paid the crowd no heed because—

Dharkan lay collapsed across the sand, his hand clutching the upper right side of his face, blood everywhere. An agonized moan escaped his lips, instilling unparalleled fury into Kitera's heart.

Her gaze slanted lethally up to the Azurian man who loomed over Dharkan. He'd been about to strike again – but now he, like the rest of the stadium, stared instead wide-eyed at the approaching woman that probably looked completely, utterly mad.

She couldn't see well, because he was slightly curled on his side and his hand hid part of it, but it seemed Dharkan had suffered a nasty slash from cheek to forehead, going through the eye. The roaring anger inside Kitera teamed up with a stone-cold, battle-hardened focus, as she strode purposefully to a striking distance from the tall, bulky man.

"Kill the bitch!" someone shouted from the crowd, and others jeered and hollered in agreement.

It startled the Azurian warrior out of his shock. Which was good – for him, that is – because Kitera didn't exactly have the patience.

She sliced across the air, aiming, as Dharkan had earlier, for the gap below his armor. Her blade came within a hair's breadth, but he parried it with a downward arc. She easily anticipated his next move; his other arm loomed from the side to hit her with the shield.

Kitera was faster, kicking savagely at his knee. He screamed out in shocked pain and lost his momentum. She spun, dashing around with momentum of her own, and slashed across his back – same weakness, below the breastplate. This time it hit home; she felt her blade sinking into flesh.

The crowd was booing her, she knew, and had never cared less about anything her whole life. The rush and tingles of battle's high thundered in her chest as she didn't waste a breath, aiming her next strike upward at his neck. She was tall enough to make it, her sword's tip reaching up . . .

Despite his fresh lower back wound, her opponent proved more resourceful than she'd anticipated; from the corner of her vision, she saw his shield swing toward her unprotected ribs, too late to evade—