Once the women have taken twin swords of their own and shuffled into place, Cody steps forward. "We'll need to act quickly if we're going to keep the element of surprise," he says. "They saw us run, but they won't yet know how much we stole or what we're planning."

A smile tugs at my lips. I hurry to hide it, afraid of giving the wrong impression, but the swell of pride lingers. Cody might have been reluctant to take this action at first, but now we are in the midst of it, he's taken on an entirely different role, and he practically glows with the pleasure of it. Aside from the fire, much of our plan stems from him. He has a real knack for it. He'd make a good army captain with the way he carries himself.

In front of the others, he continues on to explain our system, the control we aim to take over the fight to make up for our lack of expertise. Most of the gathered residents nod in earnest. A few appear more doubtful, but they are a minority. Cody knew some would be less keen. He is doing his best to smooth out that certainty with some semblance of a careful plan.

The older man who entered with us displays less hesitancy than disdain, his nostrils flaring, his finger rapping at the hilt end of the slim axe he rests beside his foot. But that may be not entirely due to what is to come. From his stature, the ease in which he stands stationary at the opening, I can assume he is the blacksmith Cody referred to when we outlined the happenings earlier. This is his workspace. I suppose it's fair for him to feel a stab of irritation at letting us take over.

Cody finishes his makeshift speech with a nod, and gestures to me. I don't need prompting. With a glance at the ashes in the hearth, I follow him out, wringing my hands as I squeeze past the blacksmith. I try not to notice the way his stern gaze zeroes in on my gloves.

Outside is strangely quiet. It takes me a moment to realise that the roar of the blaze is absent, the reassuring pop and crackle of flame swallowed by an unsettling void. My hand strays to my dagger, then to the sword, caught between the two.

By the perk of his head, Cody has noticed it too. He grabs my arm and steers me out into the square. I snatch it back as soon as I can, trailing instead as he jogs to the other side, although I note the shakes that loosen his grip. His gaze flicks briefly to the path to the forest before wrenching away as we pass. Despite his straight back and lifted chin, he's still frightened.

Heat writhes in my stomach. Fear has become a constant for me, it seems, a tidal wave inching higher with every step we take. At least I'm learning to quell its effects.

Ahead, Cody slows. We're in position. When I crane my neck, I can make out the ragged top of the inn, jutting above the rooftops as if sketched atop the skyline by a stick of charcoal. We now stand on the main path through Katamen, the one the soldiers would have expected us to sprint down had we not used the hidden alley. While the residents may not have an advantage when it comes to battle experience, they know this village far better than a group of foreigners.

As if on cue, a shape skids onto the street ahead, pointing a sword in our direction. The wave within me teeters, currents swirling. Before Cody can tug my arm again, my feet spur into action. His loud shout of, "Run!" is rendered useless.

We tear along a sidestreet, lingering only long enough to ensure the soldier laid eyes on us. Cody soon overtakes me. I clutch the sword sheath to prevent it from swinging, my legs protesting at its cumbersome weight. When I took the decision to take a larger blade of my own, a different weapon still to defend myself with, I failed to consider how much strain it would require to carry.

In front, Cody stumbles to a stop. It takes me a bare second to see why.

This street is a dead end. Rough-hewn bricks of grainy stone climb upwards, parting around a bolted door, straw dislodged by past winds dappling the cobbles beneath. The roof is just out of reach. The wall has its cracks, but it is too difficult to climb, especially for the weapons weighing us down. We're trapped.

My heart hastens as I spin on my heels, facing the length of the street we just sprinted along. Katamen's quiet makes it easy to pick out my noisy pants, Cody's scuffing boots as he frantically examines the wall behind, the way the approaching footsteps ease their pace. The soldiers know they have us cornered. There are three of them, more than enough to block our path out, and there are no extra passageways to squeeze out through. The first marches at a rigid pace, a ray of light gleaming off his outstretched blade.

My hand closes over my own hilt, drawing out the sword I stole from the inn. It still glimmers darkly even in the sun's view, as if its metal is a strip of moonlit night. It soon droops in my grip. I wrap a second hand around it, pointing it at him.

He halts a few paces from us. His gaze rests on the sword, then up at me, eyes casting the blade away as if it is of no consequence.

"You're the one who set the fire?" Thunder wraps his voice. He's the same man who destroyed the stall earlier.

The other two soldiers snicker as they saunter to a stop at his left. I curl my fingers tighter, hefting the sword so that it jabs up at him. Cody slips in beside me, bowstring pulled taut.

"Yes," I say, fixing the soldier with the most confident look I can muster. "I am. Yield, or I'll do it again."

One of his companions nudges the other with the butt of his spear, lips twisted into a mocking smile. "You really let a kid burn down that shack?"

Scowling, she bats away the spear, then folds her arms. "Go ahead. Scorch the whole damn town to the ground. See if we care."

"With you in it? Gladly." It's odd, letting my tongue flick its venom, and I'm surprised by how convincingly the words slide out. I advance a pace, feeling Cody watch me from the side.

Stretch out the encounter. Buy time. Keep them focused on us.

"I'm not being polite. I should introduce myself," I add, twitching a smile, treading slowly as I flick my gaze to each of the soldiers. The man with the thundering voice is silent, stare set in stone, while the others survey me with a mix of both wariness and vague amusement. I aim to cast away the latter. "I'm Nathaniel. And you are?"

Leisurely, the closest man spins his spear, its point edging towards my chest. I move my sword to block it, hoping they don't hear my pounding heart.

"Jasper," he replies, tapping the spearhead against the flat of the blade. He meets my gaze, eyes sparkling.

The woman sighs. "Don't answer him."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Quick as lightning, Jasper flicks the spear, sending its point flying towards my face. The tip glints, wickedly sharp like a gemstone carved with the intention of bloodshed. Panic yanks me backward. I narrowly dodge the blow, though from the pleasure twisting his grin, I infer his intention wasn't to hit me. Not yet.

The spear is still pointing my way. I throw my sword against it. They slam together, the singing impact vibrating down my arm. I grip the hilt harder, afraid I'm about to drop it.

"I'd like Nathaniel here to know who killed him," Jasper hisses.

"Enough of this," rumbles another voice.

A blade swings down between us, forcing us both back. The first soldier, taller than the others, easily towering over me. He blocks Jasper's path to me, although his gaze might as well be twin spearheads, no less malicious. His sword forms the distance between us. "Boy," he says, jabbing it at my chin, forcing out another staggered backstep, "how many accomplices do you have?"

"Just Cody," I say, wishing I could hold myself with the same unmoving steel that forms his movements.

He examines me for a moment, no doubt taking in my frayed tunic and mask. I clutch my sword to my chest. "And what did you intend to achieve with this foolish act?" he asks.

I let out a laugh, drawing on the image of the burning inn, the seething delight it leaves lingering. "Anything. Trouble. I hoped a few of you would perish in the flames." My head cocks to the side. "Do tell me, did anyone die?"

"Nearly," mutters the woman.

"A shame." I shove back the relief twined with guilt in my stomach, searching for that spark of longing. "I'll have to slit your throats instead." My mouth tastes bitter. The sword weighs in my hands. Taking in a shallow breath, I adjust my stance, keeping it held upright.

The man's eyes cut into me. "He's lying," he says without breaking my gaze. "Kelse, find the others. Search the town."

"You don't want to do that," I warn, though I can feel my confidence waning. I shouldn't, but I glance at Cody. His eyes are wide, uncertain, his bowstring shaking between his fingers. We're not ready. We need another distraction.

He must see the idea in my look, for his head shakes. But I ignore it. I have only one tool at my disposal.

As subtly as I can, I slide a finger inside the cuff of my glove, gently teasing it upward.

Then the arrow pierces the air.

I sense it more than see it, not fully taking in its reality until its shaft protrudes from the centre of the soldier's chest. Blood leaks out to decorate the wound's edge. He stares down at it, shock seemingly freezing him in place.

Perhaps we were ready after all.

Time seems to stand still for a moment. The soldier topples, slowly, his hand lifting as if to attempt a strike yet his sword slips like liquid from his fingers. His legs fold beneath him. He falls to his knees.

All at once, as if someone has flicked a switch, the street descends into a blur. More arrows rain down, another thumping into the man's shoulder, one deflected by Jasper's spear, one that the woman -- Kelse -- has to leap aside to avoid. Cody and I retreat into the wall, sheltered by the straw tips of the house's overhang, watching chaos erupt.

Kelse draws out a bow of her own, sleek and lean, and is letting an arrow fly before I even see her notch it. A cry splinters the air from above. I flinch, gaze grasping for Cody.

His lips are set in a thin line. His exhale is audible as he finally releases the arrow primed on his bow all this time. Kelse's eyes lock onto it as it soars towards her. She dives into the wall, but the street is too narrow; its tip catches in her cloak. It's difficult to tell whether it drives into her flesh, but from her grimace, I can guess it at least leaves a scratch.

I follow her gaze as it roams towards Jasper. He still stands somehow tall and uninjured, his companion sprawled at his feet. A scarlet pool is rapidly forming around the former soldier's chest. Claws dig into my heart.

"He's dead." The words fall like heavy raindrops. I look to Cody.

He shrugs, though I notice his cheeks are a shade paler. "Them or us."

Pounding footsteps drag my attention back up. Kelse is streaking away, one hand gripping her bow while the other clasps at her side, where the arrowhead sticks out above her hip. It swings with every bounding step. An arrow slices after her, striking the cobbles a pace behind her. Yet no sooner has she approached the end of the street does another form loom out from behind the corner, the shape of a slim axe held high above his head. The blacksmith. More follow him, armed with blades. They can't escape us.

My thrill is dampened before it can even begin to race. I turn my gaze downward, not wanting to watch them cut her down. My sword is leaden in my grip. Another dead.

Them or us. I twist my face away from Cody, not wanting him to see my expression.

Jasper has taken off after Kelse, brandishing his spear. When I dare to look back at the crowded end of the street, I see a larger battle is taking place there now, more Neyaibet soldiers joining the fray. Our archers finally become visible, edging along the rooftops to aid.

Cody mutters something under his breath. Frowning, I turn to him. He is rubbing his forehead. "They weren't supposed to come here."

It takes a moment to click, but then my own, delayed dread floods in. I stare over at the battle. The idea was to catch the soldiers in these small groups, keep them separated, hide just how many people are working with us. But from what I can see, all the residents have met in the same charge, and they will meet the full force of the soldiers. We might outnumber them, but we're outmatched in skill.

"They've blown it," Cody breathes. Frustration encases his words, pricked at by fear. "We can't win like this."

"We'll have to try," I say, sounding more sure than I feel. I glance down at my gloves. "I can set another--"

"No more fire. We can't separate our people from theirs."

"Then we fight." I adjust my grip on my sword hilt.

He pauses for a moment, then nods, looking defeated. "There's nothing else we can do. I'll get on the roof."

While he sprints for the wall, I run towards the fight, the street disappearing too quickly beneath my boots. My heart races, pumping icy blood. Sweat slickens my palms beneath my gloves.

I hoped I wouldn't have to fight them, not in this way. Some naive part of me hoped none of them would die. But I should have known both were inevitable.

The women who helped us with the weapons earlier -- sisters, Cody said, though their names have already slipped my mind -- are facing up against a soldier wielding two swords longer than my arms. He seems almost to be toying with them both, deep into two battles at once. As I skid over the cobbles, still several paces away, his left sword flicks up with a flourish and his opponent's blade flies up into the air, hitting the wall behind. Her sister moves to shield her, but not before his sword grazes her arm, tearing open the sleeve.

She plants her feet with determination, but she doesn't stand a chance up against both swords. I push myself to leap the final few steps and fling a strike in the direction of his torso.

My blade meets his side, sinking briefly in before he knocks the sword away. Still stumbling under my momentum, I lose my footing on the rain-slicked stones and land on my back, what little breath I had knocked from my lungs. I snatch up my sword as it falls and barely manage to lift it above my head to meet his downward blow.

It is a feeble parry, and I'm sure he will cleave through it with ease, but instead he jerks back, blade scraping against mine. I twist around to see the woman has clashed swords with him. She presses hard, brow creased with her focus. She can't hold him alone.

Gathering all my force, I strike at the sword above me, rolling onto my side as I do so. His grip loosens. Shoving aside all protests, I drive a slash towards his ankle.

He stumbles away from both of us, inhaling sharply. Scarlet splatters the end of his trouser leg, the same colour that now tips my sword. My gaze lingers on it a moment too long. I almost miss the responding blow swinging right for me.

My shoulders scrape over the cobbles as I duck down. My head hits the ground. I wince, gasping in a breath, clenching my teeth against the immediate throb.

My movements are too slow. He's going to hit me next time. I feel for the grooves beneath me, trying to convince my muscles to heave me upright.

It takes several seconds too long, yet nothing comes. I push into a sitting position, arms supporting me, and spin in time to see one of the women yank her blade free from the soldier's chest. I flinch, shielding my eyes on instinct, but I catch enough of a glimpse of the blood that pours out.

When I collect the courage to remove my hand from my face, he is on the ground, motionless. I jerk my head away, focusing on the woman standing over me. She holds out a hand. A thin trickle of blood drips from the underside of her arm.

"You okay?" she asks.

Accepting her hand, I allow her to pull me to my feet. My mind provides a thousand reasons not to be okay, but I nod regardless, gaze wandering to the second jagged scratch marking her cheek. I'm not hurt at least.

I pick up my sword and retreat closer to her, scanning the fights spilling out into the wider street. Several bodies have already fallen. It's difficult to tell which are soldiers and which are residents of Katamen. Swallowing hard, I try to cleanse my mind of thought.

"What happened?" I address the question to both her and her sister, who guards our backs, though she answers.

"They were all waiting for us. I don't know if they knew what we were doing or if they just got lucky, but..." She shrugs, wiping her sword on her leg. I try to ignore the crimson stain it leaves in its wake. "Our groups were herded together and then we had no choice but to run here. They must have known," she mutters, head dipping.

"They followed us to the blacksmith's keep and spied on us?" I suggest.

"Maybe. Though I didn't think--"

Cutting off sharply, she shoves into my side, forcing me back to the ground. We land in a heap together. Struggling around, I open my mouth to protest, then see the arrow whiz past, barely clearing her head.

I disentangle myself and scramble to my feet, not wanting to end up trapped down there again. She leaps up before I can attempt to help her as well.

"Thanks," I say.

She waves it away. "Let's stay alert."

The soldier that fired at us is readying another arrow. We break apart, her rushing to check on her sister while I duck behind the cover of a sparring pair. A brown-clad man I recognise, fighting a woman with a breastplate. She seems to be the only one wearing armour; perhaps it is scarce in these outer towns. They both move with precision, blades almost a blur. His skill might match hers.

If I try to jump in, I will be more of a hindrance than a help. But the armour tips the balance unfairly.

Pushing through any hesitation, I reach up with my sword and sever the breastplate's nearest strap in one swipe. She whirls immediately, forcing me to scutter back out of the path of her sword. The man uses the distraction to strike the lower strap, causing the sheet of metal formerly encasing her torso to dangle from her left side, swinging freely.

He throws a blow at her chest. She blocks it, but there is a fresh spark of fear in her eyes. A slip-up might cost her more now.

He doesn't even glance over at me, but I don't plan on waiting around for thanks. Holding my sword close, I spin around, scanning for danger. I barely manage to focus on anything before a cry wrenches my attention back.

Steeling myself, I turn back, expecting to see the armoured soldier victorious after all. But it isn't her who holds the bloodied weapon.

The man has fallen to the ground, sword knocked from his grasp, red blooming through the thick weave of his tunic. A gaping gash, formed by the curved blade of the axe resting in the air just above him.

"Eduart," he gasps out. Droplets of spat blood accompany his cracking voice.

Both hands wrapped firmly around the slim handle of his axe, the blacksmith stands over him, twitching at the sound of his name.

The man's face contorts, pain merging into fury. "Rat."

Eduart says nothing. He simply drives his axe downward again. I flinch away sharply as if I am the one he strikes, but I only hear the resounding thump.

For a moment, I genuinely want a soldier of Neyaibet to engage me. I want to fight someone easy to identify, someone driven by loyalty to the enemy, someone stamped by the bad side. Not this twisted sense of betrayal.

None present themselves. Even the soldier here previously has gone, engaged in a new battle, this one forgotten so fast.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm imagining it. Yet when I peer back over my shoulder, holding shakily onto my sword, it is still the blacksmith -- the one who let us into his keep, who listened to all of what Cody and I planned -- lifting a weapon coated in the blood of a man who was his ally only minutes ago. Or so it seemed.

Shock shatters to make way for a heated swathe of anger. I point my sword at him. "You told them."

His eyes lock onto me, and fear cools it instantly. He appears near emotionless, drained of anything but a gaze like an archer's piercing aim. He takes a step towards me. "Smart kid."

It takes more willpower than it should to stay still. "Why?" I manage.

Another step. I can't tear my eyes away from the dripping blood. My throat is on fire. "Neyaibet isn't stupid," he says. "And neither am I."

His axe cuts a low arc. Though my arms feel frozen stiff, I force my sword to meet it, the blades clashing dully.

He holds my gaze despite how much I want to look away. "I don't want to kill you, kid," he says, his voice a low growl with an edge like a razor that slices at my thrashing heart. "You aren't a part of this cursed place."

"Is that why?" I press, hating the ways my words waver. Each tastes like rust. "Did Katamen... do something to you?" Cursed place. I can hardly keep hold of my hilt.

His expression is painted in smoke, devoid of anything but choking hostility. He gives his axe a shove, making me stumble back. "Run. I won't give you another chance."

My mind is drowned in blood, thoughts buried, yet somehow I find the ability to push away his axe and step back, sword gripped in both hands. Fear tugs me backwards, urges me to obey. But I won't be ruled by fear.

I started this fight. It's only right I finish it, even if it is doomed to fail.

"Run," Eduart repeats with less conviction. He can already see the answer in my eyes.

Summoning all my strength, I shake my head. "Never."

He sighs. "You're either brave or stupid. Both get you killed."

Before he has even finished, he is bringing his axe down. I dodge aside and strike at his hip, only for him to maneuver his axe's handle with surprising speed to block. Its wood is surprisingly solid. I twist my blade, attempting to sever it, but instead find it sliding along the handle and hooking under the blade. I yank it towards me, but the sword is trapped, imprisoned by his fluid movement even as I try to jerk it sideways.

The axe is wrenched to my right. My hilt slips from my grip, leather sliding smoothly over leather. I clutch at empty air.

A gasp escapes me, wrought with panic. The sword clatters to the ground a pace away. I dive towards it, but instead he slams into me. I barely keep my footing, grasping at the space behind me, half-hoping a wall will appear to support my trembling legs. But he's driving me down the street's centre. The others are too far away, too busy fighting for their own lives to worry about mine.

I can't see my sword anymore. My gloved hands hold no weapon. Defenceless again.

"Stupid," Eduart decides. He swings his axe. I'm either too tired or simply not quick enough to move.

The blade meets my arm, and every nerve in my body screams.

The air becomes water, too heavy to fight, stealing every gasped breath. I barely feel my shoulders meet the cobbles. The sky above is tinged grey. Eduart's axe soon blocks even that blurred view.

My flesh burns. Deeper than the fire and far more hostile, pain sears into me like flaming fangs, refusing to release my arm. I need it to stop. I can't bear it.

My fingers rub over something faintly warm, smooth, creased. It takes me a moment to realise I've reached for my glove, and now claw at it, blindly groping through the haze of pain. But my movements are too sluggish. The blade is lowering.

No. I won't die. I can't.

I pull. The glove doesn't give. My grip slides uselessly. Desperation lights in my veins.

The axe blade vanishes.

I still. There is the sky again, the rise of houses around. A cry breaks through the blood pounding in my ears. Grasping at hope, I grip the cobbles, lifting myself up enough to see Eduart.

An arrow has struck him. It sticks out at an angle just above his hip, burrowing deep into his side, feathers speckled with scarlet. Whipping around, I search the roof to my left and catch sight of a crouched form lowering his bow. Brown hair dappled gold. Cody.

Eduart's footsteps strike stone. He is limping towards me, arms tensed, axe ready. I glance at Cody as he pushes up higher on his knees, scrabbling for another arrow. Seeing him has cleared some of the fog from my thoughts, but they're still shrouded in a thick layer of pain.

One rational idea looms out. Gritting my teeth, I push myself up with my right arm, fighting through the renewed slice of agony, and feel along my belt. My fingers close over a familiar hilt.

But I can't kill him. It isn't right.

Eduart's axe draws back, primed to strike. My dagger slides free, resting in my hand, yet all I do is crawl back, boots scuffing the stones as I scramble away from the rounded blade. Blood drips onto my leg as he advances. His limp slows him down, but not enough.

Trembling, I throw another frantic glance at the rooftops, and panic seizes my lungs. Cody is nowhere to be seen. Another archer turns away from the battle, bent down, eyes roving a spot I can't make out.

He's been knocked down. He's hurt. He might even be dead, and all because he tried to protect me.

I stop moving. The dagger's gentle weight rocks in my grip. I wouldn't need protection if this man didn't bear down on me, axe hefted high, flat gaze boring into me with little care.

None of them would be hurt if he hadn't betrayed us.

The man's bloodied body scratches at the back of my mind. Them or us.

The axe gleams, painted crimson. It longs to draw more blood. I won't let it. Lunging forward, I sink my dagger's blade into his stomach.

He gasps, stilling. For once, my heart has calmed, steadily urging me on. I twist the dagger, then wrench it out, relishing the ease of it all.

His hand goes limp on the axe handle. He collapses after it, splayed over the cobbles, blood gushing into the grooves in an ugly stream. I suddenly remember to breathe. The air is thick, arid, harder to take in than smoke.

Everything floods back in at once. My arm gives out, leaving me keeled over my knees, dagger trapped beneath my left palm. Sweat sticks to my skin. I stare at the blood-streaked blade. Red droplets now decorate the black-smudged hilt, a pattern marked only by death.

Swallowing hard, I force my head to lift, letting the rest of the fighting overtake my thoughts. I need to get up, yet pain gnaws at my focus. Conflict writhes a freezing storm.

It wasn't right. It's never right to kill.

So why does the outcome feel so just?

Perhaps it's the usual thrill in my veins, smothered by the gloves but there nonetheless. Faint delight, eating at the underside of my skin, chilling my blood. Even beneath the barrier, it soothes my wound.

Part of me wants to rip off the gloves entirely and let it swallow every last drop of pain. It will burn away this guilt in moments. But I'm afraid of what my flame will do in this flaring state.

The temptation persists, clinging like blood to my palms. I curl in a fist.

Briefly forgetting where I am, I close my eyes, screwing them tighter as my stomach twists. I'm sure blood taints my tongue. Maybe if I spit it out, it will stop flashing through my mind, wrapped around the phantom presence of my dagger in my hand. The give of flesh beneath my strike.

I give my head a firm shake. Get up. If I don't soon, I'll be here forever, suffocating in my own actions.

Or someone will force me to. I open my eyes, sensing the smooth surface against my neck too late.

A smidge thicker than the axe handle, and formed of darker wood dipped in black dye, it presses with only a gentle touch, yet it steals all the stale breath from my throat. Iced needles stampede down my spine. Reluctantly, I raise my head.

Jasper's twinkling eyes are there to meet me. They seem at odds with his slight frown, the downward tug of his brow as he examines me.

A smile soon breaks forth. "Look who it is."

Despite everything, despite all the raging battle inside, I reach for my dagger, fingers slipping over its stained blade. Yet no sooner have I met the hilt is it yanked away, leaving me tipping forwards with nothing to support me. A hand soon grabs my wrist, shoving me back into my knees.

He pushes aside the sleeve, gripping my bare skin. His touch is like Oswin's: firm, taunting, victorious. Yet there is no irony in Jasper's triumph.

The stick taps at my throat. Not a stick. A spear, point glinting over my shoulder.

Killing Eduart was worthless in the end. I'm going to die anyway.

───── ⋆⋅♛⋅⋆ ─────

I was really struggling to get into this chapter until someone died. Literally. My writing sped up loads after that, and a whole bunch of motivation finally flooded back in as soon as Nathan got hurt. I relish pain, I guess. I know, I'm such a nice pup.

This also really escalated more than I expected. Sorry Nathan :/ Let's hope things improve, like, very fast--

He killed someone without the flame, though. Interesting, huh--? 

- Pup