7

Miraveh grabbed Daras by the collar and dragged him away. Far enough that the sensation of feeling the magic in the Hunter left her. She still wasn't certain how any of it worked. How she could feel magic, what the distances involved were, whether the strength of a Witch's power meant other Witches could sense them from further away. She knew nothing. Only that both Yusuvur and Sialira had told her she held great potential.

From a greater distance, she peeked around a corner, watching the riders. Three of them and they stared down at someone as that person gesticulated, using their hands to aid what they told the Hunters. Miraveh saw one hand waving vaguely in the direction of the inn. She could only hope that the informant hadn't seen her and Sialira enter the inn's courtyard and stables, though she didn't know how many other establishments in Kubsa could stable horses.

She had to think fast. Sialira stood no chance against two warriors and a Witch strong in magic, but Miraveh wasn't entirely certain she could prevail, either. Right now, those riders stood between her and the inn and only a circuitous trek through the crowded streets of Kubsa could get her there. She doubted she could reach the inn in time.

"Can I trust you? No, forget that. Of course I can't, but I'm going to have to. You go to the inn, over there, and go to the top floor, last room at the end." She still had hold of Daras' collar and glared into his eyes. "Knock on the door, say 'Miraveh knows about the two moles on your stomach' and then explain what's happening. Saddle the horses and take my friend to the crossroads to the south. Remember my warning. If you betray me ..."

"Well, that's more of a threat than a warning, there's really ..." He yelped as she slapped him about his hairless scalp and he rubbed it, scowling. "Yes. Fine. Two moles, crossroads. What's their name? It'll help to convince them I'm a friend."

"Sialira. You take care of her, or so help me ..." The threat hung in the air for a second before Miraveh tried a different tack. "Please. We'll accompany you home, I promise, but you have to keep her safe for me."

Daras gave her an unconvincing serious look and bobbed his head around the corner. If he had half the skills at thievery that he professed to have, Miraveh knew he could reach the inn undetected. As far as what she could do, she didn't know. At this time, she would have looked towards Alran, or Yusuvur, even Kay, but none of them were here. She could only try her best to do as they would.

Thrusting the sack of supplies into his hand and with a none-too-gentle shove, she sent Daras back out into the shifting crowds, watching him as he slipped and meandered his way through the people like a shadow. He could move, she had to give him that. And he didn't bring attention to himself as he passed the three riders, not looking at them, but also not making it obvious that he did so. Only another scruffy denizen of Kubsa, going about his business.

By the time the riders had finished talking to their informant, Daras had disappeared from sight, leaving Miraveh to perform one of the most foolhardy things she had ever considered. Rising the hood of her cloak over her head, she shadowed her features and stepped out from behind the building. She tried not to make it obvious, but she headed towards the riders and soon felt the Witch's magic once again.

As she expected, the closer she came to the riders, she soon caught the attention of the Witch. At first, he only raised his head, eyes searching the crowds about them. Then, as Miraveh came closer, his head whipped around. Miraveh wrapped the edge of the cloak around her sword, not wishing to let them know she was armed, and stepped even closer to the riders.

The Witch searched for the source of the magic that he felt and that told Miraveh much. It seemed clear that he could only tell the presence of magic at this distance, not the person. Now she had made her presence known, she had to reveal herself. Only ten feet away from the riders, she looked up from under the hood of her cloak and locked eyes with the Witch.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. A yell, the tugging of reins, and all three riders turned towards her, but Miraveh had already begun to run, heading away from the inn, deeper into the streets of Kubsa. She had a good memory for places, though it had dulled over the years with Kubsa, but her dalliance around the town had refreshed her memory of the place. She knew exactly where to run to aid in her escape.

There were a number of ways to enter and exit Kubsa Falls and she needed to reach one that led to the north, away from where she had told Daras to take Sialira. A sudden tightening of the chest told her she regretted leaving her in the hands of someone she had only met mere moments ago, but she had no other option. If Daras harmed Sialira in any way, she would survive this encounter out of pure spite to find him and teach him the error of his ways.

It surprised her, as she dashed from one street to another, how she had actually come to care for the young Witch. She hadn't really thought about it until this moment. Sialira annoyed her, acted like a pompous, privileged Northerner, but, at the back of Miraveh's mind, she realised that she actually liked the girl. Even as she ran, she shrugged her shoulders. Stranger things had happened in her life.

Slamming to a stop against a wall, she brought her attention back to the chase. She had lured the riders into the tighter streets of the north-eastern end of the town, where, back in the day, the poor had lived in houses that looked cobbled together with whatever they could find. Compared to the town now, those houses looked luxurious to how the poor lived in the tents and lean-to's at the edge of the town.

It served its purpose, however. The riders could no longer gallop through the crowds side-by-side and there was nowhere for those crowds to jump out of the way. Short of running everyone under the hooves of their horses, the riders had to slow their pursuit, but Miraveh couldn't lose them yet. She had to give Sialira and Daras more time to escape Kubsa. She had to keep leading these 'Hunters O' The Dark' on a merry chase before losing them.

Except, one of the horses no longer held a rider, the reins of that horse in the hands of the Witch as they continued their dogged chase. Miraveh hadn't expected them to split up and now she had to keep her eyes open in all directions, not only behind her. She had to show more care! Alran would have berated her for not thinking of all the options. Yusuvur would have curled her nose at Miraveh's foolishness.

Quick calculations passed through her mind as she slipped down a nearby alleyway. The Hunters, whether together or separate, would have to go around to catch up to her. She hadn't wanted to lose them so fast, but she needed time to think, to try to imagine the many different routes she could take before disappearing from their eyes and senses. At the other end of the alley, she realised she was too slow, too naive.

The other Hunter stood there, white cloak tossed from his shoulders, sword in hand and a face of featureless stone. Miraveh could tell with one look, he didn't hate her, didn't feel disgust at her. She was, in his eyes, a Witch and she needed to die. Nothing more. No attached emotion. A simple fact for the Hunter. He, however, had confidence due to fighting, or killing, other Witches. He had no idea that Miraveh was no Witch at all.

With a flick of her hand, she uncovered her sword from the cloak and drew it in one, smooth movement. The Hunter's eyes flickered to the naked blade and then back to Miraveh's face. She almost saw a twitch of emotion in those eyes. Surprise, perhaps? Or, could it be, fear? No matter, she gave him no chance to assess the situation, racing towards him, sword raised.

Alran had taught her to fight according to her opponent, unless she needed to fight according to herself. As with many of Alran's teachings, it made little sense at the time. All too often, the soft-spoken swordsman would offer wildly contradicting lessons, yet she had watched him, over the years, use every single technique and strategy that he had taught her. She didn't understand half what Alran taught her, but she practiced it all anyway.

That practice now fell to the wayside. This was real. Against a real opponent, not a training dummy, or against Alran and without the stoic swordsman to watch her back. She could make no mistakes here. The man had an advantage in size and strength. Common knowledge would have that she use her speed and agility against such an opponent, but Miraveh fought according to herself.

As she swung her sword, the Hunter's eyes widened in surprise. She was taking the fight to him.

-+-

She hadn't noticed how dark it had become, but the Hunter's white cloak stood out against the dreary backdrop of the tight street. As her sword came down, the Hunter managed to raise his own sword, the resulting clang reverberating through Miraveh's arm. The attack sent the Hunter backwards as Miraveh pushed all her weight against him.

Then, and only then, did she use her speed. Darting backwards, she drew back her sword and made a thrust towards the man's chest. Again, he managed to bring his sword into place to parry the attack to the side, but Miraveh had wanted that. She continued her forward momentum, slamming her shoulder into the Hunter's chest and a sharp, coughing gasp erupted from him.

Too late, she realised she hadn't stepped back again fast enough. Instinct had taken over for the man and his hand clasped hold of her own cloak, tugging her back and to the side as she attempted to strike and move. His breath still rasped from her shoulder barge, but he still had enough strength to toss her around by her cloak.

The Hunter now attacked. Keeping her cloak wrapped in his hand, he pulled her back towards him, intending to pull her onto his sword, but Miraveh flung her hips to the side. The sword scraped along the leather outer-armour and the chainmail shirt beneath pinched inwards. She had considered leaving the mail shirt back at the inn and thanked the gods that she hadn't. That blow wouldn't have killed her, but it would have caused a great deal of pain.

She could do little with the man holding her cloak. It held her too close to him and he could loosen his grip at any time. She had to gain some distance. Changing strategy, she brought the pommel of her sword down onto his shoulder, hammering at it so hard, she heard the crack of bone. His fingers flexed, involuntarily, and she took advantage of that, using the pommel again to smash into the Hunter's face.

The fight had only started seconds ago and she could feel herself fighting to breathe. Three months of easy living back in Donsa had taken its toll and she had to end this fight before the Hunter's companions reached them. Especially the Witch. Whether she had some hidden power, some talent for magic or not, she doubted she could prevail against someone who already knew how to wield magic.

A flash of glinting steel told her to stop her mind from wandering. Moving her head in time, the tip grazed her cheek and it burned with pain. Tiring, she stumbled backwards, arms flailing, but the man gave her no chance to recover. As she had slammed her shoulder into his chest, so did he with her. She howled in pain as her back smashed against a wooden shutter of a house, breaking it into shards of wood that fell at her feet as the Hunter punched her in her stomach.

With a spin, he threw her to the filth-ridden ground and stomped a heavy boot onto her chest. Even through the leather, the chainmail shirt and the padded under-armour, Miraveh could feel the imprint of that boot. She tried to raise her sword, but it had fallen from her hand and now the Hunter loomed over her, his own sword pointing towards her heart, ready to thrust into her and take her life.

"Always fight fair and with honour." Alran's words came back to her as she stared at that sword tip, the memory of the sword-master's dark, soulful eye winking with that ever so tiny smile. "Except when you can't. A fair fight that leaves you dead still leaves you dead. Do what you must to win."

Do what you must to win. He had said that so many times in their training sessions. Here, about to die, she wished she had trained harder. Trained longer and with more commitment. She had failed herself in her first fight alone and she sullied the memory of the man that had trained her. Her hands flailed at the Hunter's leg as he raised his sword for the final blow.

Tears welled in her eyes. Not through pain or exhaustion, or through fear or regret, but from frustration. Her first fight and she had failed! Her hands slapped the ground beside her and she glared up to the man, daring him to kill her. But her hand had fallen upon something. She felt the sting of a splinter break her skin and she gripped the shard of wood for one last, desperate effort.

It wasn't a large piece of wood, but it had a point to it. She plunged it into the Hunter's thigh with every ounce of strength she could muster and she felt the weight fall from her chest. She managed to sit up as the man staggered back and she thrust the shard of wood into him again and again and again, into his groin.

Blood splattered over her hand, arm and face as a pulsing stream began to spurt from the man's groin. Though he had shown little emotion before or during their fight, he held a look of surprise upon his face now. A look that almost screamed that he did not understand how he had lost. His hands attempted to stem the flow of blood, but it was pointless. Miraveh had hit the right spot.

Standing, she retrieved her sword and pointed it towards the Hunter's chest. Her own chest heaved as she looked down at him, a bubble of blood-flecked spittle grew at the side of his mouth as it opened and closed, speaking silent words that no-one would hear, in life or in death. And then his eyes became glazed, staring at nothing as the blood flow from his groin slowed and then stopped.

Even though she knew his companions were near, Miraveh still took the time to search the man, taking a pouch of coins and his sword, along with a knife attached to his belt. She looked up and saw several people standing at a distance, to both sides, all eyes locked upon her. They had watched the fight as the night fell and had said nothing. Nothing that Miraveh could remember hearing. She stood, regained her bearings and began to move once again.

As she looked behind her, one last time, at the man she had killed, she saw the other two Hunters as they pushed and shoved the dumbstruck townsfolk aside. But the townsfolk did not make it easy for them, locking arms, shouldering into the Hunters. It seemed not everyone appreciated the efforts of the Hunters O' The Dark.

She hadn't wanted to face any of the Hunters. Hadn't wanted to let any of them get anywhere near her, but she had proven herself unlike her tutor. Alran would have scolded her for not thinking ahead, for not playing through every possibility before engaging with the enemy. He could do those things within fractions of moments, evaluating everything and everyone before them before anyone else had even started to react.

Miraveh was no Alran. No sword-master. She couldn't imagine how disappointed Alran would have been at the mess she had made in that fight. A fight in which she had killed a man. It wasn't the first time she had killed anyone, but certainly the first alone. She didn't have Kay to comfort her, or Yusuvur to look down her nose at her, nor did she have Alran to give her words of wisdom. She had fought alone and killed alone.

Up ahead, she saw the path that led to the north, out of Kubsa Falls. She felt the weight of two swords upon her hip, now. Hers and her victim's and that weight threatened to drag her down. She didn't know whether she had lost the final two Hunters, but she found it difficult to care. Sialira had had enough time to escape the town, away from the Witch-killing Hunters and, if Daras had not abandoned her, she had someone by her side. Miraveh had no-one.

Without looking behind her, she slipped off the road and into the coarse brush-land that covered the landscape at this side of the town. Night had fallen fully and, with her dark cloak tugged tight, she turned to make her way around the town to turn south as soon as she could. She couldn't hear the sound of horses following and felt certain she had lost the Hunters. For now.

She took the opportunity to stop, to crouch and stare back the way she had come. She had avoided making tracks that a good hunter could follow, stepped on hard stone as often as she could, taken care not to bend tall grass, or the branches of bushes. She couldn't hide her trail completely, but she could make it hard for any tracker.

Moments passed before she felt certain she had lost them and, as soon as she began to relax, she turned her face to the side and vomited. She continued until her stomach held no more and still she felt the roll and the twinge of wanting to vomit more. Even in the darkness, as she tried to cover the vomit with loose soil, she could see the blood that covered her hand and arm.

Her other hand rose to her face and felt the mask of drying blood, both hers, from the cut to her cheek, and the Hunter's. And she felt a wetness, too. Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she couldn't, for the life of her, say why she cried. Yes, she had killed. Yes, she had almost lost her own life. Neither was anything she hadn't experienced before.

She knew what was different. She was alone. More alone than she had ever felt. All her other experiences had happened among friends and colleagues. Here, she had only a young Witch who she felt certain remained loyal to Yusuvur, first and foremost, and a thief that she couldn't trust as far as she could throw him.

Gathering her cloak tight about her, she sat upon the ground, watching for any movement, for anyone following her, and she allowed the tears to fall. She wished Kay were by her side. If only for a moment.