The enemy's blade fell again, jarring her shoulders as she deflected it. Her arms felt like lead. She stumbled back and barely got her blade up in time to block a swing at her head. He was the last soldier standing. She just had to beat one more. She sent up another quick prayer. "Spirit help me."
"Sometimes you have to run away to live to fight another day," her brother's parting words echoed through her head.
Her opponent didn't seem tired at all even though the fighting had been nearly constant since late afternoon. Was that his gift – to never grow tired? The only way she'd be able to escape was to injure him somehow. He was too well-protected and she was too tired and clumsy to get in a killing blow. She slipped her left hand stealthily to her waist and grabbed the hilt of her throwing knife while she dodged another swipe of his sword. As soon as he lifted his blade to strike again, she made a quick underhand motion and sent her knife hurtling toward her opponent's unguarded thigh. Without waiting to see if she hit her target, she spun around and tried to run. Her foot caught on something and she fell. There was a snap in her calf as she landed heavily on her hip and arm in the packed dirt of the battlefield. Momentarily shocked by the pain, she didn't fight as a hand on her shoulder forced her roughly onto her back. Something shifted in her leg and a cry tore out of her before she could stop it. Against the fading blue of the sky she could see the outline of the soldier's helmet and the hilt of the blade as it rose above her heart. Time slowed down. Was this really it? She wasn't ready to die. "Great Spirit, take me." She thrust her chest forward. If she had to die, then she'd do it well. The blade began to descend and she shut her eyes. Her world shrunk to the spot on her chest where the steel would enter and the pain would begin, then just as quickly end, she hoped. The moment stretched impossibly long. There was a thump on the ground beside her, then something soft touched her lips. Startled, she raised her hand to push it away but changed her mind by the time she reached the metal arching over the stubbly cheek. It was a gentle kiss, almost shy, not like he meant to hurt her. And it was...it was...she couldn't think of a way to describe it. Something in her middle tingled. The pain and exhaustion she felt from running and hiding and fighting the last few days were pushed back. It was as if everything belonged in some other place, to some other life, and she had risen above it. There was someone on the other side of those lips. Someone else with his own life behind him coming forward to meet her. She pressed her lips harder against his, trying to understand. How could a kiss make her feel so light? Without warning, the lips moved away, leaving her drifting. Pain and fatigue pulled her down and she crashed to the ground in the dark field surrounded by her dead and dying Clansmen. Her enemy leaned back on his knees. His chin and lips were barely visible in the dark beneath the helmet he wore as he leaned forward again to touch her cheek. She grabbed his fingers.
"Who are you?" he asked, sounding as confused as she felt. His accent was strong but not as irritating as some of the Arlenians she'd run across.
"No one." Her voice came out as a whisper.
He turned in the direction of a distant yell, then back to her.
"Wait for me. Here is my canteen. I'll be back." The man slipped off his canteen and set it beside her, then ran toward the source of the yell.
For a moment, all she could do was lay still and breathe. She wasn't dead and the man was gone. She might yet escape only her leg was in agony. A couple of tears slipped out as she sat up to inspect it. She wiped them away impatiently. This was no time for weakness. Her fingers shook as she ran them down the side of her calf to where it hurt the most. Gingerly, she felt the lump she found. Broken. Her leg was broken. How was she going to get away? If only she could just lay back and sleep. "Great Spirit, help me please. Help me escape." She tried to lift her sore leg but the weight of her foot pulling on the break made her feel sick. There was no way she'd be able to catch up to her clan with a broken leg. She needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere close.
YOU ARE READING
The Gift (Rabiah book 1)
FantasyThe only daughter of a Clan chieftain and the only person she knows without a magical gift, Rabiah keeps to herself, practicing with her brothers whenever she gets the chance so she can keep her position as Clan champion. When the people from the n...