Chapter Four

 “With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with the future. I live now.” " Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

"It's nice to be fighting again. Trying to get your leg healed was fine and all, but fighting is where I belong."

“Hah, not all of us are so talented that we don’t get seriously hurt in our fights.” Seth laughed, tugging out his staff. “You could have just stayed here you know…” He gave his right leg an experimental shake before settling into a defensive stance. “Ah well, water under the bridge and all that.” He made a beckoning gesture.

"You really expect me to make the first move?" Kyari laughed, spinning her father's dagger in her fingers.

“And why not?” he shrugged. “Every time I made the first move, I’ve lost. Is it too much to ask not to fight on your terms?”

"Perhaps not. But making the first move does not guarantee losing."

“Maybe it doesn’t, but I don’t see it giving me much of an edge either.” He frowned, starting to grow slightly impatient. “And like I said, I’m tired of fighting on your terms. If I bow to your every whim, I’ve already lost the battle.”

"Hm. I suppose," she muttered, moving her pinky finger slightly. With that command, a slice of air flew towards him

Grinning, he pivoted out of the ephemeral blades path. “Now that’s more like it!” Grabbing one of his cards from its holster, he threw it at the short thief as he came out of his spin, following the metal rectangle and jabbing his staff at her gut.

How'd he see that? It was just air. She threw up a shield of air, letting the card drop neatly in her hand. Just as quickly, she sidestepped his staff, tucking the card away in her sleeve and jabbing at his side with her dagger.

Geez, I wish I could do that so badly, he grumbled to himself as he saw the card halt midair. Couple that barrier with the fact that she barely even needs gestures for her magic, and it's a wonder I last even five minutes. Switching his grip on the staff, he spun the length of wood and deflected her dagger. Well, as long as she keeps giving me fair warning whenever she starts hurling those bits of air around, I should be able to deal. Skidding to a stop, the recovering boy let his grip slacken on his staff as he swung it at her, letting the bludgeon slip through his fingers before he gripped it again just before it flew out of his hand. Hopefully the extra length would be enough.

She frowned as the dagger glanced off his staff, and ducked and turned out of reach of it. Shall I go for his leg? She changed her mind mid-slice, cutting upward at his arm.

His eyes widened as his rushed strike whistled over Kyari’s head, leaving him wide open for her retaliatory strike.

Watch yourself, kiddo, he winced as the dagger cut a hearty path through his flesh. You just finished healing, no need to get yourself injured again. Rolling with his momentum, he brought his left greave around, intent on knocking her as far away as possible. One hit, all I need is one good hit. She can deal with cuts, she can deal with burns, but how does she deal with pure blunt trauma? Just gotta hope she’s a glass cannon or I’m going to lose again at this rate.

She felt his leg sweep hers from out under her feet and she fell on her back, eyes upwards at the sky. Almost immediately, she put up a shield over her, allowing her time and protection as she got up from the fall, first rolling out of the way to dodge any other blows.

“Tch, your reaction time is still infuriatingly quick,” he growled as he exited his spin, only to see that she had already recovered from being tripped. “No matter,” he grinned, “you can’t dodge forever. All I need to do is land one good blow and make it count.”

Grabbing another card out of his holster, he flicked it rapidly at the thief opposite him. Hopping to his right, he rushed at her, his stride never breaking even as he took out and threw another card at her from his new angle. Feinting another jab at her gut, he instead ducked low into another spin, trying to kick her legs out from under her once more. “Just one good hit…”

The shield blocked the cards thrown at her, clattering to the ground. This time she jumped over his staff, avoiding another blow.

The boy let his momentum carry him around, letting his staff fly unhalted towards her. “I’ve always been curious, how much of you skill is self taught?”

By the time the staff came towards her, she was on the ground, slipping the dagger away and pulling out her father's sword in one fluid motion. She blocked the staff. "Most of what I have learned was from my father. The rest I had to develop on my own. I've had enough time to do so."

Feeling the blade bite into the seasoned wood, he hurriedly let go of the staff, slipping a card out of its holster and throwing it at her at point blank range as he did so. “Your father was he particularly gifted with magic?” he asked as he quickly followed up with a heavy kick. “Or was he more of a warrior?”

The card bit her arm, and she yanked it out, moving out of the way of Seth's kick. She ignored the blood and pain, concentrating on his next move. "My father had no magic. He was a fighter."

“You’ve got a lot of magical power considering it only came from one side of the family.” He raised an eyebrow, pressing his advantage with another jab to the gut. “Your mother must have had quite the lineage behind her. Where was she from?”

"I'm not sure," she said, getting quiet. "Like I’ve said before, the only thing I have from her is my necklace." She blocked his blow, staying for the time on the defensive.

"And has anyone ever shown an untoward interest in that necklace? Besides myself, I mean." He dropped the staff before kicking the butt of it as it fell to the ground, sending it rocketing at her right foot. "There's scarce few other explanations for your prodigious skill with magic." He flicked a card out at her, following it up with a roundhouse kick at head height.

She skipped out of the way of the staff as she slipped her sword away, ducking the card and kick, sliding beneath his leg. She threw a dagger at his back as she stood up. "Someone has noticed. They believed I was some noble," she said as she stood behind him.

He stumbled forward as the small blade sank into his back. Crap, I hope that didn’t hit anything too important. He thought as he spun around, backing away from her. “And?” he asked, pulling the dagger out of his back with shaky hands. “Are you?” Clamping the newly acquired blade between his teeth, he started rummaging through his sack for the pair of tiny boxes whose touch were starting to get a little too familiar.

D****t, if I keep this up I’m going to get myself killed. The taste of blood oozed down his throat, an irony tang that started to coat his other senses. No, no ,the last time I pulled this kind of crap, I almost did get killed. The damage is still there, even if I can’t feel it, and I still have a promise to keep. The questing hand abruptly abandoned its original search, instead homing onto a bulky ball that resided near the bottom of his bag.

“The kind of magic you have running through your blood rarely ever comes from commoners, believe me,” he grunted as he clicked a tab on the ball, letting the sphere blossom into a net. “I’m honestly amazed that you don’t have more people tracking you down, truth tell.” He started advancing on the girl, net in his right hand and a card in his left, waiting for her to make a move.

"The net again? Last time you tried, it ended up in shreds," she said, staying where she was. "I know when people are tracking me and how to lose them."

“There’s no such thing as a sure thing,” he grinned painfully. “Just because something works once doesn’t mean that it’ll work the next time, and the opposite’s just as true.” His left hand cracked out, the card it held zipping towards the mage. “And stop avoiding my question; are you nobility?” The boy rushed at her, and swung the net at her. “You say you can avoid them and I don’t doubt that. What I want to know is why? What are you running from?

She pulled up her shield of air, effectively stopping the card. At the same time, she pulled the shield close, forcing the net to slide around her. "I don't know if I'm nobility. I don't trust them," she said, stepping forward to hold her dagger at his stomach.

“And you’re telling me you didn’t do your own research, didn’t look into it at all?” he asked eying the dagger warily. “Does your heritage mean so little to you?” Sighing and shaking his head, he stepped back, rubbing the spot her dagger would have pierced if she’d felt like it. “Looks like I’m dead again.” Back-pedaling, he retrieved his staff. “Every time it’s that same stupid wall and no matter what I do I can never get past it.” Reaching into his bag he grabbed a silvery white spearhead, which was garnished, oddly enough, with a plain steel base, and clicked it onto his staff.

"I do not think my heritage matters. I am a fighter first and foremost."

“’A fighter first and foremost,’” he snorted, spinning the spear lazily before stabbing it into the ground. “Don’t give me that. How many challenges do you actually accept if you’ve got enough free time to sit back with an old book or two? You’ll take the time to steal, to read books, and to spar with someone who, quite honestly, provides absolutely no challenge and for no profit at that, and yet you’ve never taken any time whatsoever to look into your history?” He uprooted his spear, hefting it before springing forward in a lunge at her. “Who do you think you’re kidding!? I’ve asked once, and I’m going to ask as many times as it takes; what the hell are you running from?!”

She jumped out of the way of the spear, staying out of reach. "Perhaps the truth is that I'm scared of my past, and I do not wish to know what it held."

“How do you live with it?” he asked as he pivoted towards her, taking a slash at her midriff with the point of his spear. “How can you be happy not knowing, always having the possibility looming over you that someday it’s going to catch up to you?”

She blocked the swipe with her dagger, stepping close to him, looking into his eyes. "It is one of few things I do not wish to know. If I was paranoid about all the things that could possibly happen to me, I could never live. I cannot change my past, regardless of whether something will happen to my future concerning my past." She moved back to her original position a little ways away from him. "Why does it concern you so?"

“”If you don’t learn from the past, how will you walk into the future?” he asked, though internally, he growled. She had a good point, and his words were half-hearted at best. “I’m not being a saint or anything like that, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He hopped forwards and thrust his spear at her right shoulder. “People with mysterious pasts tend to attract more trouble than a drunk in a bar,” He let his grip on the weapon slacken as he stepped forward into a mid-height kick. “And lost royalty are the worst of the lot. I’m just as much at risk as you are if your past starts hunting you down and I’d rather know what I’m up against should it come to that.”

She stiffened as she stepped out of the way of his spear, remembering an incident only a few days before"

Kyari left the arena confidently, sliding her daggers back into their respective spots.

"Lady Adelaide?"

"I ain't Lady Adelaide," she said, slipping into street cant for protection as she turned towards the speaker. "I ain't no sort of gentry. I reckon you've got the wrong lass."

"I apologize," he said, his eyes slipping off her face and landing on her necklace. "Or perhaps not. You may not be Lady Adelaide, but you certainly are nobility," he added, stepping towards her.

"I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my business," she concluded, walking past him. As she did so, she ran into him, pulling an old trick. She glanced at her prize outside the walls. "Quite a lofty sum. 'Tis expected from one inquiring after nobility.”"

She ducked his kick, rolling forward under his leg, bringing her dagger to his back. "I'm not royalty. I'm not nobility. My past does not matter and should not matter."

He sighed. “Dead again.” The boy grumbled as he stepped away from the dagger pressing into his back. “D****t! No matter what I do, I never seem to improve at all. I’m not supposed to have that luxury!” He slammed his spear into the earth in frustration some distance away from his opponent.

Leaning all his weight on the butt of his spear, he looked balefully up at her. It galled him that as time passed he seemed to be getting fewer and fewer hits on her, though granted she had probably gotten wise to all his tricks by this time. That and the few hits he’d manage to get on her in the past had usually resulted in grievous bodily injury to himself as well, so he should probably be thankful that he was still relatively unharmed.

“You say you aren’t royalty, but as you said, some people certainly seem to think you are, and that makes the whole question of whether or not you’re actually royalty kind of moot.” He plucked a card from his stockpile and flicked it at her, pulling his staff-turned-spear out of the ground and sending it flying at her right behind the card immediately afterward. “Royalty or not, you still have people hunting you, and I will not be caught off guard by them. I’m not ready to die just yet.” He rushed after his weapons, slipping a tough leather glove onto his right hand as he went.

She turned slightly, allowing the card to slice her skin as it whistled past. The turn also allowed her to avoid most of the spear, another wound opening in her arm. As she saw him come towards her, she turned farther, moving out of his way. I'll let you see me bleed. I'll prove to you I'm not immortal, yet I can still win. "Whether they think I am or not is irrelevant to me. I know how to protect myself from anyone who comes looking." She got quieter. "And if I have to, I'll protect you."

She got hit? By both of them? The boy mused to himself, he slipping a card into his right hand, between the middle and index fingers. That doesn’t add up. What’s going on here? He took a swipe at her as she side-stepped him. Is she trying to lure me into a sense of complacency?

“Maybe it’s irrelevant to you,” he said as he passed her, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t worry me.” He slid to a stop where his spear had fallen, clamping his card in his mouth before plucking the polearm from the ground. “And while I don’t doubt that you could protect me from them in the least,” dirt sprayed as he launched himself back at her, taking a swipe at the girl’s stomach, “I’d much rather you didn’t have to. The more you protect me, the more likely I’m going to end up dead the moment you’re gone.”

She spun out of the way, slashing at his side with her dagger. At the same time she pulled a caltrop out of her vest pocket, slamming her hand towards his body. "I want to protect you when I can"and I will"but when I can't," she shrugged, "that's what we're here for."

He barely registered his failed attack before she had spun towards him, dagger outstretched. Instead of pulling his spear back to defend himself, he used his momentum to enter into a low leg sweep.

Crap, that was close. D****t, I knew it was a trap, but still, that kind of speed is unreal, he thought, keeping his staff extended just in case the girl jumped over his first attack. “Hah, fat lot of good your training will do me if I can’t improve!”

She stumbled slightly as he avoided her attack. Moving backwards, she was hit by his leg. She held her ground, trying to get her footing as she blocked the staff. As she did so, she stepped back. "You depend entirely too much on that staff and it's not getting you anywhere. You need a new weapon."

“So what would you have me do? Become dependant upon another weapon?” He snorted derisively. “I chose this weapon for a reason you know. They say a swordsman, even one blessed by Einar himself, can spend lifetimes learning the intricacies of his art.” His gaze turned cold as he stood up and faced her. “I don’t have lifetimes, nor do I have any innate skill for the craft. What I have is a battle that I can’t lose, no matter what cost, and a rapidly approaching deadline, and for that I need a weapon that can make even the most useless of fighters dangerous.

“Even if we don’t use a sword as an example, the bottom line is that I don’t have the time to master any other weapon.” He stepped forward, making a few probing feints at the skilled thief before committing himself to a real jab at her left shoulder.

She looked at him strangely. That's the first time he's let any hint of another purpose slip...Perhaps there's more to this boy than I thought.

She held her hand up to block the spear"directly in front of the point"creating a shield of air around her hand to protect it. The spear stopped a centimeter away from her hand, unable to penetrate any farther. "You have a legitimate point. I’ll concede to your position. Perhaps if we ask why you lose to me, we'll be able to figure out what can help you win."

“Why I keep losing to you? I’d have thought that was obvious. You’re more powerful than I am, plain and simple.” The boy frowned at the tip of his makeshift spear before stabbing it into the ground. “Just about any of my attacks can be negated by your wind barriers, and even if you didn’t have those you’re still adept enough at hand-to-hand combat that you can block and counter any of my blows.” He pulled a small box out of his pocket, slid the container’s lid open, and plucked a small cigarette out, placing the tube of herbs in his mouth. The box disappeared back into his pocket. “And to cap it off you know most of my tricks, and you can counteract all of them, barring the ones that are just plain suicidal.” A pack of matches materialized from his other pocket, and the brunette summarily lit the cancer-stick, taking a deep puff.

Replacing the matches in his pocket, he uprooted his spear and started marching purposefully towards her, taking drags on his cigarette at regular intervals. “I know that I promised that I wouldn’t get badly injured again, but I’m afraid I might not be able to keep that promise.” He took a textbook jab at the air mage, without any underlying feints or deceptions. “Sorry, but there’s something I need to find out.”

She stepped out of the way, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you need to know?"

“Ha, what I’m trying to find out, you wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. In fact, you didn’t,” he laughed as he turned and took another jab at her. “Besides, this is something I need to find out for myself rather than be told.

She blocked that jab, her thoughts pensive. "What if we do a fight without me using magic?" she suggested. "Perhaps that will show your true skills."

“Feh, if my ‘true skill’ relies entirely on a handicap I don’t want it,” he spat as he let his spear spark off her sword, switching his grip on the polearm so he held it lengthways and tried to shove her off balance. “Little good my ‘true skill’ will do me if my corpse is cooling in some ditch because I never bothered to iron out a strategy against mages.”

With a small snap of her left wrist, she let a card slip out of her sleeve, flicking her wrist again to send the card flying towards him. "Don't you think it would help? To have me at a disadvantage might help both of us." She held her ground against his staff for the most part, her arms quivering slightly with the stress. I really don't have much upper arm strength. I need to fix that...

He swore lightly to himself as the card dug into his gut. D****t, I should have seen that one coming. She’s pulled that kind of stunt before. He shook his head. Forget it. Spilt milk. You’ve already made your choice. He let go of his spear, trying to grab her wrist with his left hand at the same time as he threw a haymaker at her temple with his right. “What would it do for me besides make me complacent?”

“How many mages will you fight?” she asked, crouching down to avoid the blow and swing at his legs. “Not to mention how many other types of mages there are. Fire mages, water mages without air…that’s just a few. But regular fighters? There’s many more of those without the tricks of mages.”

Thrown off balance not only by his failed grapple attempt, but his missed punch as well, he was already on his way to the ground when her sword slammed into his left leg.

I’m going to be feeling that one later, he swore silently to himself as the sword bit into his steel greave, irreversibly altering the trajectory of his fall. If I’ve ever said anything against those leg guards, I’m taking it back right now. I’m damn lucky; she’d have taken my leg off otherwise. He threw out his left arm to halt his fall and immediately transferred his falling momentum into a heavy punch with his right, not even pausing to try and remove the thief’s blade from his leg.

“Yeah, and those mages would kill me all just the same. Easier actually, for my lack of experience with any of their kind,” he growled. “Tell me, what would I learn from fighting you with a handicap that I wouldn’t fight you without one?”

She rolled away from him, slipping a dagger from under her shirt on her left side, scrambling to her feet. "You would learn how to fight someone without the handicap of magic."

He muttered a string of choice curses as his fist hit the dirt instead of her head. “And how exactly,” he growled as he rolled around and yanked her sword out of his leg, “would that improve my fighting? What methods of combat do regular fighters possess that would present a greater threat to me than those of a mage?” He pushed himself to his feet. “I still fail to see what I can learn from you when you have a handicap that I can’t when you don’t.” He took a measured swing at the girl at mid-height, unused to the weapon.

At least he's stopped bugging me about my past. "They present different methods of combat. Shielding, armor. That sort of stuff. Not just air. Armor has weak spots. Air doesn't." She watched as he began to use her father's sword. She jumped back out of his reach. Unless he's a fast learner, it'll be entertaining watching him. That was specifically balanced to my father...and it took me years to learn how to use. "Is there any reason not to try?"

“Complacency,” he replied, giving the sword a disgusted look before throwing it away. He should have known better. Practice makes perfect, not time. “I refuse to become complacent simply because I might be able to defeat someone who has a handicap.” Slipping three cards from their holster he sent them flying at her, one straight at her, one to her right, and one to her left in quick succession. “Tell me, what weaknesses does armor possess that isn’t visible to the eye?” He hurled himself at the mage, slipping another card out but kept this one. He was starting to run out of the steel rectangles, he noted with some unease.

Perhaps I'll fight without magic for my own ability improvement without warning him, one of these times. With a wall of air, she stopped all three in their tracks, catching the one directly in front of her in her hand, receiving a cut across her palm. She dove to the side, somersaulting to her sword, card and dagger in hand. She threw the card at his back, and picked up the sword with her right hand, moving her dagger to her left. "Isn't that what you should find out? I've always been told the best learning comes from experience."

He skidded along the dirt of the arena as she dove away. Unfortunately for him, his adversary had taken his change in direction into account, and the steel card bit into his right side near its twin.

“Fine, fine, I get your point,” he growled, as he finally plucked the cards from his chest. “Words to live by I guess. Whose were they?” He let the burnt out butt of his spent cigarette fall from his lips. Turning around to face her, he flicked one card straight at her and quickly followed it, making a short, horizontal slash at the girl.

"My father," she said quietly, suddenly realizing how much she hurt. Her arms still bled from where the card and spear had hit her and she was worn out. Unable to react as instantly as she wanted to, the card dug into her left shoulder.  With her sword she blocked the slash, cutting at his arm with her dagger.

“The more I hear about your father, the more he sounds like he was a man after my own heart,” he grinned even as the card was torn from his hand by the ancestral blade. Truth be told, the his lack of reaction to the loss of his weapon wasn’t entirely intentional. He’d noticed that as he took his slash at the girl, there’d been a slight ‘lag’ between what he wanted to do, and what his arm actually did, and that was a bad sign.

One last effort, he thought to himself as he let his hand continue to shoot forward towards her neck, ignoring the oncoming dagger. One last shot at a solid hit before my body gives out.

Aloud he asked, “He sounds like he was someone quite strong, your father. Like someone who wouldn’t be easily murdered.” His words came out oddly measured, not unlike those of a drunk who was taking care to deliver his words properly.

“Strong in mind, body, and spirit,” she affirmed, a slight duck saving her a majority of the blow, but his hand hit her head, the punch sending her mind spinning. The pain was nearly unbearable, but she was more concerned about him than herself.

“And yet he’s dead,” he mumbled as he reflexively grabbed the blade of her sword, his hand cutting itself on the sharp metal as it spasmed erratically. “That doesn’t add up. That doesn’t add up at all.”

He’s hurt. Again. It’ll be the second time now that I’ve damaged him badly. This isn’t working. This isn’t working. I don’t want him hurt anymore than he has to be…and if he doesn’t get help now, it will be worse in the future. Much worse. “Seth, you’re hurt,” she mentioned, pointing out the obvious. “We’d best stop now and get you healed before we continue any more. I don’t want another incident like what happened with your leg.

Chuckling wryly as his body slowly stopped listening to his commands, as the anesthetic bled from his system and the pain of all the wounds he’d accumulated leached back into his mind, he started to fall forward. “Hurt? Hahaha… yeah, must have… slipped my mind.” He grinned lopsidedly as his vision grew dark. “Might… be a bit too late for that last part.” He surrendered himself to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

She watched him fall, throwing her dagger and sword to the side. She rushed forward, attempting to catch him, but her own damaged arms nearly gave out. Seth, please...I need to get him to a healer, I need to get him to a healer. "Please, Einar, Asa, help me. Help this fighter," she whispered. She struggled to walk with him around her shoulder, finally mumbling a reply to him. "My father was murdered because he trusted."

That was the last thing she remembered, before dropping Seth and falling to the ground.