A.D. 30(122)

I leaped forward at the word consume and was halfway to him with blade drawn back before my sudden movement stole the words from his mouth.

I meant for that first blow to cut into his head, if only to silence the poison flowing from his mouth, but he spun away from me, a simple but effective evasive shift.

I adjusted the arc of my blade, now borne by my full weight as I twisted to bring its tip across his back. I felt the contact of sharpened edge and leather. Heard my scream rending the silence.

Then felt the piercing of flesh as the leather yielded.

Maliku grunted and stumbled before catching himself. I saw him instinctively reach for his back to check for damage even as my momentum carried me to the ground.

When they are distracted, Maviah. Johnin’s words again.

I released the heavier sword and grabbed the dagger from my waist while I rolled. He was there, with blood on his fingers, when I came to my feet. I let loose the knife then, while he was still confused by the fact that I’d cut him first, and it was halfway to him before he saw it coming.

He was too late to avoid it. The blade sliced into his side, below his armor. He staggered back again, like a struck bull.

The crowd erupted and I drank their courage, sweeping up Saba’s blade once again. In quick succession I had wounded him twice.

But Maliku only ripped the knife from his side.

“The whore can scratch.” I could hear the amusement in his voice.

He reached across his chest and jerked the cords that held his armor in place. Flung the leather molding to the side to bare his arms and chest for easier movement.

“So, then… we fight!” he said.

The crowd was chanting now, demanding I strike again. But I no longer had the advantage of surprise.

Watch their eyes, Maviah. You can see them move in their eyes first.

But I couldn’t read his eyes or face to anticipate his next move. How many hours had Johnin and I locked eyes to learn the subtleties of intention and more? It meant nothing now.

My blindness suddenly loomed like a mountain and fear reached into my bones.

Maliku came for me then, in long strides, running on the balls of his feet, crouched over with his sword held lightly.

His blow, when it came, was like lightning, and I jerked to my left to narrowly avoid his blade. Then I swung my own, when his side was exposed.

But Maliku was ready this time. He stepped into my swing, swept my arm wide with a thick forearm, and brought the heel of his free hand into my chin.

I felt my head snap back. Heard my teeth crack together.

The blow lifted me off the ground and dropped me onto my seat with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.

He was still coming.

I threw myself to my right, rolling away. As I turned, his blade smashed into the ground, sending stinging dust into my eyes.

My eyes.

I blinked, frantic to see, but the world only darkened. My half-blind eyes had accepted the dust without closing for protection.

Screaming now, I wildly swung my blade at his legs, which I struck, but without power, for I was still on the ground and had no leverage.

The world was in a brown fog thickened by my panic. I had to clear my vision!

Rolling to my feet, I ran to my right, knowing he was to my left only because I could hear him. When I looked, I saw only a dirty fog.

Now flooded by fear, I tried and failed to blink my vision clear. I wiped the back of my hand across my face, desperate to see more than I could—a form, arms and legs, an enemy, anything that would give me the dimmest ray of hope.

I was only a hobbled woman for Maliku’s blade.

This is who you are, Maviah. Only the shamed daughter of a whore.

Where was he? The crowd was still cheering, oblivious to my predicament. They’d come for a spectacle. Now they would see a slaughter.

This was always your destiny, Maviah.

I backed on my heels, breathing in long pulls, expecting a blow. But Maliku wasn’t ready to cut me down. His soft chuckle, close to my left, said as much.

Swinging my blade in his direction, I found only the emptiness between us. Again, panic mounting. I could hear him breathing, hear the amusement in his soft grunt, hear my own heart pounding in my chest.

Maliku’s fist landed then, on my cheek, hard enough to spin me around.

Terror washed through me.

It’s over.

I began to swing my blade again, even without a target. But Maliku landed another blow, an open palm upon my left cheek. The crack of it filled my head with ringing.

It is over…

Only when I stepped back and let Saba’s blade fall from my fingers did the crowd realize the depths of my trouble. Their cries faded. Silence settled over the arena, punctuated by only a few calls, urging us to fight.

“Maviah!”

Saba… Saba was calling from my right.

Shaquilath stilled him with a quiet warning. My fate was in my own hands. She had sentenced me to death, I thought. Shaquilath, not Aretas.