A/N: -emerges from the shadows- So the angry mob under my window finally got me and made me update. ;) To my defense, this is a loooong chapter, and the next one should be up shortly. It took forever to write and I'm still not sure if I got everything right, so feedback is as always appreciated. I'd like to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for all the reviews, faves and alerts. They really make me happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter. There is quite a bit of violence in it, so I hereby rate it M, just to be on the safe side. I took some liberties with the pre-fight scenes. I know it's supposed to be Shandra and Grobnar escorting the KC, but I wanted Casavir to have his five minutes. So there. ;) -slips back into the shadows-

PS: some changes made, because I uploaded the wrong document the first time...

OOO

Thick morning mist fought against the few rays of sunlight that broke through the trees, drowning West Harbor in a nearly unnatural-looking glow. Tarmas looked away from the weeping willow just outside his window, feeling his permanent state of depression catching up to him again. Despite his constant grumbling, it was not the swamp itself that bothered him so much. West Harbor was not a bad place to live – or at least not the worst one available – although he would rather eat his own staff than admit it to anyone.

It was the thought of all the nasty things lurking behind that curtain of mist that made him uneasy.

The problem with Harbormen was that they refused to believe Faerûn was full of creatures even more stubborn than they were. Come to think of it, it was rather hard to believe… but he knew better. He feared there would come a time when there would be no one left to rebuild from the ruins and yank the land back from the Mere’s clutches… and the force able to break the will of these people would be a dreadful one indeed…

With an ill-concealed sigh, the wizard turned his attention back to his student, a ten-year-old fair-haired girl sitting at the worn desk next to the window. The quill in her hand screeched against paper as she wrote the words of a spell, her expression one of absolute focus. Once she finished, she carefully put down the quill and looked up at him expectantly. Tarmas eyed the sheet and nodded.

“Very good, Amie. Now practice the gestures I’ve shown you yesterday.”

The girl’s lively brown eyes sparkled. “Yes, Master.”

Tarmas watched his student’s fingers trail a fairly simple pattern in the air, when a quiet giggle made him turn around. He sighed heavily, spotting the source of the sound. He had almost forgotten about her.

A skinny girl with a wild mop of snow white hair sat curled in the corner between two large bookshelves, a fat tome in her hands. Tarmas had discovered long ago that Daeghun’s child had – unlike young Amie – absolutely no talent for arcane arts. It was almost as if there was something inside the girl that did not allow her to channel magical energy. That, however, never stopped her from paying frequent visits to the wizard’s house where she spent hours on end sifting through his books. Works on geography, weaponry and both, magical and non-magical monsters seemed to be her main focus, but she had recently developed a strong penchant for adventure stories. Right now, she was busy reading the history of a famous female pirate of the Sword Coast.

Tarmas hadn’t even realized he had anything like that in his humble library.

He was not sure if he approved of it, but he had to admit it was a good thing the girl read anything at all, especially with her foster father paying little to no attention to her education, excluding survival and fighting. Perhaps she would not grow up to be a complete savage after all.

Tarmas shook his head. Maybe he was being too hard on Daeghun. He had a deep respect for the quiet elf, and understood his need for privacy only too well. No doubt there was a good reason for the ranger to act the way he did, and the fact his daughter was infuriatingly perky and curious surely wasn’t helping matters.

The wizard winced and repressed yet another sigh. At least reading kept her quiet most of the time.

“Master…” Amie gave a surprised gasp. He spun around to see the space between her palms glow faintly.

“What are you waiting for, girl?” he urged. “Recite the spell.”

She obeyed, the foreign words rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. The air between her delicate hands grew brighter, finally exploding into a brilliant ball of white light. With a quiet sigh, the girl let it float above her head, illuminating the room. Tarmas felt pride well up inside him. It was the simplest, most basic spell all young wizards were taught, yet the fact that Amie was successful at first try spoke volumes. She clearly had magic in her blood.

“Genie! Genie, look!” she called, although it was unnecessary as the other girl had already jumped to her feet, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Would you become my mage when I have my own ship, Amie?” she asked, beaming at her friend. “We would sail the seas together and—“

“What about Bevil?” Amie sounded concerned.

The other girl appeared thoughtful for a few seconds. “He could be my officer, of course,” she announced, grinning. “We’d be invincible together!”

Amie began to laugh, but silenced quickly under Tarmas’ stare. The wizard cleared his throat. “Stop this nonsense about ships and seas right now,” he scolded, giving them both a stern look. “You, my student, still have much to learn, and you, young lady, are disturbing her.”

Suddenly the front door burst open and a young boy came running into the house, along with a large amount of mud and cold, early spring air.

“Gina… Amie…” he panted, but closed his mouth as soon as he spotted the wizard.

Tarmas groaned. “What could be urgent enough to make you march into my house uninvited, young Starling? This had better be important.”

The boy seemed to visibly shrink as he tried to avoid his gaze. “I… it’s Lorne…” he stuttered. “He’s just come back from the Mere and… the lizardfolk… you have to see this!”

“Lorne is back?” The white-haired girl was immediately by the boy’s side. “Where is he? What happened?”

Tarmas raised a hand to his forehead. This was bound to give him another migraine. He eyed the two with exasperation. “Whatever that might have been,” he said firmly, “you may just as well discuss it outside my house. And don’t forget to take the mud with you.”

“Sorry, Tarmas,” they muttered in unison and turned to leave, but paused, looking hopefully at Amie who was still standing by the desk, casting inquiring looks at her mentor.

Tarmas knew when to admit he had been defeated. Reluctantly, he nodded. “If you wish to participate in this obvious madness, my student, you may join these two little barbarians. You did well today.”

She smiled at him gratefully as Gina grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Master.”

The trio rushed out of the house, quickly disappearing into the mist. The wizard glanced around. Were it not for the dirty stains on his floor, he would have thought the children had never been there at all.

Alone in the blessed silence of his home, Tarmas could not help the slightest smile. It died quickly on his lips, however, as he noticed the thin threads of mist pouring through the open door, swirling around him in a hypnotic dance before they dissipated in the air.

OOO

For some inexplicable reason, Ches had always been one of her favourite months, especially after the Spring Equinox had already passed. The misty mornings were still chilly and crisp enough to remind of winter, while the distant blaze of the sun carried with it a promise of warmth and comfort. Reveling in both, the snug embrace of the mist, and the faint prickling the first shy rays of sunlight sent across her skin, Gina felt almost cheerful as she stepped out of the temple into the morning light.

Such a beautiful day to die.

Before she even had a chance to consider the thought, two figures emerged from the mist and headed her way. She groaned inwardly as she recognized them. Sir Nevalle and Sir Grayson. If the welcoming committee was any indication of how the day would progress, she probably should not have gotten up at all.

But she could not do that, could she? There was work to be done, appearances to be kept up… people to be killed. She winced, not caring if they noticed it. And why should she, if she just as well could find herself in Kelemvor’s loving embrace the next hour? No, she would not deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Nevalle’s oh so perfect features twist in distaste… yes, like that.

“It is time,” the knight said. Apparently, among members of the Neverwinter Nine this passed for ‘good morning’. She couldn’t help but notice how careful he was to keep his gaze just past her face. “Lord Nasher awaits us at the tourney grounds.”

“It is a great honor to die for one’s country,” Sir Grayson cut in. “You should be proud, squire.”

Well, how’s that for encouragement? Gina thought, cringing inside even more, while a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bishop’s added: Honor, my ass.

At that she simply had to smile, and even made it look genuine enough that Sir Grayson’s eyes widened in surprise at her reaction. She did not pay much attention to Nevalle’s words as he continued to convey whatever Nasher had told him to, only quirking an eyebrow in amusement as the words, “reward”, “nobility” and “land” were mentioned. They really had to be quite desperate to get the Luskans out of the city. As if it hadn’t been enough that she and Cormick had spent the entire winter infiltrating their ranks – or hacking trough them, as the case had been.

Instead of dwelling on the matter, she focused on double-checking her equipment, making sure the buckles on her leathers were fastened properly and her rapier was loose enough in its sheath to be pulled out quickly if needed. Finally, she adjusted her wide-brimmed hat, tilting it just a little, and gave the two knights her best confident smile.

“Shall we, gentlemen?”

Just as they passed the temple’s gates, another, tall figure appeared in sight. Gina heaved a sigh of relief as Casavir approach them. Perhaps the way ahead would be bearable after all.

“May I escort the lady as well?” the paladin asked, inclining his head slightly, although the look in his eyes was cold as he and Nevalle stared at each other through half-closed eyelids.

Not waiting for the other men to respond, Gina grabbed Casavir’s hand and pulled him towards her until they fell in step together, behind the knights.

“Sure you may, Cas. I couldn’t have been more glad to see you,” she said, sincerely.

She was answered by a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk as the paladin looked down at her. “More than yesterday evening, I presume?”

She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I thought we’ve already been through this.”

“Have we?” His expression suddenly became serious and he lowered his voice. “I’ve tried to warn you, Gina, but there is only so much I can do without interfering. And since you have made it clear you do not wish me to interfere, I suppose I will have to continue trying to awaken your better judgement.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Casavir, do you really think this is the best time to talk about it? You know, with me marching towards my ultimate doom and all?”

He sighed. “You are right, of course. But please, bear in mind what I said. Bishop—“

“Bishop is my problem,” she interrupted impatiently, wincing as she took in the look of concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cas, but we’ve got other things to worry about right now. At least I do.”

He frowned. “Are you certain you don’t want me to fight in your stead?”

Gina felt the corners of her lips lift a little. “He asked me that too, you know?”

The sheer incredulity and shock on his face nearly made her laugh out loud. His frown deepened. “Please, be careful, Gina. I’m saying this as your friend. I don’t know what he is up to, but I won’t stand idly by and let him use you to his own ends.”

“Use me to his own ends?” her eyebrows shot upwards in faked astonishment. “Casavir, that’s the most elaborate definition of a tumble I ever heard.”

She was rewarded with the sight of his cheeks turning crimson. “Perhaps I was wrong,” he muttered. “Perhaps you don’t need my counsel in… these matters.”

Gina whistled, an innocent smirk dancing on her lips. “How about you worry about Shandra for a while instead, huh?”

His head snapped around so quickly she barely registered the movement, the coloring still present in his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” she replied with a wink that went unnoticed as Casavir stared ahead with an expression of utter puzzlement. He did not speak anymore for the rest of the way.

OOO

The tourney grounds were bustling with activity – and nearly unbearable noise coming from hundreds of throats at once. As Gina’s eyes carefully scanned the place, she finally felt the nervousness, that had previously eluded her, tie her insides into a tight knot.

What was taking them so long?

As if reading her thoughts, Casavir put a steady hand on her shoulder. “Lord Nasher no doubt wants this event to be a show for all of the city. He is building the crowd’s anticipation on purpose.”

Gina scoffed at the highest place in the tribunes, where the city’s ruler was supposed to sit. “A show. Typical of him. And what if I lose?”

“It is a hazard he has chosen to take,” Casavir said with just the slightest undercurrent of derision in his voice. “And while I can understand the need for it, I do not agree with his methods. I’m sorry this is happening at your expense, Gina.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, averting her eyes as she fumbled with the fastening of her belt. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Squire Gina Bendon!” a squeaky male voice called out.

“Here,” Gina said, grudgingly assuming her role, as a short, average looking man approached them. He was twisting a parchment in his hands, casting anxious glances at the arena, and she had to wonder how he even got the job in the first place. The man cleared his throat.

“Are you or your Champion ready?” he asked. Behind him, a loud cheer could be heard as Lord Nasher took his seat on the throne prepared for him. Gina winced at the sound. What the hells were they cheering for?

Casavir’s grip on her shoulder tightened slightly and she turned to face him. “I will go and join the others,” the paladin said, his eyes solemn as they sought hers. “I trust you know what you are doing. May the gods watch over you.”

Gina forced a smile on her face as she returned his gaze. “They’d better. See you later, Cas.”

She reached for his forearm, squeezing it briefly, and he mirrored the gesture, nodding once in reply. She could tell by the way his fingers closed around her elbow, that he was far more nervous than he was letting on. When they both let go, Gina turned to the attendant.

“I’m ready,” she announced evenly. “I will fight for myself.”

The short man looked about ready to faint. “Good,” he squeaked in a high-pitched voice and cleared his throat again. “Good. If you would follow me, my lady—“

Before he managed to finish, Gina brushed past him and, with one last glance at Casavir, made her way towards the arena portal. She could hear the nervous man trot behind her, unsuccessfully trying to match her long, purposeful strides, then stop abruptly as she stepped into the arena. There was a sudden feeling of heat on her back as a wall of fire was lit in the entrance, sealing off her escape.

As if I’d want to.

The constant hum of the crowd seemed more subdued here, drowned out by the tall walls surrounding the round field, and Gina almost sighed with relief. Above her, Judge Oleff began to say something in a strong, steady voice, but she wasn’t really paying attention, her eyes searching the tribunes for the rest of her companions.

Surprisingly, the first to catch her eye was Cormick’s broad face, next to Captain Brelaina’s beautiful but stern one in the first row. Gina stood up straight and saluted them, smiling lightly. Cormick’s face lit up for a moment as he saluted her, while Brelaina gave a slight, acknowledging nod, her expression unreadable.

Some distance to the right she saw Shandra. The blonde woman’s face was twisted in a grimace that betrayed nervousness and fear, but upon seeing Gina broke into a forced smile. Gina reached up to her hat in another, joking salutation, knowing full well that it would make Shandra roll her eyes in exasperation at her antics. Then Casavir came into view, taking a seat next to the woman, and Gina had to look away not to grin at Shandra’s suddenly reddened face. One day she would have to ask him about that ‘paladin charm.’

Her gaze shifted further, finally coming to rest on Qara, the sorceress’ customary expression of bored annoyance very much in place. She gave Gina a look that said, without doubt, ‘You were a fool to turn down my help and now you’re going to die. Too bad.’

Next to the girl sat Elanee, looking somewhat lost, but also displaying a subtle aura of detached interest. For some reason, it made her think of Daeghun and she shook her head. Wood elves were an eternal mystery to her. It was nigh impossible to guess what they were thinking, much less understand their motives.

Sand was so much easier to deal with, she thought as her eyes found the wizard. Even from her standpoint she could see his perfect lips curled in a disgusted grimace, his gaze fixed on some point next to Lord Nasher’s throne, and she didn’t even have to look to guess that was where Torio Claven was sitting.

Nor did she want to.

Further to the right, Khelgar was flanked by Neeshka and Grobnar, the tiefling and the gnome chatting animatedly and gesturing wildly with their hands, much to the dwarf’s frustration, no doubt emphasized by the fact he had to leave his beloved axe behind for the event. Good old Khelgar, always ready to run headfirst into the first fight available, but one could hardly hope for a better companion. Gina cast him a reassuring grin.

Finally, her eyes fell upon Bishop, standing slightly apart and above the rest, alertly scanning his surroundings. He was dressed in his new leathers, and Gina found it extremely hard to look away.

It really did look good on him.

Like a predator sensing his prey, the ranger’s attention suddenly turned to her. She had anticipated it, but it still made her pulse accelerate ever so slightly as his amber eyes bored into hers. He always seemed to know he was being watched, as if some sixth sense told him exactly which way to turn his head. And perhaps that was the case indeed.

Bishop’s lips twitched in a knowing smirk.

“Take my advice and don’t die, m’lady.”

Gina grinned back up at him.

You can be sure of that, ranger.

It seemed the judge had finally stopped talking, bringing her attention back to the arena itself. Taking a deep breath, she started walking towards the center, forcing herself to hold her head up high and confident, her stride as even as possible with the sand giving way beneath her boots with each step.

It was a highly practical solution. Even discolored by a liberal amount of blood and other unpleasant fluids, the sand could be easily swept under another layer and left to dry, until everything was nice and tidy again. Except it wasn’t. She really doubted they had bothered to fill the arena anew after each fight. With that cheering thought in mind, she kept her eyes firmly on the opposite entrance, heart starting to hammer in her chest.

Lady Luck, smile upon me. I’m going to need it.

This was no usual fight. This was Lorne Starling. Or rather – what remained of the man she once knew.

And suddenly there he was, his massive figure filling almost the entire portal, only emphasized by the flames and smoke that burst from where he had been standing a few seconds before. The dark blade of the large, menacing falchion he wielded with startling ease gleamed faintly with a greenish light, no doubt a result of powerful enchantments.

Yet somehow Gina still could not shake the impression he had looked much more impressive back then, in West Harbor, standing tall and terrifying, surrounded by…

…heads. Severed heads of fallen lizardmen lay in a heap in the middle of the market square, lifeless eyes blank and staring into nothing.

Gina stopped in her tracks and inhaled sharply, staring at the unexpected discovery with wide eyes. She almost fell over as something heavy hit her back, turning around to see Bevil, his face red from their brief run from Tarmas’ house. Amie emerged from behind him, her straw blonde hair tousled, dark brown eyes glittering. Wordlessly, Gina pointed in the direction of the macabre scene, watching her friend’s face as an almost identical yelp of surprise escaped her lips.

A sudden shout from the other side of the market made them look that way. Georg Redfell appeared in sight, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture as he walked up to the group of three men at whose feet the bizarre trophies lay. As if drawn further, Gina started walking towards them, hearing Bevil and Amie’s quickened breathing mingling with her own as they approached the scene to examine it more closely. Bevil tapped her on the shoulder, a proud grin on his face.

“Told you,” he said. “Lorne’s always back with a surprise.”

She grinned back and nodded. They came to a halt barely a foot away from the heap of lizardman heads, staring in awe. The smell of blood now hit their nostrils with full force, and Gina looked down to the ground, to where it had poured over the cobble stones, creating small crimson puddles between them. Her stomach suddenly felt slightly uneasy. With her foster father being a skilled hunter and skinner, she was used to the sight of blood and dead animals, but this… this was somehow different. The lizardmen were not animals… at least that was what she read in one of Tarmas’ books.

Amie made a retching sound and retreated a few steps back, covering her mouth and nose, but refused to turn away from the sight. Gina glanced at Bevil who looked slightly pale now, too, but stood bravely by her side, staring ahead with the same sick fascination she felt. Then she looked up and saw him.

Bevil’s brother, Lorne, stood tall and proud among the men, towering above them. She had to lift her head a good deal to look at his face, but when she did, she saw the strange, feral light burning in his eyes. His militia armor and the large sword at his belt were spattered with a generous amount of blood. Some of it was even on his face and in his hair.

It was the most glorious sight Gina had ever beheld. A mighty warrior, surrounded by his fallen enemies, fearless and victorious.

“They ambushed us outside the ruins while we camped,” Lorne’s voice thundered as he spoke to Georg. “We’ve almost lost Kellen and Rita, but some druids took care of them.”

Georg clenched his jaw and gnashed his teeth, his eyes cast down. “Cyric’s blood! This time they’ve gone too far, openly attacking our people! This can’t continue.”

The large man nodded. “We barely managed to get out alive.” He grinned as he motioned at the heads. “But these won’t be causing us trouble again.”

Georg’s eyes fell on the bloody pile at their feet and only now did he seem to notice Gina, Bevil and Amie.

“Oh, by the nine hells, Lorne, the children shouldn’t be seeing this! Why did you bring this in here?

Lorne laughed as he pulled Bevil to his side and playfully tousled the boy’s hair. “They’re no cowards, Georg. In a few years they’ll join the militia themselves and kill their share of these beasts.”

Georg shook his head. “I fear you may be right. Nevermind that, just clean up this mess. Some merchants from Highcliff are to arrive today and I don’t want to scare them off. And no more trips to the ruins for anyone, not even the patrols.”

Lorne looked surprised. “Have you gone mad, Georg? With enough people we could wipe them out of there for good!”

“Don’t fool yourself, Lorne,” Georg said as he looked up at the taller man confidently, his eyes hard. “They are too many and those ruins are too damned dangerous. I’m not risking the life of my people foolishly, and neither should you. Nobody’s even going near that place without my direct permission, is that clear?”

Lorne simply glared at him, but his expression softened a little as Georg smiled, patting the three men on the shoulders. “But you’ve done a fine job, boys. Those lizards will think twice before approaching the village again.”

Lorne continued to look at the other man without a word before finally nodding with a noncommittal grunt. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Georg.”

“Don’t you worry about that. And come over to the tavern later, all of you. We’ve got enough reasons for a celebration!”

At that, Gina jumped, beaming up at Lorne. “Will you tell us how you fought them, Lorne?” she asked hopefully.

“And then teach us!” Bevil added. “Last time you promised to train with us again.”

Lorne’s laughter rumbled across the square as he looked down at them. “Fine,” he said, amused. “If you two let me eat first, I’ll teach you everything I know.”

And teach them he did.

Gina tried to shake the vivid memory as she finally came to stand face to face with the last man she had expected to ever face in a fight. His now clean shaven head glimmered in the morning sunlight, his hateful, feral gaze fixed upon her, unmoving, as if anticipating her every motion.

He did use to be taller.

“Long time no see, Lorne.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously and he all but spat in her face. “Not a word from you, pawn of Neverwinter. Do you think I’ll spare your worthless life because I knew you? You’re wrong, little girl. I’m here to spill your blood, nothing else!”

She snorted. “And what are you? Pawn of Luskan? Torio’s footrest? I have news for you, Lorne. This little girl is not so little anymore, and she can take care of herself. You taught me how, remember?”

He gritted his teeth nearly audibly and she could see his jaw tremble as his muscles tensed. “I will rend your flesh from your bones and make you eat those words!”

“You mean how you made short work of Cormick in the Harvest Fight?” she taunted, struggling to remain outwardly calm. “Good job, that. And you know what? He’s here, watching us right now. Bet he’s happy to see you.”

Gina could see how carefully he tried to keep the look of surprise off his face, but she did not miss the slightest movement of his eyeballs as he stole a glance at the tribunes. She felt a surge of grim satisfaction, but the small triumphant smirk was wiped from her lips as Lorne turned to her and let out a thunderous roar, the kind of which she had not even heard from Khelgar in the worst of their battles.

“You will die, little girl,” he said. “And I’m going to enjoy making you bleed.”

She met his spiteful stare firmly, with more boldness than she actually felt. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Fighters, begin!” Lord Nasher’s voice rolled above their heads…

…and suddenly she was flying, then rolling over on the sand, forced to dodge a treacherous blow of Lorne’s falchion. She finished the movement and leapt back to her feet, drawing her rapier and crouching into a defensive stance, cursing silently. She should have guessed he would not even give her the chance to draw her weapon before he attacked. He was also quicker than she had anticipated. But she would not let him use that element of surprise again, oh no.

She spun around as he circled her, the first faintest trace of mindless fury crossing his features like an approaching storm cloud. She would have to move fast and bide her time. The longer she managed to avoid his attacks without engaging in direct fight, the better. She could be patient, if she really wanted to. It was one of the things she had learned from Daeghun without him even knowing.

Lorne lunged at her, his sword held firmly in front of him, sunlight sparkling off its jagged edge. She focused on that edge, standing very still as he drew closer, then, in the last moment, danced out of his reach. She dropped to one knee, half-turning as his massive figure rushed past her, her rapier shooting forward in a single well-aimed thrust. Lorne howled in helpless rage as the attack caught the back of his thigh. He whirled around, his falchion cutting the air where her head should have been.

Only she wasn’t there anymore.

Gina watched Lorne whirl around in surprise, looking at her, then at the spot on the ground where she had been only seconds before, then back at her again. Slowly, a grin spread on his face as he rubbed his backside where the point of her practice sword had caught him. She couldn’t suppress a proud grin herself.

“Getting slower, old guy?”

He laughed. “You just wait, little girl. You’ll get yours.”

“Like you can catch me,” she smirked, ignoring the nickname.

“I went easy on you this time,” he replied smugly, and somehow she knew that it was the truth. It put a little damper on her momentary euphoria. “But you’re quick, I’ll give you that,” Lorne continued. “Maybe we’ll make a warrior out of you yet.” He turned his head to the young man behind him. “Your turn, brother. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

“The longsword might be too heavy for her, with that speed,” came Cormick’s voice as the man entered the practice grounds. “Maybe we should find her something lighter.”

Gina eyed him curiously. “Like what?”

Cormick shrugged. “We’ll think of something. I know a good smith in Fort Locke.” His eyes focused on Lorne. “Georg wants to have a word with us.”

The large man nodded and turned to the dozen young recruits. “Find yourself a partner and keep practicing until I get back. Try not to kill each other, and that goes especially for you, Mossfeld,” he frowned and followed Cormick.

Gina watched them leave, then looked around to find that she and Bevil were the only ones still without a sparring partner. She grinned at her friend.

“Care to dance, Bev?”

“Sure,” he smiled back, a little bashfully. Then, with an unexpected twinkle in his eye added: “I won’t go easy on you.”

She laughed, raising her weapon. “Bring it on!”

She was rolling on the ground again, clutching her weapon to her chest, hearing Lorne’s muffled insults through the pounding of blood in her ears. Tymora help her, that was close. It was a wonder her hat had stayed in place.

When she was certain she had put enough distance between her and her opponent, she sprang back up, swearing inwardly as she realized the wall was now behind her, only two feet away. This would not do at all. If Lorne had her backed up against it, she would have no chance of parrying his heavy blows with her rapier. She needed to find a way to stay in the open, where she could evade and jump unhindered.

Lorne was coming at her again, this time slower, barely repressed fury flickering in his eyes; eyes that were so much like Bevil’s, and yet so very different. Gina could see the blood seeping out of the wound in his thigh staining the sand behind him, but there was no trace of pain on his face. Not even a catch in his step as he moved gradually nearer.

Equally slow, holding out her weapon in a surprisingly steady hand, she started to move sideways, her eyes darting between her opponent’s face and blade. They began to circle each other, their feet solidly on the ground, their steps even.

“I’ll carve my name in your skin, girl,” Lorne gritted out, mockingly. “And while you’re still breathing, too.”

Gina was surprised at the steadiness of her voice as she muttered: “Bring it on.”

He charged, a ferocious snarl erupting from his throat. She waited, her brain working feverishly, looking desperately for some solution. Any solution. Frantic shouts from above reached her ears and she imagined her friends getting up from their seats, yelling in panic, urging her to move.

But she did not; not until Lorne was little more than the blade’s length away. Then she suddenly flew back, closing the distance between her and the wall until she felt her back press against the stone. Digging her heels in the sand, she strained her muscles, jumping and lifting both her knees to her chest just as Lorne’s falchion was about to pierce her stomach. With all the strength she could muster she fiercely kicked out, both booted feet hitting him squarely on the chest.

Clearly caught by surprise by that maneuver, Lorne swayed back, but kept his balance. For a short moment though, he waved his hands in the air, struggling to remain standing. That was all Gina needed. Using the footing his body provided, she retracted one foot and aimed another kick at his face.

His head flew backwards, blood spurting out of broken nose. He staggered backwards, holding his face, howling, although it was hard to tell if it was in rage or in pain. Gina lost her support and landed awkwardly on her feet, holding the rapier in front of her defensively as she carefully sidestepped Lorne, putting distance between the wall and herself.

Another howl escaped Lorne’s throat, and this time she was certain – it was a sound of pure fury and hatred. What did Bishop say? That making Lorne mad would make him an easy target?

That’s it. I’m dead.

The thought came suddenly and clear as the morning, but strangely, no fear accompanied it. It was a fact, plain and honest, and eerily comforting in its simplicity.

I guess I am suicidal. He was right about that, at least.

Bracing herself, she forced herself to remain motionless, her eyes trained on Lorne’s weapon as he readied for another charge. It was as though time had suddenly slowed down for her, the deafening battle shout Lorne let out seemingly coming from a great distance, his each move slow and deliberate where they had been full of chaotic, devastating force before. She watched him approach with a calmness only the certainty of one’s imminent death could bring, looking for some opening in his stance, anything that would allow her to foresee his next move and get out of the way before it even came.

And then he was looming above her, his falchion raised high to deliver the final blow.

Screw it all

She burst into motion, diving under his arm, the muscles of her legs working furiously as she sprang into a somersault. She felt her shoulders collide with the ground, her grip on the rapier firm, already preparing to strike at Lorne’s knees from behind. A subtle movement in the air told her something had gone very wrong even before her muscles suddenly failed her. The rapier slid out of her now limp hand and she found herself falling to her side for no apparent reason.

Only then did she feel the pain. It seemed to radiate from her right kidney, but soon spread across her spine to envelop her whole in an opaque shroud, clouding her vision. Tiny needles pierced her skin and sank deeper, to her very core, as Lorne brought down his foot for a second kick, hitting the very same spot as before.

She heard herself scream out hoarsely. The nine hells take it, the feet! She should have been watching his feet and his face, not the godsdamned sword! She should have known he wasn’t stupid enough to fall for the same trick for the third time! Bane’s blood!

Thoughts raced through her mind, only to be drowned out by the omnipresent, excruciating pain. Instinctively, she coiled on the ground to protect her head, but that did not stop Lorne from delivering another kick to her other kidney, making her cry out once again.

Darkness danced on the edge of her vision, but somehow she was able to roll over, if only to gain some time. Her weapon was lost, but maybe if she managed to get back on her feet…

This time she felt the movement of the air and was able to roll aside at the last moment, a little further than before, her hands and knees feeling around for support to draw herself up. She managed to lift herself on unsteady arms when she heard him approach again, a whooshing sound making her jerk upwards shortly before yet another vicious kick reached her ribcage, sending her flying onto her back. She fell down heavily, feeling the air drain from her lungs completely as a new kind of pain made her arch her back. She wheezed and coughed in vain, her mind hazy, the shadows growing on the sides of her vision, tempting her.

She felt her eyelids drift closed, but forced them open again, her head rolling limply to one side. Her tired gaze fell upon her hat, lying in the dirt some distance away, and a little further a shimmering, suggesting that was where her rapier had fallen. If only…

She heard the sound of Lorne’s heavy footsteps draw nearer.

“What did I tell you about being smart, little girl?” came his mocking voice.

There was a firm pressure on her upper back as something pinned her to the ground. She tried to shake it off, but failed. Somewhere behind her she could hear Bevil’s muffled chuckle.

“What did I tell you about being smart?”

Her sword was just out of reach, where she had dropped it.

“Lorne!” she gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

“This is what you get for making stupid decisions, girl. Deal with it, if you can.” Gina could swear she heard laughter in his deep voice.

“Fine!” she said, spitting out the sand that had gotten into her mouth. “Fine, I get it. I’ll be more careful next time.”

The pressure did not lessen. In fact, Lorne shifted his weight to intensify it. She groaned.

“Not good enough,” his voice rumbled above her. “Impatience and arrogance will get you killed, no matter who your opponent is. You’d do good to remember that if you plan on surviving in the world, little pirate queen.”

It was no easy task in her position, but Gina managed to nod. “I’ll try.”

The heaviness was finally removed from her back and she took a deep breath before rolling around and sitting up. She looked up to see Lorne’s bearded face looming above her.

“Try your best,” he said with a genuine smile as he extended one hand to help her stand up.

And she took it.

Gina shook her head violently, desperately trying to get rid of the darkness as Lorne’s bald head came into view. A cruel, gloating smile was on his face, the sight slightly macabre due to the blood still seeping out of his nose. Somehow she doubted he would help her up right now, even if she asked nicely.

“Screw yourself,” she spat, her eyes never leaving his, daring him to look back at her.

His face darkened even more, but he laughed. “Maybe you need another lesson, girl. Looks like the first one was not enough.”

Gina watched him raise his blade, that smile still on his lips as he held her gaze unflinchingly. Looking deeply into his eyes, careful to keep all emotion that could betray her intent off her face, she braced each muscle, forcing her body off the ground once again. Lorne didn’t even blink, still oblivious as her leg snaked behind his knee, forcing him to catch his balance again, not nearly enough to trip him, but enough to make the arm with his sword sway a little to the side, away from her body.

She rolled away again, as he no doubt had expected her to. But he could not have anticipated her to suddenly change her direction, and with all the force she could garner smash into his legs, using her entire body as a battering ram. Lorne swayed on unsteady legs, trying to prevent the inevitable, but found himself falling face down onto the ground with a thundering thud. His mind remained clear enough to tell him to stretch out his arms before he managed to impale himself on his own weapon.

No longer feeling the weight of his body upon her, Gina rose to her knees – much too quickly, as dizziness filled her head, the shadows dancing before her eyes again. Shaking her head, she stood, clenching her teeth against the pain in her ribs, several of which were surely broken. Purely on impulse, her foot found one of Lorne’s wrists just as he began to gather himself off the ground, and kicked. His grip on the falchion’s hilt weakened and she dug the heel of her boot into his hand, her other foot pushing the weapon out of his reach. To his credit, no sound passed his lips. It didn’t take long before he was able to shake off her leg and half turn to his side, but this time she was the one with the advantage.

One of her boots found his face for the second time, more fresh blood gushing out of his now severely broken nose. Another blow reached his stomach, yet another his uncovered throat. Adrenaline pounding wildly in her veins, Gina could barely hear his wheezing and silent curses, red mist dimming her vision. Digging her foot under the sand, she kicked up his fallen weapon and caught it in mid air.

“Impatience and arrogance will get you killed,” she heard her own voice, cold and alien. “No matter who your opponent is. Sound familiar?”

He roared, kicking out, trying to reach her legs, but she dodged him easily, jumping out of reach, her feet still lashing out at every unprotected part of his body she was able to reach.

“You taught me all these dirty moves,” she sneered. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end, Lorne? How did it feel when you killed all those people?”

His hand finally closed around her ankle, but at the same moment her other foot reached his temple, nearly causing him to black out. She scampered away, taking a swing with the falchion and reversing her grip on the hilt. The pommel made firm contact with Lorne’s jaw, his head jerking back as blood flooded his mouth. He lay back on the ground, awaiting the fatal strike, delivered with his own blade.

It never came.

Rolling himself to his side, Lorne raised his eyes to see her standing above him, the point of his falchion aimed at his throat as she held the sword in both her hands, unmoving.

“Well?” he snarled, his voice raspy. “What are you waiting for, little girl? Finish me! Think it matters? It doesn’t! Garius wants you dead. He’ll find you, and he’ll make you wish for death in more ways than you can imagine. You’ve gained nothing! Go ahead, end this, if you’ve got the guts!”

Gina watched him in silence, her breathing short and ragged, feeling the first signs of exhaustion wearing on her. She wasn’t sure how she was able to keep standing, but right now it didn’t matter.

What mattered, was the man lying at her feet, completely at her mercy. She could see the cold hatred mixed with humiliation in his eyes, but most of all, a question. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer.

Then again, maybe she did not have to.

“Oh, no, Lorne,” she felt a mocking smile crawl across her lips as she stalked closer to his lying form. “I’m not gonna let you off that easily. Nothing I could do to you would be as bad as what your master will do once he learns of your defeat.”

His eyes widened a little as he continued to stare at her, and she felt pleased to see a hint of fear in them. She placed the point of the falchion under his chin, forcing him to raise his head even further, to make sure he was looking directly at her face as she spoke.

“Go to your master in Luskan, Lorne, and tell him that you’ve failed. Go and fall on your knees, begging for mercy, like the people in Ember did. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky. But I swear, if I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to kill you like the scum you are.”

She took away the blade. Lorne dropped his head and remained on the ground, resigned and defeated, his eyes fixed on the dirt beneath him, staining it with his blood. For one fleeting moment she almost pitied him. Almost.

“Bevil and I used to be proud of you,” she said, too quiet for anyone else but him to hear. “So did Retta.”

Not waiting for the response that would not come, she backed away, watching him intently until she saw two armed guards hurry towards him with chains and shackles. She turned around and limped towards the curtain of fire on her side of the arena, pausing only to retrieve her own weapon and hat. Above her, the crowd began to cheer, cuss, or simply yell, but she did not hear it, just as she did not hear Nasher’s pompous speech. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

Something inside her had died.